Critical Failures VII

Septapussy

By Robert Bevan

Copyright 2019 Robert Bevan

Special Thanks to:

My editor, Joan Reginaldo.

My wife No Young Sook.

My cover designer, No Hyun Jun.

My fans who like my Facebook page and subscribe to my newsletter.

(Even if the latter only do so to get a FREE copy of Multiple Orc Chasms)

Chapter 1

“Should I ask why you're naked?” said Tim, his expression difficult to read with the flickering torchlight illuminating the slimy sewer wall behind him.

Dave covered his junk and glared at Tim. “I'd rather you just find me some clothes and let me out of this cage.”

“Here. Use this.” Tim tossed his hair clip through the bars, which Dave sacrificed half of his coverage to catch.

Wondering if his requests had somehow been misinterpreted, Dave examined the clip. It was silver, with an engraving of a face which looked like it was formed from two halves of different faces. No immediately obvious uses for it came to mind. Was he supposed to try to pick the lock with it? Was his hair out of sorts? There was no point in overthinking it when he could just ask.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

Tim sighed. “It's a hair clip, genius. You put it in your hair.”

“I don't need fucking pigtails,” said Dave. “I need something to cover my dick with.”

“Believe me,” said Tim. “Nobody wants to see your dick less than me. That's a Hair Clip of Disguise. While you're wearing it, you can look like whoever you want to look like. So just put it in your hair and imagine yourself as someone who's wearing some goddamn clothes.”

Dave reached around to the back of his head and slid the clip into his hair. Looking down, he discovered that while he could still feel his junk in his other hand, it was obscured by an illusory pair of cargo shorts.

“Hey there!” Tim said cheerfully. “Blast from the past. It's normal Dave.”

“That really worked?” Dave patted his face and could still feel his big bushy dwarf beard, but his sandals, shorts, and faded old Star Trek t-shirt made him suspect that he would be seen as clean-shaven. “Do you have a mirror?”

“Slow down there, Narcissus. Your view of yourself might be a few pounds lighter than reality, but you're hardly a Leonardo DeCockenballs. Also, you probably don't want to walk around in this world dressed like the Virgin from planet Douche.”

Dave was starting to look back fondly on when he thought Tim was dead.

“How would you prefer I dressed?”

“Like someone from this world. Just change yourself back to dwarf Dave with all your armor and shit on until we can find you a robe or something.”

Dave pulled the hair clip out.

“Jesus Christ!” said Tim, shielding his eyes as if Dave's dick were the sun. “You could maybe give me some warning first.”

Taking care to make sure it was fastened as securely as possible, Dave put the hair clip back in his hair while imagining himself with his armor on.

“How's that?”

Tim cautiously opened his eyes, then relaxed his raised arms. “Better. Now if I let you out of that cage, do I have your word you're not going to try anything stupid?”

“Would you even entertain the idea of letting me out of you didn't know you were holding all the cards?”

Tim grinned. “Probably not.” He produced a black iron key from his pants pocket and took a step toward the cage.

Dave took a step back to make himself as non-threatening as possible while Tim unlocked the cage door. After a loud click, the door swung open about an inch.

Tim pulled it the rest of the way open, leaving Dave free to walk out. “Come on. I'll introduce you to the rest of the gang.” He grabbed the torch from the sconce on the wall and walked out of the room.

“What gang?” asked Dave as he followed Tim into the sewer tunnel outside. When he tried to look back through the doorway to his cell, he didn't even see the doorway. Just crumbling brick sewer wall. “Where are we? Where the hell have you been this whole time?”

Tim walked hurriedly ahead of him. “That's a lot of questions to dump on a guy at once. How about you slow down and fire them one at a time?”

“Fine. Where are we?”

“Roll a Perception check, Dave,” said Tim. “We're in the fucking sewer.”

“I can see that. I meant where in the sewer?”

“I don't know. Do you need an address? Maybe, like, half a mile from the Whore's Head Inn.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Dave stopped walking. Was that what Tim had meant about making things right? Was that the gang he was referring to? “Is that where we're headed right now?”

Tim didn't slow down. “Fuck no. Those guys can suck a dick.”

Dave picked up his pace to catch back up with him. It was strange being able to jog while he appeared to be wearing armor. “Then where are we going?”

“I told you. I'm going to introduce you to the gang.”

“What gang?”

“The Rat Bastards.”

“Hold up,” said Dave. “You mean, like, a real gang? With leather jackets and motorcycles and shit?”

“Sadly, we don't have motorcycles. Not yet, anyway. Think of it more like a Thieves' Guild, except that all the members are wererats.”

Dave followed Tim around a corner, then stopped just short of nakedly tackling him. “What happened? Why'd we stop?”

“Listen.” Tim nodded ahead.

Just beyond the torchlight, half a dozen dire rats hissed at them from further down the tunnel.

“Are those the new friends you wanted to introduce me to?” asked Dave, hoping that Tim didn't interpret it as some lame attempt at sarcasm.

“I don't think so. But it's probably a good idea to make sure.” Tim held out the torch to Dave. “Hold this for a second.”

When Dave accepted the torch, Tim cupped his hands around his mouth and made a series of high-pitched bird calls.

The rats hissed more angrily as they crept forward into the torchlight.

“Nah,” said Tim. “Just regular ol' dire rats.”

“Like the kind that gnawed your feet off?” said Dave. “I thought you were terrified of those.”

Tim gave Dave a wicked grin. “That was before I went gangsta.” He turned to face the rats and threw back his cloak, revealing two shiny black handguns in holsters on either side of his chest. Crossing his arms, he drew them simultaneously and pointed them sideways at the approaching rats.

“What the fuck?” said Dave as Tim mimed the motions of shooting the rats. When the rats started screaming as blood spurted from holes in various parts of their bodies, he suspected Tim might actually be doing more than miming.  “What the fuck?” was all he could think of to follow up his original question.

“How do you like that?” Tim shouted over the rat screams as he continued his curiously silent assault. “You shit-eating, disease-ridden, flea-infested pieces of shit! Fuck you, and you, and you!” Even when every last rat lay dead beyond question, he continued shooting, only stopping once the clips were empty.

Dave frowned as Tim loaded fresh clips into his weapons. “I guess you're still not over the whole foot-gnawing thing.”

Fortunately, Tim holstered the guns instead of pumping more rounds into the dead rats. “Did you ever hate something so much that you're glad it exists just so you can hate it? That's how I feel about dire rats. In fact, I'm thinking about taking a level in Ranger so that I can choose them as a favored enemy and hate them even more.”

“Hey,” said Dave as cheerfully as he could muster, trying to set a less sociopathic tone as they walked past the bullet-ridden rat corpses. “I couldn't help but notice you've got yourself some new weapons there.”

Tim grinned. “Did you see how I was holding them sideways?”

“I did see that.”

“Generally speaking, that's a terrible way to fire a gun. But you can get away with it if you've got a high enough Dexterity score.”

Whether it was because the events of the past couple of weeks made him even more self-absorbed, or because he just wanted to fuck with Dave, Tim was making it clear that he wasn't going to take any hints. So Dave asked him flat out.

“Where the hell did you get those guns?”

“Walmart.”

Dave's heart skipped a beat. “Holy shit. Did Goosewaddle open a Walmart here?”

Tim laughed. “No, no, no. That would be a disaster. I stole them from the Walmart in Gulfport.”

“You stole them?”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do? I mean yeah the gun laws are pretty lax, but even in Mississippi you can't just waltz into a Walmart looking like a goddamn girl scout, lay down a couple of gold coins in a foreign currency, and expect to walk out with a shopping cart full of semi-automatic weapons. Use your head, Dave.” With that, Tim took a sharp right turn and disappeared into a nondescript part of the wall.

“Tim?” Dave called out. He didn't expect Tim to reply, and he wasn't disappointed. He poked at the wall where Tim had walked through, and sure enough his hand disappeared into it. It was just like the illusory door leading into the chamber where he'd been kept in a cell, except he could feel this one. It offered no more resistance than the surface of water, but it wasn't wet on the other side. Waving both arms to make sure the secret door was tall and wide enough for him to walk through, he closed his eyes and stepped forward.

On the other side of the barrier, the air was cooler and didn't smell so much like shit. Opening his eyes, he saw that the brick walls were cleaner and less crumbly. The floor was covered in a thick hemp rug, the weave of which felt so rough against Dave's feet that he was reminded that he wasn't actually wearing boots.

It was a small passage, furnished only with a single wooden chair. Maybe it was meant to serve as a guard post or something. At the other end of the passage was a heavy wooden door, which Tim must have gone through because he sure as shit wasn't in here.

The rough carpet had an exfoliating sensation on the soles of Dave's feet as he walked to the door. When he reached for the handle, his hand went right through it. The entire door was made of that same film of pseudo-existence. Starting to get a little annoyed at Tim's fuckery, he shut his eyes and walked through the door.

The air here was a few degrees cooler still, bordering on pleasant. Dave breathed in deeply, unable to detect even the slightest trace of shit. He opened his eyes in the hopes that they might be as pleasantly surprised as his skin and nose. Instead they were met with confused and hostile glares from more than a dozen strangers. A few he recognized as the captors who had tended to him during his incarceration before Tim showed up. None of them, unfortunately, were Tim. Even more unfortunately, each of them was armed to the teeth with all manner of firearms, and they were all pointed at him.

“Tim?” Dave barely managed to squeak out.

After a few seconds of anticipating his flesh exploding in sprays of bullets and blasts of buckshot, he noticed the glares melt into scowls, and they weren't meeting his eyes. They were focused lower.

Dave looked down to find his dick retreated so far back into his coarse red pube-nest that it was barely visible. Suddenly more freaked out by his non-augmented nakedness, he clapped both hands over his junk.

“How did you find this place?” asked the petite human woman Dave had started to fancy. She had an assault rifle that might weigh more than she did pointed at his hands and, more importantly, what they were covering. “What have you done with Tim?”

“My... I was... We...” In addition to losing the ability to form a coherent sentence, Dave found that he'd also lost the ability to control his bladder. His hands were suddenly warm and wet as the sound of urine trickling on the floor below him echoed in the otherwise silent chamber.

“Mercy of the gods,” said a half-elf, shaking his head and lowering his Glock.

“And there it is!” said Tim's voice. He appeared suddenly off to the side of the others, well out of any of their lines of fire, pulling a silver ring off his finger. “I'm surprised you held out so long. For a second there, I thought they really might shoot you.”

Another glint of silver drew Dave's attention to Tim's other hand. The magical hair clip. It was possible that it had fallen out, and Tim had picked it up, but Dave strongly suspected Tim had intentionally removed it. He had probably been standing on that chair and pulled a Sleight of Hand right before Dave walked through that illusory door. What a little shit. Still, he had to ask.

“Can I have the hair clip back, please?”

Tim grimaced. “Fuck no. You've got piss all over your hands.” He turned to the rest of his militia, or whoever the fuck these people were. “Can someone grab my friend Dave here some clothes?”

The half-elf smiled at the piss puddle Dave was standing in. “And maybe a diaper as well?”

Chapter 2

While Katherine recognized that she and Tanner weren't exactly the Guests of Honor at the Whore's Head Inn, she wondered if anyone would object to her helping herself to a beer. She was going to have to break the ice with Frank at some point. This was as good an opportunity as any.

“Would it be alright if I –”

“You two have got some nerve showing your faces in here after what you did,” said Frank, fuming over his beer as he scowled at them. He and his two closest confidants had been muttering sullenly at a corner of the bar ever since Mordred had been taken down to the cellar.

Tanner, who was wearing only a pair of Katherine's jeans that he'd found in the Bag of Holding, cleared his throat. “In my defense, I was carried here against my will. In a bag.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't tie you both up and leave you to die while the Whore's Head Inn burns to the ground with you inside it.”

That was a question Katherine hadn't been prepared for. “It seems kind of over-dramatic, for one. I mean, you could just stab us or something. Why waste a perfectly good bar?”

Frank rubbed his temples, as if that were the very question he'd been trying to find an answer around. “Because we have to abandon it, and it's a perfect place for Mordred to move in and set up a trap for any of ours who happen to come wandering back.”

“It's not enough that we'll probably never get back home now,” said Rhonda. “Now we'll have to spend the rest of our lives here wandering around without any home at all. You and your brother really screwed us over when you stole those dice. I hope you're satisfied now.”

“Tim and I didn't steal shit.” Katherine really hated to throw Tanner under the bus while he was no doubt still coming to grips with being alive again, but she had to take this opportunity to clear her and her brother's names.

Tanner stood tall, his silvery-white hair hanging down to his bare black chest. In her jeans, he looked like a photo negative of one of those guys who used to hang around the reservoir behind the Chicken Hut smoking cigarettes while Skynyrd blared from their pickup trucks.

“Katherine speaks the truth. My actions were mine alone. I acted entirely of my own accord.”

“Bullshit,” said Frank. “I know that drunk little shit put you up to this.”

Rhonda gasped. “Frank! For Christ's sake, she just lost her brother.”

Katherine glanced at Stacy and Julian who, sure enough, were staring right back at her. She looked back at Frank, who was moping sourly at his beer again. Was now a good time to go for that beer? Probably best to hit them with the big news first.

“That may not actually be true.”

Cooper perked up and pulled his finger out of his ear. “What are you talking about?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” Katherine turned to Tanner. “Do you think you could fill in some of the blanks? What happened after I left you and Tim with that little nun woman. What did she call herself? A medicine woman or something?”

“A Sister of Healing,” said Tanner. “In actuality, she was a Rat Bastard.”

Katherine frowned in confusion. That seemed like a colloquialism ill-fitted to the setting of this fantasy world, as well as to the tone he spoke it in. “Did she cheat you out of money or something?”

“The Rat Bastards are a gang,” Stacy explained. “Julian and I tried unsuccessfully to infiltrate them when we were hunting for Tim.”

“Looking for Tim,” Julian corrected her. “We actually left one of their members tied up with Butterbean when we found him fiercely guarding what looked like a bag of snot.” His eyes widened, as if he had suddenly remembered something. “Did you ever find that guy and cut him loose?”

“I found him,” said Katherine. “But I thought he was Mordred, so I turned him over to these guys.” She nodded at Frank and his buddies.

Stacy cringed. “Oh dear. Did you...”

“He escaped before we could interrogate him,” said Frank.

“Phew,” said Stacy, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow. “Dodged a bullet with that one. So what was the snot bag all about anyway?”

“It wasn't snot. The bag was full of fenberries. They have some specific medicinal qualities when properly refined. But in their natural state, they're highly toxic.” Katherine caught Frank glaring at her. “Sorry, Frank. You didn't leave me any choice.” Then she turned to Tanner. “The berries were meant to treat Tim's dire rat wounds.”

“The berries were a diversion,” said Tanner. “The Rat Bastards are nothing if not a cowardly group. Lissa, the so-called Sister of Healing who sent you to find the berries, would have much preferred to send us both, but you were unwilling to leave your brother alone.”

Katherine clenched her fists. “I knew she was up to no good. What kind of medical professional wanders around in shitty neighborhoods looking for injured people to crawl out of sewers?”

“You were right to be distrustful.” Tanner's muscles tensed briefly as he glowered down at the bar. “She and her two companions hiding in the next room sought to recruit and indoctrinate a halfling, as their kind has certain traits which prove useful on certain jobs.”

Cooper farted. “Fucking racists.”

“Once you fled, Lissa took her hybrid wererat form. She and her companions overpowered me easily. Once I was secure, they healed Tim with a potion, then put bags over our heads and escorted us through the sewers. When the bags were removed, we were locked in cages. They told us we would have to wait until the next full moon to see if we were worthy to commence training.”

“You mean to see if you'd successfully been turned into wererats,” said Frank.

“That seemed to be the gist of it, yes.”

“I went through a similar ordeal recently, thanks to our mutual friend Dave. Fortunately, it didn't take.”

“The gods be merciful, I was spared as well.”

“Hang on,” said Denise, causing several people to groan in anticipation of whatever horribly disgusting and idiotic thing she was about to say. “Ain't no way you guys stayed locked up through no full moon. The last one was just a few days ago, and Basil ate Tim well before that.”

Tanner frowned. “Ate Tim? Who is Basil?”

“That's my Basilisk,” said Randy. “Now he's my Special –”

“I'm askin' the questions here, Blackie,” said Denise. “And your timeline don't add up. Now you best start 'splainin', else I might have to question you like we do your kind down at the station.”

Tanner stared curiously at Denise for a moment, then turned away and tried to stifle a shiver after his gaze fell to her loosely-covered chest. “It is true, our incarceration was cut short by a most unexpected development. Two days after we were taken, some of our captors turned up with a poster featuring Tim's face with an extensive list of criminal charges written below it. They were most impressed. Tim leveraged this newfound respect to earn their trust, then worked his way very quickly up the ranks.”

“Impossible,” said Julian. “Nobody can earn that much trust from a criminal organization in that short a time, even with an amazing Charisma score.”

“He claimed to be able to give them something that nobody else could, and by the gods did he deliver.”

“Goddamn,” said Denise. “How good a head does that little prick give?”

Katherine glared at her. “Not another fucking word out of you.” She turned back to Tanner, fearful of what Tim might have done to impress him so much. “What exactly did he deliver?”

“Weapons, the likes of which I've never seen. They were like tiny steel crossbows which fired shaftless bolts. I don't know how to better explain it, except to say that they were far more devastating than I've just made them sound. He had some dire rats brought in for a demonstration.” Tanner's eyes glazed over as he lost himself in the memory. “It was a massacre.”

“Oh my God,” said Stacy. “These weapons. Were they extremely loud?”

Tanner nodded. “That was their one drawback, but easily canceled out by a simple Silence spell.”

Stacy shook her head. “You'd think that faking his own death might be as low as he could go, but he never ceases to amaze.” She pounded the table with her fist. “He's running fucking guns to this world.”

That was as much as Katherine could stand. Well aware of how far she was crossing the lines of etiquette given her relationship to the establishment, she finally helped herself to a glass of beer.

“Hang on,” said Cooper. “How can you tell us he faked his death? We all saw Mordred slice Tim's throat from ear to ear, then kick him off that flying island.”

Tanner gasped.

“And I saw Basil eat him,” said Randy. “Well, I caught the last part anyway.”

Tanner gasped again.

Cooper folded his arms across his chest, looking very satisfied with himself as he raised an eyebrow at Stacy. “You mean to tell us that you believe he'd put himself through all that and expect to survive?”

“Of course not,” said Tim, speaking in Tanner's voice and standing where Tanner had just been standing. “That would be preposterous.”

Katherine sprayed beer out of her mouth and nose. Stools and chairs skidded against the floor behind her and more than one blade slid out of their sheaths. Stacy's fist was cocked and ready to fly into Tim's face.

“Tim?” said Cooper.

Tim rolled his eyes. “No.” He reached up to the back of his head, pulled out the mysterious hair clip that had been with his remains in the shit jar, then grew and darkened back into Tanner.

Cooper scratched the back of his head. “So Mordred slit your throat?”

“No,” said Tanner. “It was my throat that was slit, but it was Tim who did the slitting.”

Several people gasped. Katherine drank deeply from her glass.

“So it was you that Basil ate,” said Randy. “That makes a lot more sense now.”

“Not so much for me,” said Tanner. “When you say this Basil fellow ate me, do you mean... I'm afraid I honestly don't know how else to interpret it. On the surface it sounds quite unambiguous.”

“Ain't nothin' unamphibious about it, Hot Chocolate. You was gobbled right up by Randy's pet lizard.”

“Basilisk,” Randy corrected her. He smiled at Tanner. “That's why I called him Basil.”

Tanner looked horrified. “I was eaten by a basilisk? Then how...”

“You spent quite some time as a literal piece of shit,” Denise explained. “I reckon you was lucky we thought you was Tim, else Katherine here might not have gone to all that bother to bring you back.”

Katherine choked on her beer. Why would that hairy little bitch say something like that?

“That's absolutely not true!” she said when she regained control of her voice. “I totally would have!” The unwavering certainty only highlighted the bullshittedness of her claim. “Well, I don't know. Maybe not. But not because you're black.”

The silent cringes from all around the room were palpable. Katherine was afraid to dig herself any deeper and wished someone else would say something, anything at all.

Frank finally broke the silence. “I can't tell you how thrilled I am to hear that your brother's still alive and slitting throats.”

Katherine shouldn't have been so open-ended with what she wished someone would say. She frowned apologetically at Tanner. “Did something happen between you two? Was there a reason he would have wanted to kill you?”

Tanner shrugged. “He visited me in my cell the night before, claiming he had made a deal with the Rat Bastards. When I asked him if I was to be released, he looked at me the same way you look at me now, except more blearily due to the large amount of stonepiss he had obviously drunk. He said he did not want me to take personally what he had to do, and explained that my kind are not really people, constantly referring to me as an Enpici. I can only assume that is some kind of halfling term for drow.”

“NPC,” said Frank. “Non Player Character.”

Katherine let out a long sigh of relief. “Tim's so not a racist.” When everyone in the room but Denise shot her an annoyed glare, she shut up and allowed Tanner to continue his story.

“It was for the good of his people, he said. They had not the intelligence nor the courage to do what must be done in order to bring them safely back to their real lives.”

“He's got some fucking nerve,” said Stacy. Katherine thought it was a little unfair that nobody gave her the stink eye for interrupting, but she decided to be the bigger person and keep her opinion to herself.

“Not that they deserved it,” Tanner continued, clearly still bitter about having been murdered, thrown off a ledge, then eaten and shat out by a basilisk. “His words, not mine. Not after the way they had treated him. But such was his... I'm trying to recall his exact phrasing... cross to bear?”

Stacy laughed hollowly. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yes, he did make several references and comparisons between himself and the New God. I'm afraid I was unable to comprehend most of them, due to both my lack of knowledge and his slurred speech.”

“I still don't understand what killing you was supposed to accomplish,” said Julian.

“Naturally I asked the very same question. He said his people – I now assume he was referring to you all – needed to see him slain by Mordred, so that you would go back to cowering in your tavern and not get in the way of his plan. He assured me that my sacrifice was also comparable to that of the New God, though perhaps not quite so much as his own.  He would save his ungrateful people, delivering them from this world, and forgive them.”

“That's enough.” Stacy slapped her hands down on the table. “I can't listen to any more of this.”

Julian cleared his throat. “I know this isn't going to be a popular opinion, and I want to make it clear that I'm not condoning or defending Tim's actions in any way.” He paused, seemingly afraid to say what was on his mind. “But what if he really has a plan?”

“He does have a plan,” said Stacy. “That's the problem.”

“How so?”

“Did Tanner not spell it out clearly enough? Tim's plan is running guns from our world to an organized crime syndicate in this one.”

Julian shrugged. “You've got to admit, it's thinking outside the box. With Mordred getting so powerful so quickly, maybe this is the only way to stop him.”

“You are defending him,” said Tony the Elf. “Is there no point at which you just admit he's a piece of shit and cut him loose? This inn is the closest thing we have to a home in this world, and now we have to burn it down because of him.”

Katherine's beer glass shattered in her grip, spilling blood and suds into a puddle at her feet. She might not be a vampire any more, she didn't subsist on blood and could no longer will herself into bat form, but she still occasionally felt those violent impulses, those sudden compulsions to punch someone's face into pulp or tear out their throat with her teeth. She could contain it well enough, but she wasn't about to let Julian take all the heat for defending her brother.

“Maybe he had a point about all of you sitting here on your asses. At least he's taking some action.”

“Actions are good,” said Stacy. “But the actions he's taking have the potential to be disastrous. Think of all the ways this could backfire. He's supplying a gang of criminals with deadly weapons. How long will it be before they turn on him? Hell, we turned on him, and most of us actually gave a shit about him. What happens when he outlives his usefulness and they figure out how to get back and forth to Earth on their own?”

Katherine frowned. “I'm sure he's considered that, and is taking the necessary precautions.” She wasn't at all sure of either of those things.

“What happens when Mordred catches on and starts arming his own rival gang?”

“We don't know that he isn't already.”

“Katherine, we know you love your brother. Look how far you went to get him resurrected. But you know him better than anybody. How much do you trust him alone with his thoughts, a flask of stonepiss, and a gun?”

Katherine's gulp seemed to echo in the dead silent tavern. “I didn't say they were necessarily good actions. She could feel her tears burning tracks down her cheeks. “I know he's a piece of shit. He know's he's a piece of shit. He's desperate now. The only choice he's got is to roll the dice and either redeem himself or die trying.”

“We've argued in these circles before,” said Frank. “Seeing as how we have to burn this place to the ground anyway, the sitting-on-our-asses option is off the table. We need –”

“Hang on just a second,” said Denise. “We was late to the party. Could you explain why, exactly, we got to torch this place?”

“We can't keep Mordred here,” said Tony the Elf. “This Mordred is very powerful. He's been sucking energy out of a magical tree or something.” He looked at Chaz. “Maybe you could explain that better?”

Chaz shrugged. “That pretty much sums it up.”

“The other Mordreds will come looking for him,” Frank explained. “And we can't just abandon the place because Mordred might lay a trap for any of our people who to come back.”

“What if we was to leave one or two folks here to guard it?” asked Denise. “I'd be happy to volunteer, on account of I probably shouldn't be doin' too much traveling anyway, what with my bein' preggers 'n all.”

“Preggers?” said Rhonda. She turned to Randy. “I thought you were...”

Randy looked annoyed. “They ain't mine.”

“They?”

“I was violated,” said Denise. “A scorpion monster lady pumped her fertilized eggs into my cooter.”

“Your cooter?”

Denise rolled her eyes. “Goddamn, Double Stuf. Do I got to draw you a diagram? The place where babies grow.”

Rhonda rolled her eyes. “You mean your uterus?”

“Let's split the difference. Cooterus. Happy now?”

Rhonda opened her mouth to speak again, but Frank cut her off.

“Your offer is very thoughtful. But after the little interrogation you gave him down in the cellar, I don't think it's wise for you to wait around for Mordred to turn up and find you.”

“I ain't afraid of him. I'll kick his tiny ass all over again.”

“There are more than one of him out there,” said Tony the Elf. “When he shows up, he's going to do so with enough firepower to kill everyone he expects to be here. You think one pregnant dwarf is going to stop him?”

Denise grinned. It was unnerving, as it always was. “Your answer's right there in the question, Peter Cottonballs.” She pointed at her bulging belly. “I got myself here a little insurance policy.”

Rhonda scowled and shook her head. “First, it's reprehensible that you'd use your unborn children as human shields.”

“They ain't human, you fuckin' racist. I told you, they's some kind of scorpion people freaks of nature.”

Rhonda closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “And second, what makes you think Mordred is going to show you any mercy because you're pregnant? Maybe he will, but maybe he feels the same way about NPCs as Tim does. You're risking those babies' lives on some pretty flimsy reasoning.”

“Ain't nothin' flimsy about it, and I ain't riskin' shit. Right, Randy?”

“What?” Randy stared back at her in wide-eyed shock to be asked for his testimony in the matter.

“Tell these folks what the High Cleric from the Temple of Life told me after she shoved her fist elbow-deep up my cooch.”

Everyone in the room cringed.

Randy thought hard. “I don't remember exactly. Somethin' about a tingling sensation?”

“Please,” said Tony the Elf. “We've heard more than we want to hear.”

All of a sudden, Katherine recalled what Denise was referring to, and it wasn't needlessly disgusting or horrible at all. In fact, it sounded surprisingly reasonable.

“She said the gods wouldn't let any harm come to either you or your children until you've given birth.”

“That's right.” Denise scanned the room frowning in judgment. “Y'all folks got some filthy fuckin' minds.”

Frank looked at Randy. “Is that right?”

Randy nodded. “The gods was real pleased about what we done. They gave each of us a gift. They brought Tanner here back to life for Katherine, they made Basil my special paladin mount, and they promised just like Katherine said about Denise's scorpion people babies.”

Rhonda rubbed her chins in thought. “What if we used that. We could go after Tim without worrying about getting riddled with bullets.”

“Now wait just a goddamn minute,” said Denise. “Ain't you the one who just laid into me about using my babies as human shields?”

“As much as I hate to say it,” said Frank, “I've got to agree with Denise. If the gods granted her this protection, I don't think they'd appreciate us taking advantage of it like this.”

“Is that any worse than keeping her here to protect your precious bar?” asked Rhonda.

“I'm not keeping her anywhere. If a pregnant woman, protected by the gods, wants to take shelter in this tavern, I'm not going to stand in her way. Any collateral protection that may provide to the tavern itself is incidental.” After pausing for further objections that didn't come, he continued. “The rest of us are going to split up. Some of us will need to babysit the Mordred we've got. We can't let the other Mordreds rescue him, so we'll need to hide him somewhere that he'd never think to look for himself.”

Katherine felt excited to be able to contribute something. “I know just the place!”

Frank waved his hands frantically at her. “Shut up!”

“You don't have to be a dick about it.”

“I'm sorry,” said Frank. “I had to speak quicker than I could think.” He turned to Denise. “Would you mind waiting down in the cellar with Mordred for a moment?”

Denise nodded and licked her lips. “You want I should see what information I can get out of him?”

“Jesus Christ, no! Don't touch him. Don't do anything. I just don't want you to hear this part of the conversation. It's better for everyone if you don't know where we're taking him.”

“Fine.” Denise started waddling to the door leading down to the cellar. “Come on, Randy.”

“Huh?” said Randy. “I reckon I ought to stay up here and see what I can do to help.”

“The fuck you talkin' about? I need you to stay here with me.”

“You'll be alright. The gods are protecting you, remember?”

“Yeah, right up until these freaks start eatin' their way out of me. I don't know the gestation period for bug people. What if I give birth here all alone? I might need you to shove your Healing Fist of Jesus up my hoo-ha.”

Randy frowned. “I'd probably just touch your arm or something.”

“It's okay,” said Frank. “She's got a point. I don't think any of us want to come back here and find a bunch of orphaned scorpion kids devouring their dead mother.”

“I don't feel right staying here while y'all are going out puttin' yourselves in danger.”

“It could get dangerous here too,” said Katherine. “Remember, Frank said there's a good chance you might get a visit from another Mordred. You might even turn out to be the instrument of the gods that keeps Denise safe.”

Randy thought hard about Katherine's bullshit proposal. “I reckon you might be on to something there.” He nodded resolutely. “Alright, I'll stay here and guard Denise and the Whore's Head Inn with my life. Let's go down to the cellar, Denise.”

Frank waited for a few seconds after the door closed behind them, then turned to Katherine. “Where did you have in mind?”

“Nazere.”

“I've heard of that place,” said Fritz. “Isn't that a frozen island that's ruled by an evil Ice Queen?”

“It was, but –”

“I don't like it,” said Frank. “Too risky. We'd have to book passage on a ship with a tied-up prisoner wearing a bag of shit on his head.”

“That's not a –”

“And then once we get there, what are we going to do to keep warm? Where are we going to stay? What are we going to eat? No, we have to move fast and stay off the grid. We can't risk –”

“FRANK!” said Katherine. “Shut up.”

My, but that was satisfying.

When she had everyone's undivided attention, she continued. “The Ice Queen is dead, the island is now a tropical paradise, and I have a ship.”

Frank sucked up his pride and cleared his throat. “I'll admit those additional details make this Nazere place a more favorable destination to consider.”

“Also, the Ice Queen had some kind of mining operation going on. What better place to keep a prisoner in the dark than an abandoned mine tunnel? And she would have had to have some way of feeding all those sailors she enslaved, so there must be some food stored on the island.”

“I like it,” said Tony the Elf. “An island would give us visibility for miles in every direction. Even if Mordred did find us, we'd have a better chance there of seeing him coming and mounting some kind of defense or luring him into a trap.”

“What about the dice?” asked Stacy. “Hiding on an island isn't going to do us anymore good than hiding here if Mordred gets his hands on those dice before we do.”

“And Tim,” said Katherine. She felt she had enough leverage now to be a little assertive. “I'm only offering the use of my ship on the condition that I have everyone's word we intend to take Tim alive.”

Everyone nodded their agreement except for a grumbling dwarf in the back, but Frank shut him up with a harsh look. That would have to do.

“Julian and I can go after Tim,” said Stacy. “We know a recruiting station for the Rat Bastards. I might be able to squeeze out some information on his whereabouts.”

“Great idea,” said Katherine. “Because Tim reacted so well the last time he saw you two together.”

Julian looked at Stacy. “She's right. You should take Cooper with you. He's closer to Tim and less likely to arouse any jealous feelings.”

Cooper farted. “That cuts deep, man.”

“I'll go after the dice,” Julian continued. “Hopefully, they're mostly still up on the Crescent Shadow. The mission will require more finesse than force, so I'll take Cheese.”

“It's Chaz,” said Chaz.

“I'm sorry. What did I say?”

“Cheese.”

“I was close.”

“I don't want to go back up to that flying island. I almost died there. Why can't I go to the tropical island?”

“Because you just tried to fuck us all over by getting Mordred to send you home first,” said Rhonda. “You'll go wherever the hell we tell you to go, or you'll be tied to a chair in a mine shaft with a bag of shit on your head.”

Frank frowned nervously at the door. “Good luck to all of you. I wish we had more time to think of something less hasty and desperate, but Mordred knows where we are and could be on his way here right now. We can't risk losing the one thing we've got going for us.” He turned to Katherine. “Where's this ship of yours?”

“It's docked in the harbor,” said Katherine. “Where the hell else would it be? It's a goddamn ship.”

“Where the hell else indeed,” said Tony the Elf, rubbing his chin in thought.

“I don't get it. Was that supposed to sound profound or something?”

“I was just thinking. If I was Mordred, and I was planning to come and rescue this particular Mordred, I'd probably check in periodically to see if I'd been moved.”

Frank nodded. “Yeah?”

“Most places we'd move him wouldn't offer him many clues. His vision and sense of smell are pretty much completely blocked by the shitbag. And as long as we keep him in a quiet place that's roughly the same temperature, he's not going to gather much from his senses of hearing and touch. But a boat is a dead giveaway. The roll of the waves, the cawing of seagulls, the salty spray in the air. We can't hide all that. He'll know he's on a boat right away. And like Katherine said, there's only one place in the city where we'd be leaving by ship.”

“Good point,” said Rhonda. “And then there's the matter of hauling a bound prisoner through the city at night.”

Katherine smiled. “None of that is a problem.” She held up her Bag of Holding. “As long as I keep replacing the air in here every ten minutes or so, he won't have any idea where he is.”

While everyone busied themselves making last-minute preparations for the various journeys they were about to embark on, Katherine helped herself to another pint and wondered what Tim was getting up to. Killing Tanner had been a dick move, but at least he sounded like he was moving forward with some kind of plan. Everyone here was so quick to jump to the worst conclusions, but maybe Tim actually knew what he was doing and would surprise them all.

Chapter 3

His tiny balls emptied, Tim sighed and lay flat on his back. Lissa disengaged her face from his junk and lay next to him. His dick looked like half a Q-tip just barely poking out from a nest of Brillo. The first time things had heated up between them, he'd used a Hair Clip of Disguise to take his true human form, both because he thought Lissa might prefer that to fucking a midget and because he missed his old dick. But she said it made her uncomfortable.

Tim supposed there was some logic in that. Maybe in this world, that was the equivalent of putting on blackface before hopping in bed with a woman of color. Blackface reminded him of the last time he saw Katherine, suspended in a cage beneath the Crescent Shadow. Why the hell had she painted her skin black? Could it be that she missed Tanner's dong and was trying to court other drow? He wanted to believe that she wouldn't do anything so tasteless, but he honestly couldn't be sure.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Lissa, running her fingers through Tim's forest of chest hair.

“My sister.”

Lissa frowned and removed her hand from Tim's chest, and Tim considered how fucked up a thing to say that was while he still had an erection.

“Not like that!” said Tim. “And not while you were... down there.” He nodded at his dick, which was now thankfully deflating back beneath the Brillo. “I'm just kind of worried that she might get herself into trouble. I was counting on the island jumping before I pulled those cages back up. The desert was supposed to bury the half-drow's body forever. Now Dave tells me she's gone off on some harebrained quest to get me resurrected.”

“If she succeeds, she will learn much from the half-drow. This would not be good for any of us.”

Tim laughed. “That's one thing you absolutely don't have to worry about. She's broke and homeless, and her only friend in this world is a wolf. Back home, she could barely scrape together enough cash to get shitfaced every Saturday night. I don't see her being able to raise the kind of money it would take to pay for a Resurrection spell. Don't get me wrong, I love her. But I shudder to think of how she's getting on without me to keep her out of trouble.”

Lissa smiled and ran the tip of her finger around his left nipple, which Tim assumed was supposed to be arousing, but it actually just tickled.

“Let us speak no more of your sister tonight then. Pleasure me with your mouth the way you did on our first night together.”

Tim glanced down at her bush, which she seemed to be growing competitively. She had a nice enough body to look at and touch, but her crotch smelled like the dumpster behind a Long John Silver's.

“I was really drunk that night.”

Lissa's smile faltered. “Do you find the act... distasteful?”

She couldn't have picked a better word.

“Fuck no!” Tim lied. He scrambled to think of something to follow that up with. “The alcohol just loosens up the tongue is all. You don't want me to go in there all rigid.”

Lissa snuggled up closer to him and whispered in his ear. “I might like it rigid.”

Tim considered holding his breath and taking the plunge. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, after all. Then he reconsidered, recalling their first night together. Lissa was a squirter, and he'd practically been swimming by the end of it. He finally had a good thing going, and it would all come crumbling down the second he threw up in her snatch. Going in mildly drunk was too risky. This mission required being properly shitfaced.

He scooted to the side, far away enough from her so that he could turn and face her. “How about this? Let's have a few drinks while my weapon reloads, then I'll go down on you so hard it'll make the last time seem like a kiss from your grandfather.”

Lissa cringed.

“Sorry,” said Tim. “That was unnecessarily gross. But you get the idea, right?”

“Very well, but only if you agree not to put your finger in my anus this time.”

“You said you liked that.”

“I like to please you,” said Lissa. “But it was uncomfortable, and sore all the next day.”

Tim felt embarrassed and a little disappointed, not to mention a bit vexed that she hadn't considered the suffering he'd gone through all the next day with that taste in his mouth. But he was willing to let it slide. That was a small price to pay for being able to numb his tongue before diving back down into that putrid crotch tunnel.

“Agreed.”

Lissa rose from the bed and slipped on a translucent green silk robe, but allowed the front to stay open. She went to a nook in the wall which may have been designed to house an urn or display a trophy or something, but was currently serving as a bar, where crystal decanters held liquids of various colors. “What can I get you?”

Tim leaned over the side of the bed to dig through his bag for a flask. The one on top was nearly empty, so he chugged down the last of the stonepiss inside it. “Whatever that green shit was we were drinking the other night.”

“Ansithe?”

“Sure. That might be my new go-to drink of choice.”

“How can you be so fond of it when you don't even know what it's called?” asked Lissa. “It usually takes years to develop a taste of ansithe, and most people don't bother for that very reason.”

“Then why do they even make it?”

“Its original use was medicinal. In more barbaric cultures, and in places where clerics are too few and far between, some people still practice the healing ways of the ancients, slicing open people's bodies and physically tending to their innards. They use ansithe to numb the patient. Over time, some of those patients who survived several of these treatments acquired a taste for it, and began to drink it recreationally.”

Tim wouldn't say he'd acquired a taste for it exactly. In truth, it was only marginally more palatable than the fermenting rat's nest between Lissa's legs. But he liked the way it made him feel, or rather fail to feel.

He tossed her his empty flask.

Lissa caught it effortlessly. Her Dexterity was on par with his own.

“I can pour it in a glass, you know.”

“I've gotten used to drinking from a flask,” said Tim. “It doesn't feel right any other way.”

She filled his flask with ansithe and poured herself a glass of something pink, then returned to the bed.

“Tell me,” she said, handing over the flask. “How did you first meet this Dave?”

The question smelled fishier than her tuna taco.

“Is that what this is all about? Are you using Gather Information on me?”

“I do not understand.”

“You suck my dick, then start in with the interrogation? Who put you up to this? Zippo? You can tell that rat-faced motherfucker that if he wants to ask me a question, he can come in here and suck my dick himself.”

Tim swished the first mouthful of ansithe around in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. The stuff had to be made from ogre bile or something equally horrific. But damn if it didn't start working immediately upon hitting the bloodstream. He was still annoyed at getting asked to spill his guts right after he spilled his load, but the booze was taking the edge off.

“You are being paranoid,” said Lissa, wrapping her arm around Tim and pulling him in to rest his head on her tit. It felt simultaneously motherly and arousing. “Nobody put me up to it. I take your seed in my mouth because it pleases me to give you pleasure. But people are talking, and certain members of the team are wondering what is so special about this mysterious fat dwarf you were so keen to recruit.”

“We met in Mrs. Kittinger's first grade class at West Jefferson Elementary School. Are you satisfied?”

“You speak nonsensical words in a bitter tone. Remember that you are new here yourself.”

Tim sat up and turned to face Lissa. “I didn't ask to be a Rat Bastard. You chose me.”

Lissa frowned. “Are you unhappy here?”

“Of course not. I'm thrilled to be a part of the team. But I might be even happier if you all would stop second-guessing me.”

“Distrust is part of our nature,” said Lissa. “Especially toward dwarves.”

Tim frowned. “That sounds kind of racist.”

“They are slow and graceless, ill-suited to this line of work. Some fear your Dave is more of a liability than an asset.”

“Dave has uses. He's a cleric.”

“We tend to be distrustful of clerics as well.”

“What party doesn't have use for a healer?”

“Riley and Bisby both are practiced in minor healing magic. The nature of our pursuits is such that we seek to avoid engaging in combat whenever possible. Our healing requirements are well met.”

“Then how about because he's my friend and I've got personal business with him I have to attend to?”

“We have already allocated much time and resource to your personal business, and for what? A silly trinket and a fat dwarf.”

Tim rolled off the bed and took a swig from his flask. “Aren't you forgetting about the guns? How much territory have we gained because of me? How many rival gangs have we shut down literally overnight because I gave us an unstoppable edge?”

“No one is questioning the value of what you have provided us,” said Lissa. “We are very grateful, but where is the benefit in any of that if we are eternally beholden to you?”

“Don't be so dramatic. You're not eternally beholden to me. And I'm not asking you to put Dave out on field missions. I just need to keep him around where I know he's safe until I get the things I –”

RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP

Someone was banging on the door.

“Who's there?” Lissa called out while Tim grabbed one of his guns from a side pocket in his bag.

“It's the new guy,” said Riley from the other side of the door. “There's been some trouble.”

“Shit.” Tim pulled on his pants and tucked the gun down the back. The cold steel against his ass gave him a chill. He didn't want to run out there brandishing a piece, but neither did he want to go unprepared for whatever trouble Dave was getting himself into.

As long as Lissa needed time to put on some less revealing clothing, Tim threw on his shirt as well, but didn't bother to button it, making better use of the time that would take by gulping back as much ansithe as his throat would allow.

Lissa opened the door and walked hurriedly alongside Riley down the corridor as she spoke. “What happened?”

“I don't know the finer details. Something to do with Vaeryn. Torgo is most displeased.”

“Shit,” Tim repeated, jogging behind them. Torgo was the team's muscle, reserved exclusively for missions which required something to have the shit smashed out of it. He was extremely jealous about his elven lover, Vaeryn, who was the only female other than Lissa on the team. Tim had gotten more than one warning growl from Torgo for his gaze even accidentally wandering in the direction of Vaeryn's stunning cleavage.

It wasn't long before Tim could hear the sounds of a one-sided fight. Torgo was shouting and Dave was whimpering. With all the weapons in the hidden sewer complex, Tim tried to think of it as a bright side that Torgo was merely beating the shit out of Dave, as murdering him would have been a pretty simple and straightforward affair. Then again, Torgo seemed like the sort who would prefer his murders to be more drawn out and hands-on.

When they arrived on the scene, they were just outside the bathroom, which featured not only toilet stalls, but an actual bath. Dave was naked, crouched in a fetal position to protect himself as well as he could from Torgo's repeated kicks. Vaeryn stood a few feet away, dressed only in a loose robe that left very little to the imagination.

Had Dave fucked her? Tim was impressed. He would have thought Vaeryn was way out of Dave's league. Then again, Torgo was no prize either. Poor Dave was in a sorry state, black and blue and bleeding all over, but damn. It might well have been worth it.

“TORGO!” shouted Tim, drawing his weapon. It was the sort of gun an old woman might carry in her purse, but it had the least amount of recoil of the guns he'd swiped from Walmart. That was an important thing to consider for someone who only weighed forty pounds. Besides, nobody here would make that association except for Dave, and Tim was pretty sure both of Dave's eyes were currently swollen shut.

Torgo stopped swearing and spitting and kicking the shit out of Dave, then turned to face Tim. “Stay out of this. Dwarf hide in toilet. Touch himself while spy on Vaeryn in bath!”

Tim kept his gun trained on Torgo, but looked down at Dave, groaning and bleeding on the floor. “Dave, is that true?”

“Not completely.”

Okay good. There was a misunderstanding, and everyone was here to witness Dave tell what really happened.

“Were you hiding in the bathroom?”

“Yes,” Dave groaned.

Not a good start.

“Were you spying on Vaeryn while she bathed?”

“Yes.”

Come on, Dave. Give me something to work with.

“Were you jacking off.”

Dave sniffled back some bloody snot. “Technically, yes.”

“That wasn't a nuanced question! Goddammit, Dave, that's literally everything he just accused you of. Where's the not completely part in all that?”

“I didn't mean to hide. I was just taking a dump. When I saw her walk in through the crack in the stall door, I didn't have time to say anything before she took all her clothes off. Then I really didn't want to say anything because she'd know I already saw her naked.”

“And then you decided to crank it up a notch?”

Dave opened his swollen left eye a crack to look at Tim. “The damage was already done. I'd seen her naked. Is seeing her naked for five minutes worse than accidentally seeing her naked for two seconds?” He sighed. “It made a lot more sense in my head at the time.”

It sounded like pretty shit justification the way Dave said it out loud, but Tim could see the logic in it. In truth, he probably would have done the same thing. Every last one of these rat-diseased motherfuckers standing around gawking while Dave got the shit beat out of him would have done the same thing. Tim was certain that the amount of splooge the men in this room had spilled while thinking about Vaeryn would be enough to drown them all.

Realistically, how could Dave have helped himself. No man could resist the temptation to look at those long slender legs, that glorious vag which Tim just knew would be well-manicured and taste like lavender and honey, those smirking pink lips as moist as – Why was she smirking?

The smirk disappeared as soon as Vaeryn caught Tim gawking at her.

“There,” said Torgo. “You hear from dwarf himself. Now lower weapon, and I continue beat shit out of dwarf.”

“Just a minute,” said Tim. “I'm thinking.” Had Vaeryn lured Dave into a trap? Did she follow him into the bathroom hoping that this would happen? Aside from just being a bitch, why would she do something like that? Sure, nobody was crazy about Dave being there. They didn't like dwarves, and Dave certainly doesn't have the sort of personality that's going to sway anyone from their racist ways. But surely Vaeryn wouldn't want to risk souring the team's relationship with Tim. Come to think of it, none of the rest of the people here should want to risk that either, and yet they merely stood around and gawked while Torgo beat the shit out of Dave. Sure, Torgo's big, but three or four of them acting together could have easily subdued him. Tim was their gun guy. Why were they not doing everything in their power to please him? Why would they –

“Unnnnnnggggg...” groaned a figure that suddenly appeared in a heap on the floor near the bathroom door. Dark red stains grew rapidly on his clothes, and a puddle of blood began to grow on the floor beneath him. He held a gun in each hand, and his fingers were on the triggers.

“Zippo!” cried Vaeryn, then ran over to crouch down beside him. “What happened to you?”

Zippo winced and tried to control the pace of his breathing as he spoke. “They were there... waiting for me. Somebody tipped them off.”

“Who was waiting for you?” asked Tim. “Where were you?” Then it hit him. “You went back to Walmart, didn't you? Jesus, please tell me you didn't shoot a cop.”

“My weapons... had very little effect. It was as though they were... protected by some magical force.”

“It's called Kevlar, fucktard. Why the hell would you hit the same store we just hit a few days ago? Why would you go without me?”

“There will be time to talk later,” said Lissa. “Zippo is dying on the floor while you insult him and pester him with questions. Tell your dwarf to make himself useful and heal his wounds. Perhaps we can persuade Torgo to forgive his indiscretions.”

Tim walked over to assess Zippo's gunshot wounds. “They tagged you good, my friend. Two in the chest, one in the belly, and one in the face.”

Vaeryn looked confusedly at Tim. “He didn't get shot in –”

SPLAT!

For such a little gun, it opened Zippo's head like an overripe melon. Tim was on Vaeryn's back before she even had a chance to scream, his left arm in a choke hold around her neck, and his right hand pressing the hot muzzle of his gun into the side of her head.

Several people gasped, including Dave, who had been crawling over to heal Zippo.

“Tim!” said Lissa. “What are you doing?”

“What the fuck does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking a fucking hostage.” Tim was facing Lissa, but he was careful to keep Torgo in his periphery. When Torgo took a step toward him, Tim responded with as severe a don't-test-me look as he could muster. “Stay the fuck back!”

“I heal me,” said Dave, his hands over his junk. The darkest of his bruises faded away and the swelling in his eyes receded.

“Everybody be cool, and nobody has to get hurt,” said Tim. He'd seen enough terrible movies to have this part of the script memorized.

“You'll never get out of here alive,” said Lissa, sounding like she'd seen the same terrible movies. “You can't kill us all. This can only end one of two ways. You release Vaeryn and surrender, and we'll give you as swift a death as you gave Zippo. Or you kill Vaeryn, and we let Torgo decide your fate.”

“Dave, get over here,” said Tim. He scanned the room, looking each one of the Rat Bastards in the eye. “You double-crossing pieces of rat shit. You thought you didn't need me anymore. Now that you know where the guns are, you can fuck over me and Dave and get them for yourself.” He nodded down at Zippo's mutilated face. “Well look how that worked out for you.”

Dave approached close enough to whisper in Tim's ear. “Please tell me you've got an exit plan.”

Without taking his eyes off Torgo, Tim whispered back. “Drag Zippo into the bathroom, take his boots, and put them on.”

“That seems unhelpful and a little petty.”

“Just fucking do it!”

Thankfully, Dave stopped his asinine arguments and dragged Zippo's body out of sight. Even more thankfully, Vaeryn was taking Tim's threat seriously enough to not blurt out any of what he'd just whispered to Dave, though she had surely heard every word with her big-ass ears and would be smart enough to know his intentions.

Lissa took her hybrid form, stretching open her robe and revealing her vag to be no less hairy now. One by one, the other Rat Bastards followed her lead. That gave them Damage Reduction to non-silver-or-magical weapons. His bullets would still hurt like a son of a bitch, but the chances of him taking down even one of them were minimal. It also rendered them unable to communicate verbally, which said pretty much all Tim needed to know. They were past negotiations, and were preparing to close in on him.

“Hurry the fuck up, Dave!”

“I'm doing my best!” Dave called back from the other side of the doorway.

“Drag me toward the door,” Vaeryn whispered. “They'll have a more difficult time getting to you with me blocking the way.”

Tim was wary to take advice from his hostage, but he couldn't ignore the logic. She hadn't attempted to take her hybrid form, no doubt fearing that would force Tim to make a split-second decision as to whether or not to shoot her in the head before the transformation was complete. She must have calculated her best chance at getting out of this alive, given her knowledge of Tim's exit plan, was now to help him make that happen.

“Everybody stay back, or else she gets it!” Tim stepped back toward the bathroom doorway, and Vaeryn feigned resistance as she scooted back with him.

The wererats closed in a tighter semicircle around him, but none dared be the one to either get shot in the face or get Vaeryn killed. And why would they? As far as they were concerned, they had him cornered. They had all the time in the world. They had –

Lissa reverted back into her human form. “Stop him!” she said to her fellow Rat Bastards. “He's going to use the boots! Don't let them get away!”

A few rat-men moved in a little more aggressively, but their gazes kept flickering sideways, each hoping that one of the others would make the first move.

“Please, Torgo,” Vaeryn pleaded with the largest of the wererats. “He's desperate. If you let them attack, he'll kill me for sure.”

Torgo stopped hissing and drooling, then glanced to his left and right.

Tim stepped back into the doorway. “Dave! What the fuck is taking so long? It's just a goddamn pair of boots!” There was no point in trying to remain coy about his intentions now that Lissa had figured them out.

“They were difficult to pull off his feet,” said Dave. “I'm almost there.”

Tim chanced a quick look in Dave's direction and saw that he was pulling on the second boot.

One of the wererats took advantage of Tim's distraction and lunged at him.

Vaeryn screamed as Tim failed to pull the trigger.

Torgo grabbed the lunging wererat by the neck and threw him aside, then three others jumped Torgo.

“Get him!” shouted Lissa.

The remaining wererats moved in closer, and with less cowardice in their eyes. Tim's bluff had been called.

“Now, Dave!”

Dave stood up, naked but for a pair of brown leather boots and hiding his junk with both hands. He looked like a Texan stripper who'd accidentally turned up at a child's baptism rather than a bachelorette party.

“There! I'm wearing the fucking boots! Now what?”

“They're Boots of Teleportation,” said Tim. “Wrap your arms around us and teleport us the fuck out of here!” As Dave nakedly hugged him and Vaeryn, Tim smiled at Lissa. “Thanks for the beej. Sorry I won't be able to return the favor. You really should wash that thing out every now and again.”

“You ungrateful little...” Lissa seethed, then started morphing back into her hybrid rat-person form.

“That was constructive criticism,” said Tim. “It's better you hear it from me than...” She didn't appear to appreciate the advice, and he knew she didn't give a shit whether Vaeryn lived or died. “Dave!”

Dave squeezed them in his arms. “Where to?”

“Who gives a fuck? Just GO!”

“I teleport... we!” cried Dave just as Lissa lunged at them.

As a flash of blinding light engulfed them, Tim felt neither claws nor teeth tearing his face apart. Instead, he felt something soft like a sheet of cotton.

Chapter 4

“Hot damn!” said Denise as she slid the bolt into place, locking the Whore's Head Inn's front door. She waddled behind the bar excitedly. “What'll you have, Randy? We got beer, stonepiss, and...” She pursed her lips as she scanned the shelves at the back of the bar. “And that appears to be it. No matter. Keeps things simple.”

A cold beer sounded mighty nice to Randy. Or even a warm one, considering nobody was here to cast a Ray of Frost spell on it. But it didn't feel right to drink in front of Denise while she was pregnant, even if she was in an uncharacteristically friendly mood.

“I reckon I'll turn in early tonight. It's been a long day.”

“Too fuckin' right it has.” Denise poured stonepiss into a beer glass. “That's precisely why I proposed the drink, dumbass.”

Randy sighed and shuffled toward the bar. He supposed it was rude to turn down Denise's attempt at hospitality, but wished she hadn't made the decision for him.

“That's an awful lot of stonepiss,” he said. “Would you mind if I drank it from a shot glass instead?”

“I don't give a good goddamn how you drink it. Suck it up through your poophole for all I care.” Denise closed her eyes blissfully as she raised the glass to her wide open mouth.

“NO!” cried Randy. He ran forward and slapped the glass out of Denise's hand just in time. “SMITE!” There weren't no point in holding back. The glass smashed against the wall clear on the other side of the tavern, leaving a crescent-shaped dent in the wood visible from where they stood at the bar. The spray of stonepiss radiating out from the mark reminded Randy of a junebug hitting a windshield at eighty miles per hour. As full as the glass had been, there was almost none on the floor among the glistening shards of broken glass.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” said Denise.

“I apologize if I startled you, but you know I can't allow you to consume alcohol while you's with child. It ain't healthy for the babies.”

“Goddammit, Randy. It's a fuckin' miracle that tiny brain of yours can keep your heart beatin' and your lips flappin' at the same time. How is it you already forgot the reason we get to stay in this dump? These babies is protected by the gods. I could do shots of straight mercury and snort powdered lead off a leper's titties, and it won't harm these kids none.”

Randy supposed Denise had a point, but her drinking still didn't sit right with him. “It's like Frank said. The gods gave you a gift, and it ain't right for you to take advantage of it like that.”

“I ain't asked for no gifts. 'Specially not the one I got. If I gotta waddle around with these freaks inside me, you best believe I'm gonna drink my way through it. What else was that Frank said? Any collateral protection the gods choose to provide for these fuckin' monsters is incidental.”

Randy frowned. “I just don't think it's right.”

“And I don't give a good goddamn what you think.” Denise looked sternly at Randy. “Now you listen here. I'm gonna pour myself another drink, and you're gonna keep those cock-pumpin' hands to yourself, else there's gonna be trouble, hear?”

Logically, there wasn't any justification to stop her.

“Just try not to overdo it, alright?”

“I'm a dwarf, Randy. I can handle my shit.” Denise skipped the glass this time, and drank straight from a stonepiss bottle, keeping a wary eye on Randy. When Randy didn't react, she grinned, then turned her attention to a broom leaning against the bar. “I reckon you best clean up that mess you made.” She picked up the broom and tossed it like a lawn dart in Randy's direction.

Randy caught the broom, which was really just a bunch of twigs all bundled up tight around a more substantial stick. He didn't like the way Denise was taking giddy satisfaction in ordering him around again, but he couldn't deny it was his mess to clean up. He walked over to the wall and started sweeping the wet glass shards into a pile.

RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP

Randy stared at the door and raised the broom like an old woman who found a possum in her trailer.

“You reckon that's Mordred?” he asked Denise.

“How the fuck should I know?”

“This is Captain Righteous Justificus Blademaster,” boomed an authoritative male voice from outside. “I demand entrance to this establishment at once!”

Randy bit his lower lip in thought. “Does that sound like a name you'd call yourself if you was Mordred?”

“That don't sound like a name I'd call myself if that was my name,” said Denise.

“I can hear you,” said the main outside the door.

Denise shrugged and nodded toward the door.

As he tiptoed toward the door, Randy pointed at Denise, then at the door. He raised his arms and squinted like he was looking through the scope of an imaginary crossbow. Now that he thought about it, he didn't recall ever seeing a crossbow with a scope in this world, but he hoped he was getting his point across. Keep me covered.

Denise nodded, then crouched down to get something from under the bar, the whole time keeping her eyes fixed on the door. When she stood up again, she was holding a fresh bottle of stonepiss.

Randy gave her a tight-lipped glare, then opened the door.

One of the king's soldiers filled the doorway, recognizable by the silver seven-pointed star clasp that held the corners of his gold cloak. The look on his face suggested he didn't appreciate having to wait.

“Evening, officer,” said Randy as cheerfully as he could muster. “How can we help you?” He backed out of the way as an alternative to being steamrolled by Captain Righteous, who needed no further invitation.

The captain scanned the room, pausing briefly to stifle a cringe when Denise winked at him. Then he turned back to face Randy.

“I seek a woman named Katherine. Do you know her?”

“That all depends,” said Denise just a touch confrontationally, like the cop in her was being challenged by an alpha law enforcement officer. “Who the fuck are –”

“We know her,” said Randy, unable to lie. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

Captain Righteous's hard eyes softened. “I sincerely hope not. Last I saw her, she was flying down on the back of a pegasus to retrieve her deceased brother's body. I failed in my promise to reunite them, and hoped to be able to redeem myself by helping her do what was necessary to have him resurrected. But there have been recent disturbances among the major rogues' guilds in the city, and my services were required by the crown. When some semblance of order had been restored, I came as quickly as I could.”

“Sounds like Randy peekin' in at a kindergarten class,” said Denise.

Randy glared at her. She grinned back, as if to ask what he was going to do about it. She was growing bolder again, less fearful of retaliation now that she'd won the stonepiss fight.

He turned back to the captain. “You ain't failed her, Captain. Tim's alive.”

“That is wonderful news indeed.” The captain's tone didn't align so well with his words. If Randy had to guess, he reckoned assisting Katherine was more important to Captain Righteous than the outcome of the assistance.

“You missed her by about an hour,” volunteered Denise. Her sneer suggested that her motives weren't entirely altruistic. “She ran off with some half-elf nig–” her gaze flickered to Randy as she caught herself; there was a limit to her newfound boldness. “–cromancer.”

Captain Righteous's brows furrowed in confusion. “A necromancer?”

“I reckon my friend here has her facts mixed up,” said Randy. “She might have had too much to drink. Katherine most certainly did not run off with a necromancer. She and some friends had an errand to run is all.”

“You say she was here an hour ago. Where did she go?”

“She went to the –”

“Hey!” said Denise. “Shut your mouth, Randy. We don't know this guy from a donkey's nutsack. All we got is his word that his intentions with Katherine are noble. I know my rights, Captain. And unless you got a warrant, we ain't gotta tell you shit.”

Randy strongly suspected that Denise had no idea of what rights she currently had.

“Very well,” said Captain Righteous. “If you will not assist me voluntarily, we can make it a matter of official Kingsguard business.”

“Bullshit, Captain Blueballs. Chasin' tail ain't no official Kingsguard business.” Denise leaned in so that the bar hefted her breasts up. “Besides, if you're lookin' to park your cruiser in a restricted zone, you can join me down in the cellar.”

The captain's face remained stern, showing neither interest nor disgust at Denise's proposal.

“Your nonsensical turns of phrase and peculiar mannerisms are evidence enough that you do indeed belong to the group of miscreants the lady Katherine associates with. But my business, in the official capacity, has not to do with Katherine, but with her brother.” He brushed aside his gold cloak and pulled a worn piece of paper from a pocket of the leather satchel he wore underneath it. When he unfolded it, Randy immediately recognized it as one of the wanted posters he and Denise had convinced the king to post all over the city.

“How did you know they was brother and sister?” asked Randy.

“She told me as much.”

“And you believed her?”

“Do you question the lady's integrity?” Captain Righteous challenged Randy with his sharp tone and penetrating stare.

“No, that ain't it. Just most folks around here seem to have a hard time wrappin' their heads around it, on account of them being different races and all.”

The captain's face relaxed as he broke eye contact with Randy. “It would not be wholly honest of me to say that I did not require some convincing.”

“That's a mighty bold strategy you got there, Cap'n,” said Denise. “After all the trouble she just went through to get her brother raised from the dead, I don't reckon you showing up and arresting him is gonna get her knickers slicker.”

“I assure you, my intentions are purely professional.”

Denise took another swig from her bottle, then belched. “They better be, 'cause Tim and Katherine ain't together anyway. Last I heard, Tim's workin' his way up the ranks of some group called the Rat Bastards.”

Captain Righteous clenched his fist, crumpling Tim's face in his hand. “That is most unfortunate news.” He sighed. “And yet somehow unsurprising.”

“How's that?” asked Randy.

“Many strange things are afoot these days.” The captain narrowed his eyes at Randy. “And somehow or another, they seem to keep leading me back to you people.”

“Queers?” said Denise.

Randy shot her an annoyed look.

“Most queer indeed,” said Captain Righteous. “I spoke earlier of escalating tensions between feuding rogues' guilds. It is the Rat Bastards who have been lashing out at rival guilds most aggressively as of late. I can hardly think it a coincidence that this Tim has recently become an active member.”

Denise choked on her stonepiss. “Hang on. You think Tim's a queer? I reckon you got your wires crossed somewhere, Cappy. He may be a knife-happy little psychopath, but I believe he at least knows which holes to poke his pecker in.”

Captain Righteous didn't strike Randy as a man who often found himself at a loss for words, but he stared at Denise now with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Hush your mouth, Denise,” said Randy. “He means queer as in strange. He's talkin' about the situation, not necessarily Tim himself.” He turned to Captain Righteous, hoping he had correctly assessed his meaning. “Pardon my saying so, sir, but it don't strike me as particularly queer for a gang to lash out at its rivals.”

The captain nodded. “True, there are occasional flareups among criminal organizations. Such villainous lowlifes would slit the throats of their fathers if it meant seizing more power or widening their territory. But the Rat Bastards appear to be employing the use of some new kind of weapon to disastrous effect.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small suede pouch, similar in size to Frank's dice bag. “These were extracted from the bodies of fallen rival guild members.” He upturned the bag, and its contents clinked onto the bar.

Denise frowned. “Nine millimeter slugs. It would appear that colored feller was telling the truth.”

“Colored feller?” said Captain Righteous. He sounded hopeful for a lead, but puzzled by the term.

Randy gave Denise a disapproving look. “I think she's referring to the necromancer she mentioned earlier.”

Captain Righteous stroked his mustache in deep contemplation as if trying to put the pieces together. “And this necromancer is raising an undead army of uniformly tiny slugs?”

“That is correct,” said Denise. She grinned, then swigged back some more stonepiss.

“Denise!” Randy snapped at her, then turned to Captain Righteous. “I'm afraid you don't understand.”

“It is true,” said the captain. “There is much I do not understand. What are the necromancer's intentions with the slugs? How does Tim fit into all of this?” He stopped at the bar. “And what are these misshapen lumps of metal?”

“Captain Righteous, sir. I reckon you'd better sit down.”

The captain nodded, seeming to comprehend the gravity of what Randy was about to dump on him. “I share in your reckoning.” He sat rigidly in a chair, as if any form of relaxation was unnatural to him.

“Denise,” said Randy. “Would you mind passing over a bottle of stonepiss and two shot glasses?”

“Please,” said Captain Righteous. “I must maintain a clear mind.”

Randy took the bottle and glasses Denise provided, set them on the table, and filled both glasses. “It's there if you change your mind.”

Over the course of the next couple of hours, Randy explained their situation to the best of his ability, beginning with what little he knew about the Caverns & Creatures game, and his best understanding of what went down with Mordred and the magic dice. He followed that with the story of how he, Stacy, and Dennis got caught up in the mix. Captain Righteous downed his first shot of stonepiss when Randy got to the part where Tim accidentally cut Dennis's balls off. Denise seethed and threatened to never speak to Randy again. But once he'd begun talking, Randy was compelled to tell the whole truth.

Finally, he brought them home with a lesson on guns and the sorts of slugs which had earlier been alluded to. Denise failed to make good on her threat, unable to keep herself from correcting him on the finer details of firearms.

“And the necromancer?” said Captain Righteous, pouring himself another glass from the nearly empty bottle.

Randy shook his head. “There is no necromancer.” Before the captain could argue, he made an effort to put the conversation back on course. “Did you hear everything I just told you?”

Captain Righteous put down his glass, still looking as sober and serious as ever. “Your story was very entertaining.” His gaze flickered toward Denise. “Most of it, anyway.”

“It weren't meant to be entertaining. I told you all this on account of there are a lot of lives on the line.”

“Indeed there are, and yet you waste my time with this preposterous fantasy about me and my entire world being figments of some deranged lunatic's imagination.”

Randy was frustrated with himself for not being able to sell the true story, but felt the captain wasn't pulling his weight as a listener.

“I don't give a hoot if you believe me or not, Captain. But you've seen firsthand what kind of power these weapons have.”

“That much is true,” said Captain Righteous, staring solemnly at nothing in particular. “I cannot deny what horrors I have seen with my own eyes.”

“The longer you let this go unchecked, the more of them horrors you're gonna see.”

Captain Righteous rose to his feet. “I shall look into the matter.”

“If you can take Tim alive, I'm sure Katherine would be mighty grateful.” Randy knew that the captain didn't need that pointed out to him, but he wanted to gauge his reaction.

“I will take what measures I can to apprehend him alive, but I will not risk the lives of my own good men to spare the life of a criminal.” With that, the captain took his leave.

Chapter 5

Neither Julian nor Chaz were particularly noisy walkers, but their footsteps echoed loudly on the otherwise silent Cardinian streets.

“Are we headed anywhere in particular?” asked Chaz. He had a certain whininess in his tone, which made Julian already start to miss Stacy.

“We're going back to the Crescent Shadow.”

“Have you forgotten that it's a flying island which teleports randomly around a big-ass desert?”

Julian could see where this was going but allowed the conversation to run its course. “No.”

“Do you feel like we're adequately prepared for such a journey?”

“I can summon some horses once we get outside the city.”

“Can they fly?”

“No.”

“Can they teleport?”

Julian sighed. “No.”

“Can they detect the location of flying islands?”

“I understand your concerns,” said Julian. “I don't know exactly how we're going to get back up there. I figured we'd get as close as we can and take it from there. If you've got any better suggestions, I'm willing to listen.”

Chaz took his lute out of his new and colorfully decorated lute case and strummed the strings. “Before in the desert we wander, our thoughts we shouldn't squander. I suggest we stop and think, lest we die with nothing to drink.”

Julian stopped in his tracks, wondering why this brilliant yet simple and seemingly obvious idea hadn't occurred to him. He spun around to face Chaz. “I love that idea!”

Chaz broke eye contact with him as he put his lute back in its case. “I thought you might.”

“Are you quite all right, sir?” asked Ravenus, flapping down to perch atop Julian's quarterstaff.

Julian offered him a reassuring smile. “Never better.”

“I only ask because I heard something that sounded like the wailing of a dying cat from over this way, but I see nothing of the sort.”

“That was probably just Chaz,” said Julian, supposing Chaz's singing might not sound as pleasant to Ravenus, who couldn't understand the Common Tongue. “He just came up with an ingenious plan for getting us back up to the Crescent Shadow. And for some reason, he chose to sing it to me.”

“Oh.” Ravenus peered suspiciously down at Chaz. “What is this plan, if you don't mind me asking?”

Julian beamed up at him. “We're going to think of a plan.”

“Okay, stop,” said Chaz, looking mildly annoyed at Julian. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“Of course not. Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

“Ugh!” Chaz closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “I honestly can't tell if you're speaking genuinely or doubling down on the sarcasm.”

Julian felt bad for Chaz. He clearly had some self-esteem issues. “You've got a good head on your shoulders. I know the other guys don't always appreciate your input, but I personally find it very enlightening.”

Chaz sighed. “I'm going to continue this conversation like you're being serious. But I want you to know that if this is sarcasm, you're being a huge dick right now.”

“I couldn't agree more, and I'm completely serious.”

“Fine, whatever. Let's get thinking.”

Julian licked his lips and rubbed his palms together. “Right! Here we go. Let's start with the obvious. How did we get there last time? Stacy, Cooper, and I rode up on a giant beanstalk, but we won't be able to replicate that without Katherine's Decanter of Endless Water. How did you get up there?”

Chaz shrugged. “Dave and I got Goosewaddle to teleport us there.”

“You are on fire tonight!” said Julian. “There's our answer. Let's pay the professor a visit. We can even grab some Arby's while we're there.”

“I don't think so,” said Chaz. “Dave and I used up the last of Goosewaddle's goodwill. In fact, he strongly suggested that he didn't want us to come back at all... ever.”

“He might have just been having a bad day or something.” Julian cocked an eyebrow debonairly. “Maybe a little Diplomacy could put us back in his good graces.”

Chaz pursed his lips in consideration. “Maybe.”

“And if that fails, you can try to cast a Suggestion spell on him with your new magical lute.”

“Can he?” said Ravenus. Julian felt a strong sense of suspicion coming from him.

“Is Arby's even open this late?” asked Chaz.

Julian shrugged. “There's only one way to find out.” He looked up at his familiar. “Hey, Ravenus. Do you remember Professor Goosewaddle's restaurant? The one with the big glowing sign that looks like a hat?”

“The place with the curly fries?”

“Yeah, that's the one.”

“The refuse pile in the alley next to it was home to some delectably obese rats last time we visited.”

Julian frowned. “That's lovely. Can you fly up and see if you can spot the sign from here?”

“As you wish, sir.” Ravenus launched himself into the air and flew upward in a tight spiral.

“So...” said Chaz, breaking the silence which had just grown much heavier.

“Should we keep thinking while we wait?” asked Julian. “I mean, just in case the Goosewaddle thing doesn't work out.”

“Absolutely.”

“We could try to find a ride on a pegasus.” This was actually Julian's initial idea, stemming from all the random pegasus activity he'd witnessed last time he was on the island. He hadn't wanted to say it aloud, fearing it sounded too stupid, but as long as they were just spitballing, the bar for quality ideas was low enough to throw this one out there.

“Or we could look for a different wizard to teleport us,” suggested Chaz. “Falling from that island really nurtured my fear of heights. I'd much rather skip the ascension part altogether if possible.”

“Teleport spells are expensive. We don't have that kind of money.”

Chaz looked down at his feet. “I've given it some thought. If it comes down to it, I might suck a dick.”

Julian didn't know how to respond to that. Changing the subject would be even more awkward. Fortunately, Ravenus returned to steer the conversation away from sucking dicks.

“I've located the restaurant, sir.”

“Excellent work, Ravenus,” said Julian. “Lead the way.”

Chapter 6

Cooper felt bad for Stacy as they walked single file toward the building at the end of the street she'd pointed out to him. With the help of the Hair Clip of Disguise, he had taken on the form of Joe Versus the Volcano era Meg Ryan, so his low Charisma score was manifesting in other ways, mostly via his ass.

Shallow Grave lived up to its reputation as the shittiest area of Cardinia. Even the Collapsed Sewer District, where the Whore's Head Inn was located, had kind of a make-the-best-with-what-you've-got vibe, but this place was like the opposite of that. The boarded-up storefronts, buildings abandoned mid-construction, and cobweb-riddled dead trees lining the cracked sidewalks gave it more of an air of quarantined failure.

“It's so impossibly bad,” Stacy whispered from behind him. She was wearing her Cloak of Elvenkind, which made her difficult to spot, but not completely invisible. “How do you live like this?”

“My Charisma is what it is.” Cooper didn't have to worry about the green-cloaked man standing guard by the front entrance seeing his lips move, as Stacy insisted he make a scarf covering his mouth part of the illusory disguise. “If I want to keep this nice set of titties, I'm going to get a little more gassy. That's just the natural order of things. These people don't know me. You could have disguised yourself with this stupid hairclip, and you wouldn't have to hide in my ass-wake.”

“You're less threatening-looking this way,” groaned Stacy. “We'll have the element of surprise.”

As they drew closer to the dingiest building in the dingiest neighborhood in the city, it occurred to Cooper that Stacy hadn't really fleshed out her plan to him.

“What am I supposed to say to this guy?”

“You don't say shit,” said Stacy. “I'll do all the talking. That's why you're wearing the scarf.”

Cooper thought for a moment. What the hell did him wearing a scarf have to do with her talking? How did she expect to stay hidden if she was talking?

Nabi sighed in his head. She is pretending that you two are one person. The guard cannot see your lips move, so he will think her voice is coming from your mouth.

“That's pretty clever,” said Cooper.

“Shh!” said Stacy. “Just try not to fart.”

Cooper clenched his cheeks and tried to pass off the change in his walk as a sashay.

The guard leered at Cooper. “How do you do, good lady?”

“How do you do?” Stacy replied, which was fortunate because Cooper had forgotten she was there.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of such a beautiful vision on this otherwise dreary night?” The guard licked his lips as he glanced left, then right.

“Oh you're too much, you little charmer you. I was just shopping for some gifts, and I hear this is the best gift shop in town.”

Cooper attempted to make appropriate gestures to follow what Stacy was saying, but he felt more like he was mocking sign language. He could barely keep up with what she was talking about anyway, the bulk of his concentration focused on keeping his sphincter sealed tight.

The guard took a step toward Cooper, then stopped just short of invading his personal space. His nose twitched and his smile faltered. “I've got a gift for you.” He reached down the front of his pants and pulled out his rather sizable semi-erect dick, which he stroked hurriedly to achieve full erection. “How about you turn around and hike up that pretty little dress of yours, and I'll give it to you.”

Cooper was quickly reaching the threshold for how much of this he could take.

“No thank you,” said Stacy curtly. “I'm just here to browse.”

The guard laughed. “I think not, miss. I'm afraid you've wandered into the wrong neighborhood.”

“You disgusting creep! We're out in the middle of the street, for crying out loud. Are you some kind of animal?”

“I can be.” The guard's face elongated and sprouted brown fur. His grin widened, his teeth becoming pointed and needle-like. Even as his arms and penis took their hybrid forms, he continued stroking.

As disturbing as the scene was, and as much as he could feel Nabi's bloodlust burning within him, Cooper appreciated the man's ability to jerk off during the metamorphosis.

“Unbelievable!” said Stacy, yanking off her hood and becoming instantly visible beside Cooper.

The guard halted his stroking and yelped something that Cooper figured was the equivalent of “What the fuck?” in rat-person-ese.

It was just as well that Stacy had moved out of the way, because Cooper's ass had finally reached its limit. If the element of surprise was their goal, he felt they had unquestionably achieved it. He couldn't think of anything more surprising than seeing Meg Ryan shitting herself in the middle of the street. When it was done, the chunky brown puddle was more massive than what eight Meg Ryans could hope to shit out over a month.

Stacy kicked the guard in his exposed rat nuts, eliciting a squeal of agony.

Cooper followed her lead, allowing Nabi to sate her nagging thirst. In another course of action not generally associated with Meg Ryan, he pulled a massive axe out of his body and buried one of its blades into the chest of a wererat. “Surprise, motherfucker!”

As Nabi relished in the delight of murder, Cooper let out a long extended fart of relief.

Stacy frowned as the body reverted back to its human form. “Why don't you give me the hairclip?”

“Gladly,” said Cooper, pulling it out and taking on his half-orc form again. “If I wore this any longer, I might have shat out my intestines.”

Stacy plucked the hair clip out of his hand and gave it a sniff. After rubbing it on her sleeve, she put it in her own hair and turned into a dude. More specifically, the dead dude lying at their feet.

“How's this?” she asked, then shook her arms and shoulders like she was psyching herself up to make a speech in front of a lot of people. “Hey there, Missy.” She didn't sound like herself. Come to think of it, she didn't sound like anybody. Her voice was more like a caricature of someone doing 1940s radio ads. “I got a gift for ya!” She thrust her crotch aggressively at Cooper. “How about you and me take a roll in the hay?”

Cooper considered it. “Do you have to wear the hair clip? I don't want to come off as homophobic, but – ”

“Cooper!” Stacy snapped at him in her own voice. “Stay focused.”

“I honestly have no idea what the fuck is happening right now.”

“Do I sound like him or not?” she asked in her other voice.

“Oh. Is that what you were going for?” He was a little freaked out, and didn't want to upset her. “Yeah, totally. You nailed it.”

“Are you lying?”

Cooper looked down at his shit puddle. “Yes.”

“Well I appreciate the gesture. Going forward, I would appreciate you not killing everyone we meet. We're trying to get information, after all.”

Just as Cooper opened his mouth to relay the message to Nabi, she cut him off.

I understand.

Cooper nodded at Stacy. “Do you have some sort of plan you'd like to fill me in on?”

Stacy gave him an annoyed look. “The plan was to try and coax some information out of this guy.”

“Sorry.”

“It's okay. He didn't sound like he was going to be very forthcoming anyway.” She scowled down at his hand still gripping his dong. “At least not with information.”

“So what do we do now?”

“First we get rid of this body.” Stacy nodded past Cooper. “That alley should suffice.”

The alley in question was a little too clean to hide a body in. There weren't any piles of garbage, stacks of crates, or broken furniture to conceal him. “Are you sure?”

“We only need to keep him hidden for as long as it takes to get what intel we can and get the hell out of here.”

“Right,” said Cooper. “I'm on it.”

“I'll take care of the body. Do you still have that Decanter of Endless Water?”

Cooper felt the slender metal container through his bag. “Yeah. Everything happened so fast, I forgot to give it back to Katherine.”

“Good,” said Stacy, patting down the guard's clothes. “You clean up this big shit puddle.” She found a small coin pouch and a dagger, both of which she absorbed into her disguised body.

“Are you sure?” said Cooper. “He looks a little heavy for –”

Even though she was disguised as the guard while doing so, Cooper thought it remarkable how easily she picked him up and hefted him over her shoulder. Then he remembered the series of arm wrestling matches he'd had with her, which he'd only won by using his Barbarian Rage. She was strong as shit.

While Stacy walked off to dump the body, Cooper pulled out the Decanter of Endless Water. He frowned down at his puddle of ass chili. This was definitely a job for the geyser setting.

He pointed the mouth of the decanter down at the puddle. “Geyser.” Water gushed out of it like a fire hose, but the shit puddle moved like lava. It expanded out slowly in an arc while the water accumulating in the middle of it turned murky brown, then started spreading out from it. This was almost certainly worse. Given enough time, he could wash the street, but in the meantime he was just flooding it in a sea of shitwater.

“You there!” said a bald human man as he stormed out of the building's entrance. He wore a green cloak identical to the one the guard had been wearing. His voice was high and nasally, just begging to be fixed with a fist. “Who are you? What are you doing? What is this –” He stopped, then scampered back just in time to avoid the expanding mass of brown water. “Stop this at once!”

Cooper deactivated the Decanter of Endless Water. “Um... hi.”

“You had better start explaining yourself at once, filthy half-orc trash.”

“Dude,” said Cooper. “No need to bring race into this.” He had a strong urge to chop the guy in half, but he had a sneaking suspicion that was coming from Nabi. Instead, he considered geysering him. That is, until the man's hands started glowing with white magical light. Cooper had seen enough of Julian's Magic Missile spells to recognize this one.

“Who are you,” the man demanded with the implied threat of blasting the shit out of Cooper. “And what are you doing here?”

“I'm the street cleaner. I was called here to clean up this giant pile of shit.” Cooper felt confident in his story, considering the unmistakable huge pile of shit there to back it up.

“Called by whom?”

Shit. This guy was good.

“I think his name was Roy.” That sucked even by Cooper standards. He needed more details to sell the story. “Kinda husky voice. Like Oscar the Grouch with throat cancer, or Kathleen Turner, or –”

“Where is Kepler?” demanded the annoying-voiced man.

“Where is Kepler?” he repeated, this time without moving his lips.

“Whoa,” said Cooper. “Do that again.”

The man shot an annoyed glance past Cooper, and his hands stopped glowing. “There you are. Do you know this... person?”

Cooper turned around to find Stacy returning from the alley, still disguised as the guard.

“There you are,” she said as she walked around the shitwater. “Do you know this... person?” Her mimicry was as on point as it was annoying.

“Stop doing that,” said the bald man. “You know I hate that.”

“Stop doing that. You know I hate that.”

“I'm going to tell Dolazar.”

“I'm going to tell Dolazar.”

“For fuck's sake, guys,” said Cooper. “I can't take much more of this.”

The bald man glared severely at Stacy, who was getting closer to him, while pointing at Cooper. “Who is this?”

Cooper braced himself for Stacy to repeat his nasally question. But instead, she replied in her own voice as she pulled a piece of paper out of her illusory body.

“What do you know about this halfling?”

“What?” The bald man's eyes widened with sudden panic as his hands began to glow again.

Stacy punched him quick and hard in the face. The magical energy in his hands fizzled out as he collapsed into the shitwater.

“Thank you,” said Cooper. “I thought I might have to chop my fucking ears off.”

Removing the hair clip, Stacy turned back into Stacy. Then she put it back into her hair and turned into the bald guy who had a very unpleasant awakening in his future.

“How do I sound?”

Cooper cringed at her imitation. “Like an accordion that just got kicked in the nuts.”

“Is it convincing?”

“If you're trying to convince me to kill myself. Otherwise, I'll do whatever you want if you just stop talking like that.”

“I'm sorry. I know it's annoying. But I'm afraid I'll lose it if I break character.”

“I'm going to fucking lose it if you don't,” said Cooper as he followed Stacy into the building.

“Here's the plan,” Stacy continued in the voice. “Follow me upstairs. I'll go into Dolazar's office and try to Gather Information. You stay outside. If things get hairy, I'll shout for you. Even then, use lethal force only as a last result. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Cooper. “I got it. Just stop talking already.”

Stacy led the way up the stairs, and Cooper followed as quietly as he could, which wasn't very quiet at all. With every step, he was certain that his foot was going to go right through the rotted old boards, but they held together.

“That's Dolazar's office over there,” Stacy whispered, still in character. It was like a single fork being dragged lightly across a chalkboard. She pointed toward the front side of the building. “Wait by that window and look out for anyone coming in from outside. If shit goes down, come in and help me.”

Cooper nodded, then walked over to the window, leaving moist shitwater footprints on the dusty floor.

The window was broken, which was just as well since what little glass that remained was opaque with dust and cobwebs. Peeking outside, Cooper saw nothing out of the ordinary. His massive shit blob protruded from the sea of brown water like a crescent-shaped turd island. The bald guy lay still exactly where Stacy's punch had dropped him. Cooper looked back at Stacy and gave her a thumbs up.

Stacy nodded, took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped into the room. “Nothing to report outside,” she said. “Just some filthy half-orc looking for...” Whatever followed was muffled by the door closing behind her.

As certain as he was that Stacy could hold her own in a fight until he arrived to back her up, Cooper didn't like the thought of waiting around like a useless bag of dicks while a woman went alone across enemy lines. Maybe that was sexist of him, but he couldn't help the discomfort in his gut or in his bladder. Actually, come to think of it, the discomfort in his bladder probably had more to do with him needing to take a piss, and that could be helped. But where? He didn't want to leave his post, but neither did he want to piss here on the floor if he could help it.

Go out the window. With all the shitwater on the street, a bit of urine will make little difference.

Nabi was right, but Cooper wished she wouldn't remind him of her presence while he was trying to pee.

Facing the window again, he flicked away some jagged pieces of glass poking up from the bottom, so as to lessen the chances of accidentally slicing his dick open.

He pointed his dick out the window and closed his eyes as he held it. Though the discomfort in his bladder was now worse due to his attention being focused on it, his dick muscles refused to relax.

What are you so shy about?

“It's weird with you watching.”

Would it help if I sing to you?

“Fuck no! It would help if you'd just shut up for a minute and let me focus.”

Cooper concentrated on becoming one with his penis, feeling the hot urine flow from the soles of his feet, then erupting from the top of his head. Yes, that's it. Be the flow. Release the –

Just to be clear, I'm not watching. I have no eyes with which to see as you understand it. I perceive the world around me through your senses, which my mind then interprets.

“I don't give a fuck,” said Cooper. “Please. I just need to forget you're there for a few seconds, so that I can –”

SMASH!

The sound of glass shattering above him was just the distraction Cooper needed. His stream fired out powerfully, right into the face of a man in a green cloak who had no doubt assumed that being thrown through a window was going to be the biggest surprise he would experience in this span of five seconds. Poor bastard still had the shitwater to look forward to.

Cooper was confident that a man being thrown through a window constituted the requisite level of shit going down to warrant his participation. But he also felt that, unless Stacy had again changed her disguise and was the person lying on the street who he was currently pissing on, she was handling the situation well enough on her own such that he had time to finish his piss.

“COOPER!” cried Stacy, thankfully in her own voice.

He still had half a bladder's worth of piss to squirt, but his conscience constricted his dick muscles and cut off the flow. There was nothing more uncomfortable than stopping mid piss.

Following the shouts and screams and crashes of what sounded like a hell of a fight, he ran back to the door Stacy had gone through. He kicked as hard as he could with the heel of his foot, and the door swung wide open. The stench of old piss curdled in his nasal cavity and stung his eyes. It was a tiny room, containing only a copper cauldron half filled with piss.

“A fucking bathroom.” That would have been nice to know about a minute ago, but now it just seemed to be mocking him, especially since he still had to pee.

“Cooper!” cried Stacy again. “Help me!”

Shit. That sounded more desperate than Cooper had ever heard Stacy sound. Gather Information be damned. He would have to use his Barbarian Rage. Acting on pure instinct, he grabbed the piss pot before moving to the next door down the hallway. Hoping he had the correct one this time, he spoke the words that would release the Rage within him.

“I'm really angry.”

Cooper's vision turned pink as his heart started to race. He felt a warm stream running down his thigh in spite of the fact that Nabi was very much present at the forefront of his mind, eagerly anticipating the carnage to come.

This door looked more solid than the bathroom door, but instead of swinging it open or tearing it from its hinges, Cooper's foot went straight through it. In his raged state, that only pissed him off more, and he punched holes in the rest of the door until there was so little of it left that he could force his way through it.

Stacy lay on the floor in a puddle of blood. At first glance, it appeared that no one else was in the room. Then Cooper caught a flicker of movement in his periphery. One of the green-cloaked men was climbing out of the window from a rope attached to the sill by a grappling hook.

Cooper barely had time to appreciate the terrified expression on the man's face before he caved it in with a flying pot full of piss.

Two seconds later, he heard the splattering thud and clang as man and piss pot contributed to the mess on the street. He started toward the window to see if there were any more people climbing down the rope who he could pull up and beat the shit out of, but Stacy called out to him.

“Cooper, stop!”

Her pained cry of distress brought Cooper out of his Barbarian Rage, which left him via the anus.

“Help me up,” said Stacy, struggling just to raise her arm.

Cooper walked over to her and pulled her up to her feet. “What happened?”

“They saw right through my disguise. They all jumped me at once. I fought as hard as I could, but there were too many of them.” She gazed up at Cooper with tears in her eyes. “If you had not been outside... I cannot bear to think what they might have done to me.”

Cooper had never seen Stacy so shaken up before. He felt a little guilty for letting her go in alone. But she was so confident. Who was he to tell her what she could and couldn't handle? This fight must have really spooked her, though. Broken chairs and overturned tables and shelving units littered the floor. Even the extremely heavy-looking desk on the other side of the room had been shoved a few inches, judging by the scrape marks on the floor. For as short as it was, it must have been a hell of a fight, and Stacy had probably thought she was staring death right in the face.

Maybe that was for the best. As badass as she was, she had limitations. A good solid reminder of her own mortality might do her some good in the long run.

Still, he didn't like to see her so traumatized. He patted the back of her hand, which he was still holding. “Don't worry. It's all over now.”

“No, it is not.” Her eyes were wild with fear. “They will return in greater numbers. We must flee at once.”

“They're just wererats,” said Cooper. “Nabi and I chopped through a whole pack of them.”

“Knobby?”

“Come on. Don't start that again. She's been through some shit.”

Stacy thought for a moment. Her gaze flickered to an overturned table in the corner. Then she peered up into Cooper's eyes and gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. “Sorry. I meant no offense. But we are short on time. Let us make haste.”

“Make haste? I thought you wanted to –”

“Hurry! We must escape!”

“Okay, okay. I'm going already.”

Cooper led the way down the stairs. When he reached the bottom and turned toward the front entrance, Stacy grabbed his wrist.

“They may be waiting to ambush us,” she whispered. “We can escape through the cellar.” She took the lead, guiding Cooper around the back of the staircase where she opened a door to reveal another staircase, this one leading down into the dark.

“How do you know so much about this place?” asked Cooper as he started down the stairs, breathing in the even staler and mustier air.

“I've been here once before, with my elf friend.”

“Elf friend? You mean Julian?”

“That is correct.”

After Stacy closed the cellar door, Cooper heard a snapping sound behind him, and the whole earthen-walled stairwell was flooded with light. He glanced back to find her holding a glowing stick.

“Where did you get that?”

“I always carry one,” said Stacy. “I cannot see in the dark as your kind can.”

“My kind?”

“Stop dawdling and hurry down the stairs, lest they follow our scents. The Rat Bastards are notorious trackers.”

Cooper did as he was told. Anyone with a talent for following scents wouldn't need many ranks in the Tracking skill to follow his.

The corridor at the bottom of the stairwell went ahead straight, tunneling far beyond the front of the building. Open doorways lined both sides.

“Hide in here,” said Stacy as they came to the first of the doorways.

Cooper turned right sharply and found himself on the threshold of a dead end room about the size of a large walk-in closet. He didn't want to be critical. She was the rogue, after all. But he'd played some hide-and-go-seek in his time, and surveyed this at once as in the top tier of shittiest places to hide that he could imagine. Not only were there no exits in the room, but there wasn't even anything to hide behind. Unless he could pass himself off as an unlikely statue, a simple glance would be more than sufficient to spot him.
“I don't mean to question your judgment, but I can't help but feel this is kind of a shitty place to hide.”

“Have no fear, sweet Cooper. There is an illusory barrier that you can see out of, but those on the outside cannot see into.”

That made some sense. It wasn't foolproof, but it was better than nothing. Maybe their pursuers would glance into the room, see nothing, then keep moving. He and Stacy could make a break for it and book it back up the stairs and out of this shitty neighborhood.

Cooper took a couple of steps into the room before his foot went through the floor. The rest of him followed, and twenty feet later he landed hard on a very real earthen floor.

“Fuck,” said Cooper as he rolled onto his back and rubbed the pain out of his face. When he opened his eyes, he saw that most of the floor above him was translucent, like a hologram or something. Only the part of the floor which supported his first couple of steps was solid and real.

When he'd shaken off the shock of landing on his face, Cooper appreciated the greater complexity of Stacy's hiding place.

“It's the perfect ambush,” he said, looking up at Stacy. She was smirking down at him through the illusory floor. “When they come looking for us, they'll fall through the floor. Then we can jump them and beat the shit out of them.” He held his arms up to her. “Jump down. I'll catch you.”

“I have a better idea,” said Stacy. “Why don't you wait in there alone until I have a use for you?”

Cooper considered the proposal. On the surface, it didn't seem beneficial to either of them. Then again, she had a better head for strategy than he did.

Stacy backed out of sight, but the sphere of light from the stick she carried didn't travel too far. She might be waiting in the doorway or something. After half a minute of standing alone in a dark pit, Cooper began to feel that something was amiss. Some idle chatter might still the disquiet within him.

“Did you manage to Gather any useful Information?” he asked, mostly to reassure himself that Stacy was still up there.

“Not yet,” Stacy's voice replied. Then she continued in another woman's voice. “Hopefully that will change when my men arrive with your little friend.”

Cooper didn't know what she was talking about or why she was using that voice. He felt under his loincloth to make sure he still had his dick.

Something is wrong. That is not your friend.

Satisfied that his junk was still attached, Cooper couldn't help but chuckle at Nabi's misunderstanding.

“Not really my friend,” he explained. “That's just a fill-in for my dick.”

Stacy's head reappeared over the hole. She was now disguised as a half-elf, and kind of a homely one at that. “You vile, disgusting beast!”

Cooper laughed. “If you're going to criticize, you could have at least chosen a prettier face for yourself.”

Stacy and Nabi gasped simultaneously as tears welled up in Stacy's eyes.

“I know not why such a strong, beautiful, and talented woman would ever choose to associate with the likes of you.”

Cooper could only assume she was talking about Nabi. He shrugged. “She's an object. She needs somebody to handle her.”

Cooper! Stop talking!

“She should thank me for what I'm going to do to you.”

Feeling simultaneously uneasy and aroused, Cooper heeded Nabi's advice. Unable to express his feelings verbally, he farted. It was long and pungent, echoing off the earthen walls of the small chamber he occupied, filling the musty air with his own brand.

Stacy grimaced and backed away from the hole, which was just as well because Cooper's dong was starting to form a bulge in the front of his loincloth.

Though he could no longer see her, Cooper could hear Stacy's sniffles and sobs. Had things gone south between her and Julian? Is that why she was coming on so strong? Cooper didn't want to be a revenge fuck, especially not when his best friend was the revengee. Rubbing one out to her would be okay though. It would reduce the temptation when she actually threw herself at him.

“Nabi,” he whispered. “Can you, like, turn yourself off for a minute or something?”

Cooper, you must listen to me. That woman up there is not –

The door at the top of the stairs creaked open loudly, and heavy footsteps began thumping down the stairs. At least two pairs of boots. Maybe three.

“Shit.”

In addition to his jackoff session being interrupted before he'd even had a chance to get properly started, Stacy was still sobbing as if she wasn't aware that wererats were approaching.

“Stacy!” Cooper whispered as loudly as he could. “They're coming. Handle your shit!”

Stacy sniffed back her snot and stopped crying.

“Dolazar!” said one of the men a few seconds later. “Are you okay? Did the half-orc harm you?”

“I am fine,” said Stacy in the voice she'd most recently taken to speaking in. “It made some cruel and insensitive remarks at my expense.”

“Pay no heed to the barbs of some cretinous half-orc.”

“Hey,” said Cooper. “I can hear you guys, you know.”

“Would it make you feel better if Jarrol and I urinated on it?” asked the man.

“Thank you, sweet Simion. But I fear that would only improve its smell.”

That stung, but Cooper was nevertheless grateful for Stacy running interference on that one.

“What have you to report?” asked Stacy. Cooper was impressed with how effortlessly she played the part of this Dolazar chick and assumed command of the situation.

“Renford and Wickworth are banged up pretty badly, but with some rest and a bath, they should pull through.”

“And Kepler?”

“We discovered his body tossed in an alley with a massive axe wound in the chest.”

“That would be this one's doing,” said Stacy. “He has an axe on his person, and has even claimed responsibility for the Collapsed Sewer Massacre.”

“Has he?” said Simion. “Capturing him should curry us favor with the other sub-guilds. We may be able to strengthen our alliances.”

“It gets better.”

“Oh?”

“The girl was asking questions about the halfling.”

“You don't mean...”

“Yes. That halfling.”

“If she could lead us to him...”

“The bloodshed between guilds and factions can be brought to a swift end, and we will be the ones responsible for restoring peace among the guilds.”

“We might even procure some of those mysterious weapons.”

“Yes, that thought had also crossed my mind,” said Stacy. “Of course, we would utilize them more subtly.”

“Of course.”

“Sweet Simion. Do you still find me attractive?”

“More than ever, Dolazar. Shall I take you now, here against these bare earthen walls?”

Stacy was going off the rails, more desperate for any dick she could get than Dave's mom. Cooper had to at least try to intervene. He had to be subtle, so as not to give away her identity.

He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Julian. Ahem.”

“Would it excite you even more if I were to take the form of... I don't know... the human girl?” She had either not taken his meaning, or she just didn't give a fuck.

“Not at all. I would sooner copulate with a diseased bugbear than this filthy whore.”

The sound of palm slapping against face was so loud that even Cooper could feel the sting.

“Speak not such disrespect!” said Stacy. “You have no idea what emotional abuse she has suffered at the hands of this monster!”

“I apologize!” said Simion, whose face was probably hurting as badly as his balls right about now. “I had no idea.”

“You have ruined the mood. I shall have to pleasure myself in private.”

Someone farther away cleared his throat. “The girl is getting heavy. What shall we do with her in the meantime?”

“Drop her in a hole farther down the corridor,” Stacy said bitterly. “I shall want to interrogate them individually.”

As the sounds of footsteps faded away, Cooper thought about how skillfully Stacy had played her role, but wondered who was the mysterious new girl they'd been talking about.

Nabi sighed inside Cooper's head.

Sit down, shut up, and let me explain.

Chapter 7

“I'm sorry my brother killed you,” said Katherine, holding up her side of the Bag of Holding. Tanner walked alongside her, holding up the other side of the bag to allow fresh air to flow into it.

“I do not hold you accountable for your brother's actions.” He smiled, but his eyes lacked their usual self-confident shine. “I appreciate the trouble you went through to have me resurrected.”

That made Katherine feel guilty, thinking back to what Denise had blurted out at the Whore's Head Inn. She didn't deserve his appreciation. She glanced back to make sure the rest of her new “crew” was trailing far enough behind so they couldn't overhear her, then turned back to Tanner. “You and I both know I only did all that to rescue Tim. If I'd known it was you, I don't know if I would have...” Now she felt annoyed for feeling guilty. Why should she be expected to risk her life for a guy she'd only known for a couple of weeks? “I mean, if the tables were turned, would you have done all that to bring me back?”

Tanner laughed. “Certainly not.”

Katherine glared at him. “You could have at least hesitated.”

“I'm sorry. I thought we were speaking in earnest.”

“It's fine. I'm just saying you don't owe me anything. You've got your life back. Don't feel like you have to keep following me around if you – Shit!” Katherine reached into the Bag of Holding. “Carbon dioxide!” The bag exhaled a breath of stale warm air.

Tanner's nose twitched at the smell.

“I do not follow you out of a sense of obligation,” he said. “You fascinate me, and I wish to learn more about you and where you come from, and carbon dioxide. Do you think it would be safe for me to visit your world someday?”

Katherine shrugged. “I don't see why not.”

“Would they kill or imprison me for being a different race?”

“No way!” said Katherine. “I mean, probably not. We've come a long way in the past few decades. Your people can even vote now.”

Tanner looked at her quizzically. “Half-elves?”

“Oh!” Katherine scrambled for a response that wouldn't make her sound stupid. “Yes.”

“Your brother said all races on your world had been eradicated, and only humans remained.”

Katherine frowned. “I don't think that's what he said. It's possible you filled in some gaps on your own.”

“Did he not say your world was entirely peopled by humans?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“Then what happened to the other races?”

“There never were any other races. People in my world don't even know what a half-elf is. Well, except for nerds.”

“Nerds?” said Tanner. “Is this how you refer to the scholars of your world?”

Katherine thought it over for a moment, then shrugged. “Yes.”

“I would love to converse with some of these nerds.”

Katherine glanced back at Frank and the Whore's Head gang. “You're about to have all the opportunity you could ever dream of.” She reached into the Bag of Holding. “Carbon dioxide.”

The streetlamps were fewer and farther between as they left the busier part of the city and passed the more ramshackle shops and grubby-looking restaurants that catered mainly to fishermen and dockworkers. The air was heavy with mingling aromas coming from them. Some were pleasant, others less so. For a second, she thought she caught a whiff of fried chicken.

“You mentioned before that my people can vote,” said Tanner. “What does that mean, exactly, and how is it possible if there are no –”

“Hey, look!” said Katherine. “There's the harbor.”

A forest of masts bobbed on the water beyond Cardinia's western gate. Katherine had forgotten about the salty smell of the sea air, and hoped that Mordred wouldn't be tipped off by it.

The few dwarves from the Whore's Head Inn were slowing down the rest of the group, but that was okay. Katherine had to report to the harbormaster anyway.

She and Tanner walked up to the harbormaster's office, a rickety old wooden building that looked at least twenty years overdue to collapse into the sea. The tide was high, and every wave that crashed against the rocky shore sprayed back on the slippery boards leading to the rusty-hinged door.

Katherine hoped to deal with the same half-orc she'd reported to when she sailed into port. He'd been very friendly and easygoing, and would probably recognize her, which would speed the process along.

Unfortunately, the elf behind the counter seemed neither friendly nor easygoing, especially as he sneered at Tanner.

Katherine cleared her throat to draw his attention her way. “My name is Katherine. I'm captain of Nightwind.”

He looked down his nose at her. “You don't look like a ship's captain.”

“And you don't look like an asshole, but you sure as shit sound like one. What do you think? Do I sound like a fucking ship's captain?”

Butterbean barked and snarled at him.

The harbormaster flinched in spite of the counter that stood between him and Butterbean, then looked at Katherine. “As a matter of fact, you do.”

Katherine reached into the Bag of Holding. “Captain's hat.” She pulled on the triangular hat she'd inherited from Captain Martinoli along with the ship and slapped it down on her head. “Satisfied?”

The harbormaster turned around and flipped through some files. “Neptune, Net Worth, Nightcrawler, Nightshade... Ah, here we are. Nightwind.” He turned back to Katherine and held the paper out in front of him. His gaze shifted between her and the paper a few times, then he returned it to the file.

“I apologize, Captain.”

“It's cool.”

“Will you be departing tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“And what is your cargo?”

“No cargo,” said Katherine. “Just me and my first mate here.” She slapped Tanner on the back, then nodded back toward the door. “And my crew.”

The harbormaster looked doubtfully out the window at the slowly approaching crew, then peered down at the Bag of Holding which Tanner was still holding conspicuously open. “And in the bag?”

“What are you, retarded?” said Katherine. “He's holding it wide open. You can see it's empty.”

He shot her a snooty scowl. “The bag has been open and empty this entire time, and yet you pulled a hat out of it.”

Shit. “That was just a –”

“I know a Bag of Holding when I see one, Captain.”

“Okay, fine. It's a Bag of Holding. But I swear there's nothing of interest in it. Just some of my old junk.”

“I'm afraid you shall have to accompany me to the inspection room and empty your bag.”

“Oh, come on! I don't have time for this shit!”

Butterbean growled at the harbormaster, who flinched again.

“Now, Captain Katherine,” said Tanner. “We should do what the man says. No one is above the law, after all.”

Katherine gave him a tight-lipped glare. She needed solidarity from him. What the hell was he up to? Did he have a plan? Or was he secretly pissed at her for Tim slitting his throat, and this was his revenge?

He winked at her, which gave her some reassurance. Now that she thought about it, Tanner was a clever guy. If he was seeking vengeance, ratting her out to a harbormaster was beneath his talents and creativity.

“Fine,” said Katherine. “Let's go to the inspection room.”

The harbormaster frowned down at Butterbean, who was still growling at him. He seemed hesitant to open the door.

“Maybe we should put Butterbean in the bag,” suggested Tanner.

“What?” said Katherine.

“We don't want to risk infecting this kind harbormaster, do we?”

“Infecting?” said the harbormaster.

Tanner looked at him. “This inspection shouldn't take more than ten minutes, should it?”

The harbormaster managed to wrest his nervous gaze from Butterbean and looked at Tanner. “That would depend on how much there is to inspect, and if I find any questionable cargo.”

Tanner smiled at Katherine. “Well there you go.”

“Awesome,” Katherine said curtly, giving Tanner a warning look. She knelt down and held the bag open for Butterbean.

Butterbean's growl turned into a whimper, but he hung his head and tail and padded into the bag.

The harbormaster breathed a sigh of relief, then unlatched a door at the far end of the counter.

Katherine and Tanner followed him past the small office at the front of the building to a larger room in the back. It was mostly empty but for the wooden crates that lined the walls, presumably filled with contraband cargo.

“So what sort of things are illegal to move in and out of the harbor?” asked Katherine.

“Nothing specific,” said the harbormaster. “The guidelines are open to interpretation. We mainly look for anything that stands out as suspicious. A few assorted weapons, for instance, would be normal. A thousand swords, on the other hand, might lead me to suspect you were equipping an army, which is something the king would likely want to be aware of. Or if your bag was filled with manacles, I might suspect you of being involved in the slave trade.”

“Whoa!” said Katherine. “Open your eyes. Do you not see my friend here?” She gestured at Tanner.

The harbormaster glanced at Tanner, then turned back to Katherine. “I see him.”

Tanner cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should be moving this along. The bag, Captain?”

Still unsure as to what he was up to, Katherine reluctantly handed over her Bag of Holding.

Holding it upside down and reaching his hand into the opening, Tanner said, “All non-living things.”

Katherine finally understood. She nodded appreciatively as the contents of her bag spilled out onto the floor.

The harbormaster stared down in horror as dehydrated dire rat corpses thunked down on the floor, followed by the splash of Denise's vomit.

“Move it!” said Katherine, shoving Tanner's arms just in time for her thick black cloak and several pairs of jeans to fall out of the bag beyond the reach of the vomit puddle.

A permanently enchanted Light stone fell out and landed on the laundry pile, significantly brightening up the room.

As her scythe and other assorted weapons clattered onto the floor, Katherine was thankful that she wasn't currently carrying any dead bodies.

Next came some necklaces made of twine and crystals which she didn't immediately recognize, then a chair. That was strange.

A rope spilled out onto the chair like a pile of spaghetti, followed by a burlap sack like a meatball on top. The harbormaster gasped, probably because the bag smelled like shit.

Tanner also gasped, which Katherine found more alarming. She'd been so impressed with his ruse that only now did she put together the rope, the chair, the anti-magic charms, and the shitbag. Mordred was floating around inside the Bag of Holding unbound, unbagged, and uninhibited in his magic use. Also, he was naked.

“I trust there's nothing prohibited here,” said Tanner hurriedly.

The harbormaster glared at him. “Well, no. But –”

“Then we really must be on our way.”

“But who's going to clean up all this –”

“Butterbean!” shouted Katherine as she snatched the Bag of Holding away from Chaz. He was in there alone with Mordred. She thrust her hand into the bag and repeated her Animal Companion's name.

Butterbean fell out onto the floor. He was alive and unharmed, thankfully, but annoyed. He got to his feet and growled bitterly at the harbormaster.

“Very well!” said the harbormaster. “Go! May your voyage be long and your return be slow.”

Katherine scooped up her jeans, cloak, and some assorted weapons, then opened the Bag of Holding to shove them in.

“Wait!” said Tanner.

“We don't have time!” said Katherine. Not wanting to tip off the harbormaster, she tried to get her point across in code. “We want to get our lines in the water before the fish wake up.”

Tanner nodded his understanding. “The fish are in a sea of darkness. Would it not be best to let them stay that way?” He must be referring to the light stone.

Katherine couldn't believe she was the one who had to point out that dwarves could see in the dark. She felt like she'd just leveled up in nerd. “Some fish can see in the dark.”

“Not if there's nothing to see.” His gaze flickered to the harbormaster, then back to Katherine. “And besides, do we really want to arm them?” His metaphor needed work, but Katherine took his meaning.

She wrapped all of her weapons and clothes in her cloak while Tanner gathered the chair, anti-magic charms, and rope. They ran out the front entrance of the building where the Whore's Head gang were waiting for them.

To Frank's credit, he needed far less time to interpret the chair and rope Tanner was carrying in his arms, and the anti-magic charm necklaces he had hanging from his mouth, gripped between his teeth.

“You've only been out of our sight for two minutes! What did you do?”

“No time to explain,” said Katherine. “We need to get to my ship right now.” She ran as fast as she could down the pier, hugging her Bag of Holding and her bundle of weapons and laundry. Butterbean easily kept up with her. Tanner followed as quickly as he could while carrying a chair and trying not to trip over the rope dangling from it.

With a running leap, she landed hard on the rear deck of Nightwind.

“Katherine!” said Tanner from the pier, his voice filtered through a mouthful of twine.

When she turned to face him he was tossing the chair and rope her way.

“Shit!” she cried, dropping everything she was holding just in time to catch the chair.

Tanner took the anti-magic charms out of his mouth and leaped from the pier to join her on the rear deck. He looked around and nodded. “Nice ship.”

“Thanks.” She set down the chair and bent over to find the gang plank under the seating which ran along the ship's side. “Help me with this, would you?”

By the time Frank and the Whore's Head gang caught up, she and Tanner had bridged the gap between the ship and the pier.

Katherine gestured for them to move their asses. “Hurry up. We don't know how frequently Mordred checks in to this body. We need to get him tied up and shitbagged again before he wakes up.”

“How did he get untied and unshitbagged to begin with?” asked Frank as he scurried across the plank.

“The harbormaster gave us some shit. Tanner had an idea that seemed clever at the time, but turned out to be kind of a disaster.”

“Like stealing my dice bag?”

“Yes!” said Tanner, with a relieved sigh. “Exactly like that. It pleases me that we understand each other now, and that there are no hard feelings.”

Frank narrowed his eyes at him, then turned to Katherine. “What are we waiting for? Let's get him tied up already.”

“After everyone has boarded the ship,” said Katherine. “If he is awake, we'll want to jump him as soon as he comes out of the bag so that he can't fight or cast spells or anything.”

Frank bit his lower lip and nodded.

Waiting for everyone to board the ship felt like an eternity, especially when the dwarves crossed over the plank. Their stocky bodies and thick legs weren't designed for walking with one foot in front of the other, so they had to compensate by walking sideways. Inchworming their way along the plank, they were even slower than usual.

While they waited, Katherine had plenty of time to explain exactly what had happened in the harbormaster's office, what she intended to do about it, and what she needed from them. When everyone had boarded, she and Tanner stood with the chair, rope, charms, and Bag of Holding, in the middle of the rear deck. The Whore's Head gang formed a circle around them.

“Ready?” she asked, reaching into the bag.

Everyone nodded nervously.

“Mordred!”

Katherine took a step back as the fat naked dwarf spilled out onto the deck, desperately sucking air into his lungs. She felt bad for forgetting to replace his oxygen supply. Chaz had discovered that was the one thing that was guaranteed to wake him up.

“He's awake!” cried Frank. “Get him!”

Mordred's eyes went wide with terror as the Whore's Head gang closed in on him. Frank, being all out of fucks to give, leaped right onto his chest and started slapping him in his shit-slathered face. Others pinned down his arms and legs.

“Stop!” cried Mordred. “Let go of –”

“Don't let him talk!” said Tanner. “He could be casting a spell!”

Frank pressed a thumb down hard on Mordred's closed eye. When Mordred screamed, Frank shoved his other fist deep into Mordred's wide open mouth.

“AAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHH!” Frank screamed as Mordred bit down hard on his arm. “TIE HIM TO THE GODDAMN CHAIR ALREADY!”

As the stronger people lifted Mordred onto the chair, Frank wrapped his left arm around Mordred's neck to keep from falling off while Mordred continued to try to bite off his right.

“Okay,” said Tony the Elf, holding the rope. “He's on the chair. You can get off now.”

“No... I... can't!” Frank was sweating with pain as his blood trickled down the sides of Mordred's mouth.

Rhonda pulled out a small scrap of cloth out of her pocket and used it to pinch Mordred's nose.

Mordred held on as long as he could, apparently hoping to actually sever Frank's arm before he had to breathe, but he wasn't up to the task. He loosened his jaw, and Frank jerked his heavily bleeding arm away.

“I... need... a cleric,” said Frank as he fell to the deck.

Tanner brought the shitbag down swiftly on Mordred's head while Tony the Elf set to work with the ropes.

Before long, he was once again securely tied to the chair, shitbagged, and wearing the anti-magic charms Cooper and Chaz had delivered him with. Once he was back in the Bag of Holding, Katherine breathed a sigh of relief.

“That was a close one,” she said. “But we all pulled together, and no harm was done.” She was trying to get into captain mode, but she felt more like a lame boss at a fast food restaurant.

“We don't know that,” said Rhonda. “He knows he's on a ship now.”

“Who gives a shit? The whole point of not letting him know where we were going was so that he couldn't cut us off at the harbor. Now that we're here, we've just got to get our asses moving, and he'll never be able to get here in time to see which way we've gone.”

“But he knows we're going somewhere, and we've just ruled out pretty much this whole continent for him.”

“What the fuck?” said Katherine. “Do you know how big the goddamn ocean is? Are you just looking for reasons to bitch? Mordred can sail his nerd ass from port to port for the rest of his life, and he will never find us.”

“He will if we stay here arguing all night,” said Frank. He pulled his healed arm out of a bucket of pink-tinted seawater and pointed at the pier. “Fritz, untie the boat. Stuart, pull up the anchor. Rhonda, prepare the –”

“HEY!” said Katherine, stopping everyone dead in their tracks. She climbed up onto the ballista mounted at the center of Nightwind's deck. “This isn't the Whore's Head, Frank. This is Nightwind, and I'm the captain. If you want to sail on my ship, you follow my orders.” She knew she was gambling on a mutiny before they even left the harbor, but fuck if she was going to be bossed around by this little prick aboard her own ship.

Frank surveyed the rest of the Whore's Head gang, then glared up at her. “Fine, Captain,” he said in a manner that might see him on a fishhook if he kept it up. “What are your orders?”

Katherine scanned her crew. “Show of hands. How many of you have any ranks in the Sailing skill?”

Much to her relieved surprise, four people raised their hands. Unfortunately, she didn't know any of their names. She didn't know most of these people's names, come to think of it. She hadn't spent a whole lot of time at the Whore's Head Inn, and hadn't cozied up to too many folks during her brief visits.

“Redshoes,” she said, pointing to a green-haired half-elf wearing red shoes. “Take the dwarf standing next to you, and you two go pull up the anchor.”

Redshoes saluted. “Right away, Captain.” Katherine thought he was fucking with her, but he immediately grabbed the dwarf's arm and led him toward the front of the ship. She wasn't sure if that was the standard she wanted to hold everyone to, but it was so refreshing for someone to not be a complete asshole.

“Yellowrobes and Baldy. You untie the ropes on the pier.” Baldy didn't have his hand raised, but he looked nimble enough to jump back onto the boat. She gave him the benefit of the doubt for knowing how to untie a rope.

“My name is Stuart,” said Baldy.

“Awesome.”

Baldy looked annoyed. “I helped rescue you from that vampire.”

“That's great. I don't need your fucking resume. You got the job. Congratulations. Now go untie the goddamn ropes.”

When the ship was no longer tethered to the pier or seabed, Katherine raised the mainsail. After some initial flapping, the sail filled out as it caught a small gust of wind. The ship lurched forward. As soon as they were clear of the harbor, she extended the wingsails on each side of the ship, and Nightwind really started to pick up speed.

It had been a long night, and most of the Whore's Head gang went below deck to claim a nook to sleep in. Katherine entrusted her Bag of Holding to the small group of elves who didn't require sleep. She instructed them on how to remove carbon dioxide from the bag and replace it with fresh air every ten minutes.

When she was satisfied that they had the hang of it, she joined Tanner sitting silently on the rear deck and watched the lights of Cardinia shrink farther and farther away.

“I didn't want to bring it up while everything was happening so fast,” said Tanner. “But I think I resurrected with an empty stomach. What have you got to eat on this ship?”

Katherine's sleepy eyes went wide. “Shit.”

Chapter 8

“YAAAAA–!” cried Tim as Vaeryn bit down hard on his forearm.

Vaeryn silenced him with an elbow to the face. She had wrested the gun from his grip and turned it on Dave, who raised his hands.

“Please don't shoot me,” said Dave, his heart pounding beneath his bare hairy chest. “I have a family,” he lied. “A beautiful baby girl. She just took her first steps the other –”

“Shut up!” snapped Vaeryn. Without completely taking her eyes off Dave and Tim, she warily scanned her surroundings. “Where are we? What is this place?”

“Walmart,” said Dave. “Men's department.” The fluorescent lighting was blinding after having spent so long holed up in the sewer. The scent of cotton and polyester blends was intoxicating.

Tim scowled at Dave as he rubbed the soreness out of his arm. “Why the fuck are we at Walmart?”

“You were rushing me! You were just talking about Walmart, so this was the first place that came to mind.” He suddenly remembered he was naked but for a pair of magic boots. “Also, I needed some clothes.”

Tim's expression switched from annoyance to terror. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me you teleported us to the very same Walmart that's crawling with cops who've just been shot at with this very gun?” He nodded toward Vaeryn, but she wasn't there. “Where the fuck did she – Oh no.” His terrified expression intensified as he patted down his pockets. “Son of a bitch! She swiped my goddamn ring!”

“I think that's a fair price to pay for you taking me hostage.” Vaeryn's voice came from socks and underwear, but it was moving toward novelty t-shirts. She was staying in motion to keep them from being able to pinpoint her location.

Tim raised both middle fingers and displayed them in wide arcs to make sure she saw them from wherever she was. “The joke's on you, princess. Enjoy your time on Earth. We're getting the fuck out of here. Pick me up, Dave.”

Dave lifted Tim from under the arms and cradled him like a baby. “Where to?”

“I don't give a fuck. Anywhere but – No, wait. I've got an idea. Do you remember where Lenny Johnson lives?”

“I think he still lives in his grandma's basement.”

“Right. Take us there.”

“You don't even like Lenny Johnson. Why do you want to go to his grandma's basement?”

“Because that fat fucker will have some clothes you can fit in, and he should be at work right now.”

“Good thinking. I might just take back the LOST DVDs he borrowed from me as well.”

“Awesome,” said Tim. “Just hurry up before somebody sees us.”

Dave closed his eyes and focused on his boot magic. “Teleport!” When he opened his eyes again, they were still in Walmart. “Shit.”

“Say it like you said it last time,” said Tim.

“I teleport we!”

Their surroundings failed to change.

Tim squirmed in Dave's arms. He was heavier than Dave remembered.

“What the fuck is going on, Dave?”

“I don't know. The boots aren't working.”

“Need I remind you that you're naked in a Walmart, and there are a bunch of confused and pissed-off cops just a few hundred feet away?”

“I'm very much aware of that,” said Dave. “The boots aren't fucking working.”

“Well click your heels together or some shit, or else we're going to get –”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” screamed a woman who was pushing her cart through the men's department. Wider than she was tall, dressed in a chocolate-stained white tank top which didn't quite meet the grey sweatpants that miraculously managed to contain her enormous ass, she was the quintessential Mississippi Walmart shopper.

Dave gently set Tim down on the floor and covered his genital area with both hands. “This isn't what it looks like, I swear to God.”

“Are you okay, little girl?” the woman asked Tim.

“Yeah. Now run along and find somewhere to graze.”

“Did this man... touch you?”

“Jesus Christ, lady. Would you please fuck off?”

“Police!” she screamed as she pushed her cart away.

Tim pulled a pair of shorts off a nearby rack and hurriedly examined the tag before tossing them to the side. “We need to get out of here before the cops come. Grab something to throw on and we'll walk calmly and coolly out the front door.”

Dave tried to squeeze into a couple of shirts and pairs of cargo shorts, but nothing would fit his broad dwarf body. He settled for a brown bathrobe.

“How do I look?”

Tim shook his head. “Like the Not-So-Great Lebowski.” He took the lead, darting from clothes rack to clothes rack, then waving for Dave to follow when the coast was clear. They stopped in the women's department, surrounded by the least arousing assortment of bras that Dave could imagine.

“Why are we stopping?”

“There's nowhere else to hide between here and the exit,” said Tim. “We'll be out in the open, so just be cool and don't call attention to yourself. Remember, this is Walmart in Mississippi. We don't look that out of place here.”

Dave nodded and took a deep breath. “Okay, let's go.”

“There they are!” squawked the white trash cow who'd spotted them before. As promised, she was accompanied by two police officers.

Shit.

“Thank you ma'am,” said the younger officer. “You can continue your shopping now.”

“But I need to give my testimony, turn state's evidence!” She leaned in close to the officer who'd spoken to her. “Can I at least give you my number, in case you want to perform a full cavity search?”

Dave felt like he was going to throw up. He couldn't imagine what that poor policeman was going through.

“That won't be necessary, ma'am. Thank you for bringing the matter to our attention. We'll take it from here.”

“Suit yourself.” The woman sauntered off toward a display of Cheez-Its, swaying her huge ass back and forth like she was trying to smuggle out a pair of bean bag chairs.

The officer shuddered, then scowled at Dave when he caught him staring. “What the fuck are you looking at, you perverted piece of shit?”

The other officer, a good twenty years the first one's senior, rested a calming hand on his young partner's shoulder. “Take it easy, Joe. Give the man a chance to explain himself.” He peered at Dave with wizened old eyes. “We were informed that you were exposing yourself to this child in the men's department. Is this true?”

Dave shook his head, too nervous to form words. He wondered how many shots these two officers would be able to fire off if he and Tim turned into their hybrid rat-person forms and made a run for it. Probably enough to take them down.

“Are you naked under that robe?”

Lying wasn't going to get Dave anywhere. He didn't have the Charisma for it, and these cops already suspected he was full of shit.

“I have b-b-boots.”

“This is all a big misunderstanding, officers,” said Tim, uncharacteristically sweetly. “You see, this is my dad. His unit got hit with some nerve gas in Iraq. He was the only one who came back. Well... most of him anyway. He gets confused sometimes, and wanders off without any idea where or even who he is.” He grabbed Dave's beard and yanked it so that Dave was looking down at him. “We're in Walmart, Dad. You didn't take your pills.”

Dave didn't think he'd be able to pull off faking combat flashbacks, so he played his part in a way that would take the least amount of effort. “Gabba yurrrrn foblar?”

“Snap out of it, Dad!” cried Tim. “I'm your son!” He slapped Dave hard in the face.

The younger officer, Joe, removed his hat and held it to his chest. “I hope you'll accept my apology, sir. I let my emotions get the better of me. This nation owes you a great debt.”

Dave stood straight and saluted the officer. “I have boots.”

Joe choked back a sob as he returned the salute. “You're a goddamn hero!”

The older officer patted his young partner on the back. “I can handle this from here. Why don't you go back and help the others look for the guy who tagged Murphy?”

Joe nodded, then grabbed Dave's right hand with both of his. “It's been an honor to meet you, sir.” He smiled tearily down at Tim. “You should be proud.”

“Oh, I am,” said Tim.

When Joe was gone, the older cop sighed as if relieved to be rid of him. He squatted so that he was face-to-face with Tim. “My name is Officer Williams.”

“I'm... Tom,” said Tim.

“Do you folks live around here?”

Tim nodded. “Not far at all. We can walk home.”

“Don't be silly. I'll gladly drive you. Have you ever ridden in a police car before?”

“No,” Tim lied with a fake air of awe.

Dave stifled a laugh, recalling at least three times he'd seen Tim in the back of a police car.

“Bring your dad along, and we'll get you home.”

Tim took Dave by the hand and followed the kindly old police officer. Dave gave him a look that he hoped conveyed, “What the fuck are we going to do when we get in his car?” Tim shrugged.

When they got outside, the lights of passing cars zipped up and down Highway 49 beyond the vast, nearly empty parking lot. Dave took in a breath of crisp night air. The scents of fast food breakfasts and car exhaust reminded him that he was home again.

Four police cars were parked haphazardly in front of the entrance. Officer Williams led them to the third one.

“Can I sit in the front?” Tim asked giddily, really playing up the excited child angle.

Officer Williams smiled. “I don't see why not. Just don't touch anything, promise?”

Tim slapped his right hand over his heart and raised his left. “I promise.”

Dave understood Tim's motivation for making the request when he sat down in the back seat and the door closed behind him. There were no handles on the inside of the doors, and a thick steel mesh separated the front seats from the rear. He was trapped.

“Officer Williams when he settled into the driver's seat and shut the door.” What's your address?” He started tapping buttons on his GPS screen.

“It's really not far,” said Tim. “It'll be easier for me to give you directions.”

“Okay then.” Officer Williams started the car and put it into gear. “Where to?”

“Turn right onto 49, then take another right after the liquor store.” Tim was eyeing Officer Williams's sidearm covetously.

Dave thought about how callously Tim had just shot Zippo in the face and hoped he wasn't thinking of doing the same to a cop.

Tim instructed the officer to pull into the first residential neighborhood they came to. The overgrown lawns and dilapidated houses made it look like kind of a shithole. Dave wasn't sure if riding in a cop car was the safest place he could be, or if it made them a slowly moving target.

“Here it is,” Tim finally said at the end of a cul-de-sac. There were no cars in the cracked driveway, and the one window not boarded up with plywood was dark.

Officer Williams frowned. “You live here?”

“That's right. We rent from the Robinsons. They live in that house over there.”

Dave and Officer Williams looked in the direction Tim was pointing. It was an empty lot. A foreboding clicking sound brought their attention back to Tim. Just as Dave feared, Tim had swiped the officer's gun.

“What?” said Officer Williams, gaping down at his unfastened holster, then back at Tim. “How?”

“My Dex score is high as a motherfucker, motherfucker. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Tim!” cried Dave, shaking the thick steel mesh separating the front seats from the rear. “What the hell do you think you're doing? He's a fucking cop!”

“If he makes any sudden moves, he's going to be a... bullet... um... storage facility. Shit. I should have thought that one through before I started talking.”

“Please,” said Officer Williams. “I'm a year away from retirement. I have a family.”

“Just do what I tell you, and you won't get hurt.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“First, get out of the car.”

Very slowly and deliberately, Officer Williams pulled the door handle and pushed the door open. When he was halfway out, Tim reached back and pulled his own door handle.

“Very good,” he said when they were both out of the car. Keeping the gun trained on Officer Williams, he said, “Now let Dave out.”

“Dave?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “My dad.”

Officer Williams opened the back door.

“I'm really sorry about this,” Dave whispered as he got out of the car.

“What do you expect when you cuss in front of your boy like that and let him address you as Dave?”

Tim walked slowly around the back of the car. “Step away from the officer, Dave.”

“We can just leave him here and go,” said Dave. Having said that, he wasn't going to take a bullet for the guy. He stepped aside.

“That's the plan. He'll sit in the back of his squad car until someone comes to let him out. By then, we'll be long gone.”

Dave let out a long sigh of relief. He would have preferred not to have taken a cop hostage, but it was infinitely preferable to standing by helplessly while Tim executed one.

“Jesus, Dave,” said Tim. “Give me some credit, would you? I'm not a monster.” He frowned. “At least, not in the metaphorical sense.”

“You two are still in a world of trouble,” said Officer Williams. “And it's only getting deeper. Your best option right now is to put down that gun and surrender.”

Tim laughed like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Why are you even arguing, man? The option I'm giving you right now is the one where you don't get shot. You are not in control of this situation. I am. So just get in the goddamn car before I count to three, or I'm going to –” His eyes went wide as he started to slowly raise his arms. “Shit.”

“Excuse me?” said Officer Williams. “Did you say you're going to shit?”

Dave shared in his confusion. This was worse than the bullet storage facility thing. Tim really needed to work on his action movie lines.

Tim was frozen like a statue, except for his arms, still spreading slowly as the gun now hung by the trigger guard on a single finger.

“Tim?” said Dave. “You okay?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dave,” said Tim, sounding not at all okay. “We have a problem.”

“Sweet Jesus,” said Officer Williams. “Is he taking a dump right here in the street? If you had to go, you should have said something before you pulled my gun on me.”

The gun slid free of Tim's finger, but didn't fall. It hung in the air about three feet off the ground, then floated backward about the length of a single human footstep... or an elven one.

“Thank you,” said Vaeryn. “Now stand over there with the others.”

Tim turned around slowly, hands raised, and walked backwards toward Dave and Officer Williams. “How did you get here?”

“I rode on top of the carriage. It was exhilarating.”

“You were following us that whole time in Walmart?”

“Yes. You should be ashamed to call yourselves rogues.”

“I'm actually a cleric,” said Dave.

“Excuse me,” said Officer Williams. “Whose voice is that? And why is my gun floating in the air?”

Vaeryn became visible as she pulled Tim's ring off her finger. She smiled warmly at Officer Williams in spite of the fact that he was gawking at her long ears. “My name is Vaeryn.” She slipped the ring into the pocket of her robe, which was weighed down with the gun she'd swiped from Tim. She kept Officer Williams's gun pointed at Tim. “I'm the one in control of this situation.”

“Why did you follow us?” asked Dave, hoping it might lead to an amicable resolution. “What do you want?”

Vaeryn nodded at his feet. “The boots, of course. I need them to get back home.”

Tim nudged Officer Williams. “Women and shoes, am I right?”

“They don't even work,” said Dave. “We already tried to use them.”

“Of course they didn't work, silly dwarf. They can only be used three times a day. Zippo used them once to get to this world, and once more to return. Then Tim shot him in the face.” She peered at Tim down the barrel of Officer Williams's gun, then turned back to Dave. “Then you used them a third time to come back here.”

Dave sighed in relief. “That makes sense. I was starting to panic. So we just have to lay low until midnight, and go back to...” He frowned at Tim. “Where should we go?”

“I shall be returning to the Nest,” said Vaeryn. The Nest was their name for the section of the sewer they'd transformed into their hideout.

“No way,” said Tim. “They'll kill me if I show my face back there.”

Vaeryn smiled at him. “Don't be silly, Tim. They're not going to touch you.”

“How can you be so sure.”

“Because I'm going to kill you here.”

“SHIT!” cried Tim, leaping out of the way. Vaeryn tried to keep the gun on him as she pulled the trigger, but he was too fast.

Dave instinctively dropped to the ground and covered his head, the deafening blast of the gun reverberating in his ears. He couldn't even hear himself swearing as he looked up just in time to see Officer Williams staring down in horror at the dark stain radiating out from the hole in the belly of his uniform.

Chapter 9

When he finally heard Denise snoring from the floor behind the bar, Randy got up and helped himself to a glass of beer. The Whore's Head Inn felt even emptier at night. He missed the sound of a couple dozen people snoring on the floor and the security of knowing there was always a group of elves staying up through the night to watch everyone's back. The single candle he'd lit only exacerbated that empty feeling.

He should have been sleeping, but he couldn't stop thinking that there was more he could be doing to help everyone than sitting here in this tavern. The beer didn't go down as refreshingly as he'd expected it to. It tasted like cowardice and compromise. He'd only drunk a quarter of what was in the glass when he was aroused from his thoughts by a gentle tap on the door.

“Denise!” Randy whispered, but only received a loud snore in reply.

Randy rose from his chair as quietly as he could, then tiptoed to the door. He was irrationally unafraid, but saw no point in making his presence known until he deemed it necessary. Unfortunately, there was no peep hole in the door, so he pressed his ear against it to see if he could pick up any audible clues as to the identity of this late-night visitor.

THUNK THUNK THUNK!

Randy jumped back and yelped in surprise, then clapped his hands over his mouth.

“I heard that,” said a man's deep voice from the other side of the door.

“Sorry,” said Randy. “I was just...” He tried to think of something plausible to follow that up with.

… getting out of the shower?

… putting my pants on?

… tidying up the place?

“... listening at the door,” he blurted out as he remembered that he was incapable of dishonesty.

“May I come inside?”

“I don't know,” said Randy. “Who are you?”

“I'm Jay.”

“Jay who.”

“Jay who gives a fuck? Come on, man. It's late.”

“I apologize,” said Randy. “But I got to make sure you are who you say you are.”

“Who the fuck else would I be?”

If this was Mordred, Randy didn't want to let on that they were onto him. “There's some shady folks lurking about this time of night.”

“You think I don't know that?” snapped the voice on the other side of the door. “I was directed here by a goddamn lizard man.”

There was something strange about this guy. If Mordred wanted to get in, Randy was pretty sure a wooden door wouldn't be much of a barrier for him to overcome. But if he was trying to infiltrate the place, he would want to present himself as a native to this world, and probably wouldn't swear so much.

“Where did you say you was from?” asked Randy.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Jay replied, “Charlotte, North Carolina.”

Randy unlocked the door and opened it a crack. A dark-skinned half-elf stared back at him. Not black-skinned like Katherine's friend, but rather brown-skinned like a black man from back home. He appeared to be alone, so Randy stepped back and opened the door wide enough to let him in.

“Hello,” said Randy. “My name's Randy.” He offered his hand to shake.

Jay walked right by him, taking in the room. “I thought there'd be more people here.”

The comment was obviously meant to elicit more information, but Randy didn't want to give away any more than he had to before he knew more about this Jay fellow.

“Things have been a little hectic lately, so everyone else is out runnin' errands. Denise and I stayed behind on account of she's pregnant.”

“Denise?”

“She fell asleep behind the bar.” Randy went back to his table and picked up his beer glass. He wasn't necessarily any more thirsty than he'd been before, but he didn't want to be empty-handed if Jay suddenly turned on him.

It ain't racist. I just don't know who this guy is.

His sword, which lay across his table in its sheath, was a much more effective means of defending himself, but he couldn't think of any innocent-seeming reason to pick it up. If this guy tried anything, hurling a glass of beer at him might be enough of a distraction to break a spell or give him time to draw his sword.

Jay peered over the bar, then winced and drew back. “Goddamn!”

Randy frowned. “That would be Denise.”

“I take it this is an unwanted pregnancy?”

“How do you... I mean, what makes you say that?”

“She's got an open liquor bottle shoved neck-deep up her honey pot.”

“Denise!” Randy cried as he ran to the bar. He leaned over to confirm Jay's observation with his own eyes. Just as Jay had said, Denise had a bottle up her cooch and the floor all around her was wet.

He vaulted over the bar, knelt next to Denise, and pulled the bottle out with a squelch. It was stoppered. He sighed in relief.

“Ain't nothin' to worry about. Looks like she was just using it to pleasure herself.” He nodded at the wet floor around her. “I reckon that's just pee.”

“How is that not something to worry about?” shrieked Jay. “This pregnant hairy bitch is obviously shitfaced!”

“She'll be alright. The gods guaranteed  her scorpion babies would be born healthy.”

“Scorpion babies?”

Randy covered his mouth. “Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that part this early into our acquaintance.”

Jay helped himself to a beer. “Let's cut the shit. Are you two from Earth?”

“We are.”

“So this Whore's Head Inn place. This is like some kind of hangout for people who got sent to this... whatever this is?”

“Caverns and Creatures.”

Jay set his half-drunk beer glass down on the bar and stared hard at Randy. “Are you talking about that game that white people play?”

“That is an offensive stereotype,” said Randy. “I think you meant to say nerds.”

“Nerds!” Jay repeated much more enthusiastically than Randy had said it. “It all makes sense now.” He gulped back the rest of his beer, then poured himself another.

Randy was pleased to have provided this gentleman some enlightenment, but he was more confused now than he was before. “What makes sense?”

“Check this out. I was working the front desk at the Hilton, which was gearing up for this big nerd convention they host every year. People show up dressed as orcs and Harry Potter and shit. It's fucked up. So anyway, I'm working the night shift, and this guy struts through the door at two o'clock in the morning like he's some kind of Greek god. I mean, this dude was legit nerd. It was like he was created in a lab from the distilled essence of lesser nerds.”

“Mordred,” Randy whispered.

Jay's face turned a shade paler. “That's him!”

Randy hopped back over the bar, took a seat on a stool, and sipped his beer. “Go on.”

“Dude wants to check in, but he didn't make a reservation. I said I was sorry, but the whole place was booked because of this convention. He says he knows that, which is why he just drove all the way from Mississippi. I apologize again, and explain that there just isn't anything I can do. Then do you know what he asks me?”

“What?”

“Motherfucker asks me if I want to walk.” The expression on Jay's face after he said that suggested that it was much more profound than how Randy interpreted it.

“I'm sorry,” said Randy. “He asked you if you wanted to go for a walk with him?”

“What? No!” Jay paused, then nodded. “Sorry. I should have mentioned that I was in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down.”

“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.”

Jay lifted his right foot and shook his leg. “Don't sweat it. So this Mordred guy sits down at a table in the lobby and beckons me over. I'm channeling all the professional courtesy I can muster not to punch him in his fat nerd face while he's pulling files out of his bag. Then he pulls out this little pouch.” He paused, looking expectantly at Randy.

“The dice.”

“The dice,” Jay confirmed. “He places one on the table in front of me and tells me to roll it. I politely explain that I'm on the clock and don't have time to play board games with him. That really set him off.”

“Because you wouldn't play with him?”

“Do you see a board?” said Jay in what Randy assumed was an impression of Mordred. “When he calmed down, he told me he'd leave me alone if I just rolled the die one time. He said it was a sociological experiment he was running. Whatever. If it got him the hell out of there, I'd roll the die.”

“Then you ended up here,” said Randy.

“No. Then I ended up locked in a cell in some rat-infested dungeon with these big-ass ears and functional legs. I'm freaking the fuck out, and then this little old gremlin guy appears outside the cell door. He grins at me, but doesn't say a word. He simply places a tray of food on the floor and walks away.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

“It was a first. Then it was more frustrating than anything. The gremlin guy showed up regularly to bring me food. And as much as I begged and pleaded with him, he refused to do anything but smile and deliver food. I have no idea how long I was down there. There weren't any windows. A few months at least. I was talking to rats just to hold on to my sanity. Then a couple of weeks ago, he stopped showing up. That's when I really started to lose it. Not only was I trapped in a cell, but I was going to starve to death in there.”

“Oh no!” said Randy. The timing of the jailer's sudden disappearance seemed to line up with when Mordred arrived in this world. “What did you do?”

“What I had to,” said Jay. “As loud as I shouted for help, no help arrived. I had to eat, so I lured in rats with my shit. I felt bad about killing them at first, seeing as how they were my only friends during a very difficult time in my life.” He shrugged. “Then I started to enjoy it. Anyway, after a few days of killing rats, I suddenly knew how to pick a lock. I used the strongest rat bones in my collection to pick the lock on my cell door. And just like that, I was a free man.”

Randy lifted his beer glass to drink, but was surprised to find it empty. He was so enthralled by Jay's story that he'd gotten his thirst back. After refilling his own glass and topping off Jay's, he pressed Jay to continue.

“Were you here in the city?”

Jay took a pull from his beer. “Not this one. I was in some place called Hollin, across the sea. I had to sneak into the cargo hold of a ship to get here.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn't have any money.”

“No,” said Randy. “I meant why did you want to come here in the first place?”

“Oh, right.” Jay yawned. “I started to wonder what was up when the whole town lost its shit over a New God being born. Then a little while later, when I heard about this New God turning up in Cardinia in the form of a giant marshmallow man, I knew that Ghostbusters shit had to be the work of someone from Earth.”

Randy frowned. “It wasn't the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. It was the Pillsburg Doughchild.”

“Oh.” Jay furrowed his brow in confusion but let it go. “As soon as we docked, I started asking around at pubs and taverns, looking for information about people who didn't seem to quite fit in. I couldn't believe how quickly I got a definitive answer. It was like the lizard man bartender knew exactly what I was talking about.”

“The folks who built this place let the other taverns know to keep their ears open for people asking those kinds of questions and send them this way.”

“I guess that means this sort of thing happens a lot?”

“I don't know,” said Randy. “I'm fairly new here myself. At any rate, I'm real glad you made it here in time.”

“In time for what?”

Randy took a deep breath, preparing himself for a long explanation.

“Mordred and his dice are here in this world.”

“Oh yeah?” said Jay through another yawn. Randy had expected more of a reaction to his bombshell revelation, but realized that Jay had had an exhausting couple of weeks.

“Yeah!” Randy tried to be an example of the proper level of enthusiasm Jay should be expressing. “Mordred has actually been split into six parts, and we have one of them.”

Jay's tired eyes widened. “I ain't gonna lie, man. That's some savage fucked up shit.”

Randy paused to consider what he said that might have been misconstrued as savage fucked up shit. “I meant his spirit has been divided into six whole living bodies. We've captured one of his avatars.”

“Oh,” said Jay. “That's a little less fucked up. What are you going to do with him?”

“That's why I'm glad you made it here in time,” said Randy, giving Jay an encouraging smile. “Once we get the dice, we can force Mordred to send us back  home!”

“Fuck that.” Jay took another swig from his beer. “I'm not going back to no wheelchair. I just came here to find some folks I had something in common with.”

Randy hadn't thought about that. Instead of giving him good news, he'd essentially told him that the only people in this world who could fully understand who he was and where he came from were about to ditch him.

“You don't have to go back to your old body. You could always pay a wizard to teleport you back to Earth just as you are.”

Jay let out a hollow laugh. “And do what? I can't take on my old identity looking like this. What am I going to tell my boss? Hey, my legs got better, my ears grew six inches longer, and I lost fifty pounds. And why would I want to anyway? I'd just as soon be tied down to that goddamn chair as tied down to my shitty job. Here I can be anything I want. I can learn magic. I can ride dragons. I can... I don't know... fuck a mermaid?” He looked Randy in the eye. “You know, I used to shake my head at those convention people, wondering what they saw in all this fantasy shit. But now I understand. I'm never going back.” He gulped back the rest of the beer in his glass. “It's been a pleasure to meet you, Randy, and I'd love to talk to you more tomorrow. But I've had a hell of a day. If I don't go to sleep soon, I'm going to pass out right here on this bar.”

“I understand.”

“So...” said Jay. “Where should I sleep?”

Randy glanced down at Denise, then back at Jay. “Anywhere you like.”

“Alright.” Jay folded his arms on the bar and lay his head down. Soon, he and Denise were having a conversation in snores.

Randy finished his beer, then joined in the conversation.

Chapter 10

Professor Goosewaddle had been very clear about never wanting to see their faces again. All the Whore's Head folks were banned from his Arby's. Considering the market value of a Teleport spell, which the professor had provided them in exchange for promising to never return, Chaz half expected to be blasted with lightning bolts for merely coming within a hundred feet of the place, or at least for the manager, Jennifer, to chase them off with a broom. Either one of those would have been preferable to flying back up to the Crescent Shadow.

Fortunately, neither of those things happened. He and Julian walked up to the glass door completely unscathed. The bright interior lights flooded out into the dark street. Arby's was open for business.

“You can go eat some rats,” Julian said to Ravenus, who excitedly flew around the side of the building into the alley.

Chaz held the door open for Julian. “After you.”

“Thank you,” said Julian with a friendly smile.

When Julian didn't get incinerated by fireballs, Chaz followed him in. There were no customers in the dining area, which wasn't surprising considering the late hour. The scent of curly fries made his mouth water.

“Welcome to Arby's,” groaned the pasty man in glasses and a sweat-stained Arby's uniform behind the counter. “Experience the exotic taste of – OW!” A wooden spoon bounced off the back of his head.

“More feeling!” shouted a goblin voice from the kitchen. Chaz shuddered with a flicker of anger, remembering the goblins who'd nearly killed him and Cooper in Glittersprinkles Grove.

The man straightened, his bloodshot eyes widening behind his thick glasses. “Welcome to Arby's!” he repeated with forced enthusiasm. “Experience the exotic taste of a world beyond your imagination!”

“Hello, Paul,” said Julian, reading the man's name tag. “We're here to see Professor Goosewaddle. Is he in?”

“Please, take your time, sirs!” said Paul much louder than was necessary. He leaned over the counter and whispered. “If you don't order something, the goblins will beat me with sticks.”

Chaz and Julian scanned the menu above the counter.

“I guess I'll have the chicken salad,” said Julian.

“Wonderful choice!” Paul was practically yelling at him. “Would you like fries and a drink with that?”

“I don't even really want the salad.”

Paul's eyes pleaded with him.

Julian sighed. “Sure.”

“Excellent!” Paul turned to Chaz. “And for you, sir?”

“I'll have a number two.”

Julian snorted.

Chaz shot him an annoyed glance. That was the sort of reaction he'd expect from Cooper.

Paul also stared at Julian. He whispered, “Are you part of that group from Earth?”

Chaz and Julian nodded.

“You're not supposed to be here! If Goosewaddle or Jennifer find out I served you, the goblins will beat me with sticks!”

“What's taking so long?” demanded the goblin from the kitchen. “Did you lose another customer?”

“A number two!” shouted Paul. “Very good, sir! That will be ten gold pieces.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” said Chaz. “Do you know what that's worth in real money?” Chaz hadn't worked out the exact exchange rate, but he'd spent less than that for a full night of drinking in a nice tavern.

“But you've never had food like this before! I guarantee you, it's worth the price!”

“Yes, I have. And no, it's not.”

“Here.” Julian counted ten gold coins from his pouch as he placed them on the counter.

Paul sighed with relief as he tapped the order in on his computer screen. “Order up!” he shouted back at the kitchen. Then he grabbed two medium-sized paper cups and placed them in front of Julian and Chaz. “Help yourselves to a soda. Your order will be out shortly.”

“Where's Goosewaddle?” asked Chaz.

“At Popeye's.”

“They opened a Popeye's here now?”

“No. He's back in Mississippi. Jennifer has been taking him to try out different fast food restaurants so he can expand his business.”

“Why doesn't he just open another Arby's?” asked Julian. “Isn't that kind of the point of a franchise? You just repeat what's already working for you. People here seem to really like Arby's, and Cardinia's big enough to support at least three or four more. And I'm sure there are other cities large enough to –”

“Goosewaddle is already heavily invested in real estate in this neighborhood,” Paul explained. “He wants to turn this area into an exotic food Mecca. If he pulls it off, his property values should go through the roof.”

Julian took his cup. “Do you have any way to get in touch with him?”

Paul smiled sympathetically and shrugged. “Sorry, no.”

“Damn,” said Julian as he went to the drink machine and filled his cup with ice. “We've wasted our time. I knew we should have just kept moving.”

Chaz suspected that Paul wasn't being completely honest with them. What if there was an emergency? Goosewaddle wouldn't leave his precious Arby's in the hands of this loser and a handful of goblins without a means to contact him.

Setting his lute case down on a table, Chaz briefly admired the pixie children's paintings of him and Cooper defeating the Dark Lord of Glittersprinkles Grove. He opened the case took out the handcrafted lute that Dimplethorn had overseen the construction of, and strummed the strings.

“Don't lie to us, you fat piece of shit. If you can contact him, then please just do it.”

The anxiousness vanished from Paul's face, and he smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I do have a way to contact him, in case there's an emergency.” He dug in his pocket, then pulled out a cell phone.”

Julian returned, sucking on his straw. “Whoa. You can make a call from here to Earth?”

“No,” said Paul. “Goosewaddle's been working on that, but the way time passes differently here is making things difficult. All he's managed to get so far is static. But he has magicked it so that I can send a text.”

Chaz thought for a moment. “If we tell the truth, he might ignore it. What can we say that will make him come here right away?”

“We could say the restaurant is on fire,” suggested Julian.

Paul shook his head. “Goosewaddle's got this whole place fireproofed.”

“Tell him you got robbed,” said Chaz. “A bunch of orcs or werewolves or some shit came in and held the place up. They grabbed what was in the till and ran off. If you hurry, you might still be able to catch them.”

Paul nodded, rapidly tapping his phone as Chaz talked. “Very good.”

“Okay,” said Chaz. “Read it back to me.”

“A bunch of orcs or werewolves or some shit came in and held the place up. They grabbed what was in the till and ran off. If you hurry, you might still be able to catch them.”

Chaz laughed. “I was thinking out loud. You weren't supposed to type that out word for word. Delete it all and we'll start from the beginning.”

Paul frowned. “I already sent it.”

“You typed orcs or werewolves or some shit? How did that sound good to you? Can you not tell the difference between an orc and a werewolf?”

“It doesn't matter,” said Julian. “I mean, we're lying anyway. Professor Goosewaddle isn't going to ignore something like this. Paul doesn't seem the sort to cry wolf or play practical jokes. When Goosewaddle comes back and finds us here, he'll probably have the goblins beat Paul with sticks.”

Paul frowned thoughtfully. “That's true. Why did I –”

“Order up!” shouted a goblin as he came out from the kitchen holding a tray of food. His attempt at a friendly smile sent a shiver up Chaz's spine. The very sight of one of those creatures put Chaz on edge, even if he was wearing an Arby's uniform and a name tag identifying him as “Shaggy”.

Shaggy only made it a few steps toward the table before he ran into the back of Professor Goosewaddle, who popped into existence right in his path, accompanied by Jennifer. Curly fries and lettuce spilled all over the floor.

“Shaggy!” screeched another goblin, stomping out from the kitchen. This one, according to her name tag, was named Velma. “Did you drop that –” She stopped when she recognized Goosewaddle and Jennifer, neither of whom looked pleased to be there. She bowed. “Professor. We were not expecting you so soon.” Without waiting for a response, she dropped to her knees and helped Shaggy scoop up everything from the floor and return it to the tray.

“You!” said Jennifer, seething at Chaz. “Didn't we tell you never to come –”

“Stop!” said Professor Goosewaddle. “We'll deal with him in a moment.” He peered up at Paul, who was trembling and sweating even more than before. “Now what was that message about? How much did they take? Did you see which way they went?”

Paul started sobbing. “There wasn't any robbery. I don't know why I sent that message. Please don't let the goblins beat me!”

This was sad to the point that Chaz felt embarrassed for Paul. “That was my fault. I put him up to it. I used a Suggestion spell on him.”

“What?” cried Paul. He sniffed back some snot and used his sleeve to wipe away tears and sweat from his fat cheek. “You violated my mind! That's... That's like raping me!” The fact that he hesitated long enough to think about it, then followed through anyway made it even worse.

“Take it easy, Special Victims Unit. That wasn't even in the same ballpark as –”

“Wait a minute,” said Julian, scowling at Chaz. “Did you do that to me too?”

Chaz shrugged. “Yeah. Why do you think I suddenly broke out in song?”

“It seemed a little weird at the time, but not as much as it does now.” Julian rubbed his temples. “Stay out of my head.”

“I'm sorry,” said Chaz. “Maybe I should have used Diplomacy instead.”

“Huh? Oh.” Julian shot him another annoyed glare, then turned to Professor Goosewaddle, who had only allowed this conversation to go on as long as it had because his attention was more focused on the fried chicken leg he was eating. “I hear you went to Popeye's. What did you think?”

“Outstanding,” Goosewaddle responded with his mouth full of chicken. His white mustache and beard were slick with grease and specked with fried batter crumbs. “When I open mine, I shall enjoy one of those biscuits every afternoon.”

Julian licked his lips. “They are good biscuits.”

There you go, Julian. Butter him up just like a Popeye's biscuit.

Professor Goosewaddle turned sharply to Chaz. “Now you can start explaining yourself. We had an agreement. In exchange for taking you to the Crescent Shadow, you were never to come back to this restaurant again. Why did you break your part of the bargain, deceive me, and interrupt my meal?”

Jennifer crossed her arms and stared at Chaz with eyes full of attitude, as if daring him to give a satisfactory answer to Goosewaddle's question.

Chaz stared down at the floor, hoping Julian would say something. Two goblins were still picking up curly fries and bits of salad and putting them back onto the tray. When the silence continued, Chaz took a deep breath and forced the words out. “We need you to take us to the Crescent Shadow.”

The professor's chicken leg bone trembled in his hand. “Have I lost my mind? Or did you just ask me to take you to the Crescent Shadow again?”

“Look, I know it's –”

“You were just there! If you like the place so much, why did you not simply stay?”

“I fell off.”

“I did, too,” said Julian. “Actually, it was more like I was tricked into jumping, but –”

“Here you are!” said Velma, holding up the tray in front of Chaz. “I apologize for the delay.”

“That's been on the floor. We paid ten gold pieces for that.” Chaz suddenly remembered his situation, and could practically feel the burn of Professor Goosewaddle's glare. “I mean, thank you. This looks delicious.” He accepted the tray.

“Very well,” said Professor Goosewaddle, his tone suddenly much friendlier. “I've prepared some extra Teleport spells today. I shall help you this one last time.”

Chaz and Julian sighed with relief.

“Thank you so much!” said Julian. “I've got to go get Ravenus. I'll be right back.” He hurried out the door.

“Goosewaddle!” said Jennifer, gaping at him as though he'd just stabbed her in the heart. “We talked about this.”

Professor Goosewaddle smiled up at her. “Take heart, Jessica. If not for these fine gentlemen, I would never have discovered the wonder that is fast food.”

Chaz winked at her. Suck it, Jennifer. Never underestimate the power of high Charisma scores.

Jennifer's fists trembled with frustration as she turned back to Goosewaddle. “But Professor, they made a deal with you, and –”

“You should come with us,” said Professor Goosewaddle. “You've been so kind to take me to these wonderful places in your world. I would like to show you as wondrous a spectacle on this one.”

Chaz cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Professor. Didn't you say last time that there was a bigger risk of missing the mark if you took more than two of us at a time?”

Jennifer's eyes pleaded with Goosewaddle for a moment, then she hung her head and nodded. “That's very kind of you, Professor.”

“I'd like to see the Crescent Shadow,” said Paul.

Goosewaddle glared up at him with an expression of disbelief. “Velma, Shaggy. Take him in the back and beat him with sticks.”

The two goblins giggled gleefully as they escorted a sobbing Paul into the kitchen.

Julian came back in with Ravenus on his shoulder. “Okay. Ready to go.” His cheerfulness dimmed as he tried to read Chaz's expression. “What's the matter? Where'd Paul go?”

“There was a problem with the fryer,” Chaz blurted out. He hadn't expected to be able to get to the Crescent Shadow without having to suck a dick, and the last thing he needed was Julian wasting time lecturing Goosewaddle on human rights violations in the workplace and making him reconsider his unexpected generosity. “We should really get moving.”

Professor Goosewaddle sat cross-legged on the shiny linoleum floor and held his hands out for Jennifer and Chaz. Chaz, Julian, and Jennifer followed his lead. Chaz set his Arby's tray on his lap and joined hands with Goosewaddle to his right and Julian to his left.

“Is everyone ready?” asked Goosewaddle.

The rest of them nodded. While Chaz was relieved that sucking dick was no longer in the cards for him, he was apprehensive about going back to the Crescent Shadow. It was a place for rich and powerful wizards, and he and Julian were trying to relieve them of magical artifacts which they'd recently paid a lot of money for. As far as Chaz knew, Julian didn't have any more of an idea than he did as to how they were supposed to do that. Maybe sucking dick was still in the cards after all.

Goosewaddle closed his eyes and whispered an incantation. The restaurant disappeared, and they were all sitting on cool sand. Five hundred feet above them, the Crescent Shadow hung in the night sky, sporadically illuminated by the fireworks and other magical lights flying erratically around it like bees near a hive.

Chaz's heart skipped a beat when he realized what had happened and how lucky they were. He turned to Goosewaddle, whose hand he was now squeezing. “I guess if you're aim was going to be off, this was the best possible alternative destination we could have hoped for.”

Professor Goosewaddle yanked his hand free of Chaz's grip. “My aim was one hundred percent accurate, thank you very much.” He got to his feet, made a token gesture at helping Jennifer to hers, then brushed the sand off his ass. “You wanted me to take you to the Crescent Shadow, and so I have. The island is named for the shadow it casts upon the Fertile Desert. It is not as well-defined in the moonlight, but perhaps you shall enjoy a better view of it in the morning. That is, of course, provided that the island has not jumped by then.”

Julian forced out a weak laugh. “You're joking, right?” His wavering voice suggested he was well aware that this was no joke. “You're not going to leave us out here to die, are you?”

“Whether you live or die is none of my concern.” Goosewaddle wagged his finger at Chaz. “This one made a promise to me, then went back on it.”

“But...” Julian paused, hopefully thinking up some miracle stroke of Diplomacy. “But we introduced you to Arby's.” Chaz grimaced and shook his head, but Julian kept on going. “Without us, you would never have –”

“That was my part of the bargain!” Professor Goosewaddle snapped back, just as Chaz expected he would. “My debt is paid.”

Julian turned to Jennifer, a move which Chaz wouldn't have recommended if they weren't already fucked beyond hope. “You can't let him do this. You're one of us.”

Unsurprisingly, Jennifer laughed and shook her head. “I told him he should have just Fireballed you.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm not one of you. I've got talent and ambition. I've been working my ass off since high school to pay my way through college, working three jobs and getting shit on by good-for-nothing middle-management assholes every step of the way. Professor Goosewaddle recognizes my administrative talents and treats me with respect. He listens to my advice, and he and I are going to make mountains of money because of it. You and your loser friends would do well to show the professor similar respect and stop taking advantage of his generous nature.”

Chaz had to admit she made some valid points, but he felt he had an equally valid counterpoint. He set the Arby's tray down on the sand next to him and stood up to look her in the eye. “But this is murder!”

“I'm sure you guys know this fucked-up world way better than I do. It's a dangerous place. Fuck with wizards at your own risk.” She looked down at Professor Goosewaddle. “Can we go back home now?”

“I actually did want to show you the island,” said the professor. “We deserve a break, and I think you'll find it fascinating.” He offered Jennifer his hand.

Jennifer accepted it with a smile. “You know what? You're right. We do deserve a break.”

Time was running out. Chaz turned to Julian, hoping he'd give Diplomacy one more try. But Julian looked dumbstruck, cradling his stupid bird like an asshole.

With no options left, Chaz did the only thing he could think of. He lunged at Goosewaddle, trying to grab him before he said his incantation.

Goosewaddle and Jennifer disappeared, and he sailed through the empty air and landed hard on the sand.

“Real nice,” said Julian. “Just like you did at the Whore's Head. You tried to fuck us all over to get yourself to safety. And you failed again.”

Chaz turned over. “This isn't anything like that. I was going to get help and come back for you.” In truth, he had just been acting on instinct and hadn't given a single thought about Julian, but Julian didn't need to know that.

“Save it. We have to figure out a way to get up there before the island jumps.”

Chaz scanned their surroundings, but it was too dark for him to see very far. Nothing but sand in every direction. Even if they were able to pull some miracle out of their asses, it would almost definitely involve having to endure the ascent rather than teleporting up there. “Maybe we're not far from the edge of the desert.”

“We can't count on that,” said Julian. “Ravenus, fly up there and see if you can get someone to help us. But don't stay too long. I don't want the island to jump with you still on it.”

“Very good, sir.” Ravenus rocketed into the air and quickly disappeared against the black sky.

Julian sat down cross-legged, placed his hands on his knees, and closed his eyes. “In the meantime, I'll start my meditation.”

“What the fuck good is that going to do us?” asked Chaz.

“I need my four hours of meditation before I can prepare my spells.”

“Four hours? How do you know that island is going to still be there in four hours?”

Julian shrugged. “I don't.”

“Do you even have any spells that can get us up there?”

“None come to mind, but I might be able to get creative with something. If Ravenus finds someone to help us, shake me awake. Otherwise, just let me finish. If the island disappears or I can't figure out a way to use magic to get us up there, I'll prepare a bunch of Mount spells and hope we're close enough to the edge of the desert to survive the trip.”

Chaz shrugged. It was a better plan than any he could think up. He lay on the sand and stared up at the fireworks exploding out from the Crescent Shadow, wondering if Goosewaddle or Jennifer were feeling even the tiniest bit of guilt over leaving them to die in the desert.

Chapter 11

Stacy woke up with a splitting headache. In fact, her entire body ached, like she'd just been in a –

Memories came flooding back, and she opened her eyes. Unsure if she'd done it properly the first time, she closed her eyes and opened them again. It was completely dark. She was either blind, or there was simply no light in this... wherever the hell she was.

With aching arms, she pushed herself up to a sitting position. The floor felt like hard-packed earth. Coarse grit pressed into her palms. The air tasted like old sweat. When she was sitting upright, she closed her eyes again, then placed the tips of her fingers against her eyelids and felt the eyeballs under them. She still had eyes. That was good.

Feeling around the back of her head, she felt a lump where one of those rat-guys had clobbered her with what felt like a sack of lead shot. What she didn't feel, however, was the magic hair clip. That was bad.

She was frustrated with how the whole thing had gone down. She'd barely gotten a word in when they all turned into rat-people and jumped her. In hindsight, she supposed she should have been more subtle, easing into things before she started asking about Tim. Or maybe she would have been better off forgoing the ruse and skipping straight to the violence. She and Cooper could have –

Cooper!

She wanted to call out to him, but that would let her captors know that she was awake before she had a chance to figure out where she was. And whatever Cooper's current state, she couldn't see how shouting his name would change it.

Then again, if he was nearby, there wouldn't be any harm in whispering for him.

“Cooper?”

No answer. In fact, there was hardly any sound at all. If she hadn't just heard herself whisper Cooper's name, she would have thought she'd gone deaf as well as blind.

She crawled slowly across the dirt floor, pawing at the ground ahead of her and on either side, trying to form a mental image of her surroundings. Finally, her hand found a wall ahead of her. It felt like old bricks. The mortar crumbled as she ran a finger against it. With both hands on the wall, she got to her feet and felt up as high as she could reach. There was just more wall. She started walking cautiously along the wall, keeping her left hand against it and holding her right hand in front of her. Three steps later, she found a corner. After repeating the process three more times, she confirmed that she was in a ten-foot by ten-foot cell of some kind. But strangely, there didn't seem to be a door. It was bricked in on all sides.

It was possible, she supposed, that she'd been immured like in Edgar Allan Poe's The Cask of Amontillado, but that was doubtful. If she'd been unconscious long enough for someone to brick her in, she was sure she'd be hungrier than she was now. But there must be a way in and out. The brickwork didn't feel stable enough to be able to accommodate some kind of intricate secret door mechanism. Dropping to her hands and knees, she couldn't feel any hatches or grooves in the floor.

She stopped pawing at the floor as a thought occurred to her. Looking up, she still saw nothing but total blackness, but she wondered...

After feeling her right boot to confirm that her attackers hadn't removed the dagger she kept hidden in it, she took off her left boot and stood up. She tossed the boot straight up, estimating that it would go about twenty feet high uninterrupted by a ceiling. There was no sound of impact until the boot hit the ground in front of her in line with her estimation. She was either in an extremely high-ceilinged cell or, more likely, a pit.

She considered tossing the boot at an angle to get some hint as to how deep the pit was by listening for it to land outside, but quickly dismissed that idea. The height of the walls was only important insofar as to determine whether or not they were too high for her to jump up and catch the edge of.  If she threw her boot out of the pit to discover they were too high, she'd still be stuck down here, but with only one boot. The better way to find out was to just go for it.

Once she found her boot, she put it on and felt for the nearest wall. She stepped backward, carefully estimating the distance as she walked, until her back touched the opposite wall. Then she ran forward and jumped as hard as her legs could launch her. She didn't feel the wall with her fingers, but she felt it pretty damn hard with her face and breasts.

“Fuck,” she whispered when she hit the ground. “That hurt.” She blew her hair out of her face and licked her upper lip. The salty taste confirmed that she was bleeding from her nose.

Thinking she might have more success if she jumped half a second earlier, she turned around and ran at the opposite wall. That effort hurt just as much as the first, but she did manage to touch the wall with her fingers in addition to her face and breasts. Unfortunately, what she felt was still vertical.

Though she didn't relish the idea of slamming herself into a wall a third time, she couldn't help but wonder if she was missing the top by just a fraction of a centimeter. She struggled back to her feet, took a deep breath, and steeled herself for the next impact.

“Stop! Stop!” said a woman's voice through laughter. Stacy recognized her as Dolazar. “I cannot bear to watch again. Truly, it is too much.”

With a loud crack, the pit was flooded with white light shining from a foot-long stick in Dolazar's hand as she stood at the edge of the pit, fifteen feet above Stacy, well out of jumping range. She smirked at Stacy as she peered down at her through a peculiar pair of opaque black steampunk goggles. Stacy's Cloak of Elvenkind hung loosely from Dolazar's shoulders. It wasn't something she'd need to wear while skulking around in the dark, but it was a nice touch for rubbing salt in the wound.

As humiliating an experience as it was, Stacy was at least relieved that she wasn't actually blind.

“Where's Cooper?” Stacy demanded.

Dolazar lifted the goggles to her forehead. “You are the captive. I am the captor. I shall be asking the questions.”

“I'm not telling you shit until I know that Cooper's okay.”

“What know you of the halfling on the poster? What is your business with him?”

Stacy made a zipping gesture across her tightly-shut lips.

Dolazar frowned. “What is that you're doing with your mouth?” Her confusion made sense now that Stacy thought about it. Zippers probably hadn't been invented yet in this world.

“It means I'm not talking.”

“I don't think it does,” said Dolazar. “I think you meant to do this.” She placed a finger over her mouth.

“Whatever. The point is that if you want answers from me, I'm going to need some quid pro quo.”

Dolazar looked even more dumbfounded than before. “What is that? Some type of soup?”

Stacy sighed. “It means you give me the information I want in exchange for me giving you the information you want.”

“It most certainly does not! You're making up nonsense words!”

“I'm sorry,” said Stacy. “That's a saying where I come from.” She wasn't in the strongest position of leverage, but she didn't think Dolazar would keep her alive if she didn't think Stacy had information that was valuable to her. “If you can prove that my friend is alive and unharmed, I'll answer your questions about the halfling.”

“Some friend! Why do you have such a low sense of self-worth? He told me himself that you are to him merely an object to fill with his dick.”

Stacy took a moment to let that sink in. It didn't make sense for Cooper to say something like that about her. She'd never gotten anywhere near his dick. On the other hand, the word dick didn't sound like a word Dolazar was comfortable saying. That was definitely more in line with Cooper's vernacular. Was he trying some kind of reverse psychology? She means nothing to me. Do with her what you will. Surely he had the self-awareness to know that mind games weren't his strong suit. Then again, it was equally plausible that he'd watched enough crappy action movies to feel confident that he could sell it. She was sure his heart was in the right place, but she didn't like the idea of being his psychological bargaining chip.

“He's obviously trying to feign indifference toward me so that you won't think I'm valuable enough to him to use as a hostage.”

Dolazar frowned sympathetically. “Poor child. What is obvious is that he cares for you not in the least. You know it in your heart to be true, and yet you concoct this elaborate narrative in your mind to deny it. Tell me, if you truly believed this to be true, why would you tell me what his motivations are?”

That was a good question. But the fact that Dolazar was engaging in the argument was evidence that a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind. The best fertilizer to nurture that seed was an added layer of bullshit.

“I was just trying to trick you into confirming that he's alive and unharmed. You keep referring to him in the present tense. He cares for me not in the least. What his motivations are.”

“That's not –”

“You've told me exactly what I wanted to know,” Stacy continued. “Unfortunately, you didn't do so voluntarily, so I'm afraid that doesn't count toward our quid pro quo. If you want any information out of me, you'll have to answer another –”

“I need you to fangleboop in my snarfdoodle,” said Dolazar as she marched back and forth along the edge of the pit, flapping her arms like a chicken.

Stacy wondered if she'd broken her. “I beg your pardon?”

Dolazar stopped marching and pointed down at Stacy. “That is what you sound like! We shall see how much fun your silly words and gestures are when the hunger starts to set in. You won't last three days before you beg me to listen to you tell me every last detail of what you know in exchange for a handful of dead cockroaches to eat.” She took the Hair Clip of Disguise out of her pocket, put it in her hair, and morphed into a perfect likeness of Stacy. “Think about that until I return tomorrow.” She even nailed Stacy's voice.

As Dolazar walked away, the light from her glowing stick went with her. The underground chamber grew darker and darker until Stacy was effectively blind again.

Dolazar had been right about one thing. Stacy wasn't going to make it three days in this pit. Not because she wasn't tough enough, but rather because she was an extremely intelligent woman with nothing to do but think.

She was in a pit. There was nothing keeping her in but gravity. Surely there must be some simple way of escaping. She knew approximately how high the walls were, but she also knew that was too high to reach.

After twenty more minutes of thinking, she still had nothing. The frustration she felt was part of the design of this prison. It was like a cell with a wide open door that was just out of reach.

She put aside thoughts of jumping and climbing for now, focusing on what she had available to work with. The dagger in her boot was the most obvious asset to contemplate leveraging. But how?

In her current situation, the best she could manage would be to throw it at Dolazar. But the chances of killing her with  a single thrown dagger were slim. Even then, such a best-case scenario would leave her in the same situation she was in now, minus a dagger and plus a nearby rotting corpse to smell while she slowly died of thirst. The worst-case, and far more likely, scenario was that she'd just piss off Dolazar even more while giving her the satisfaction of knowing that Stacy had just blown her Hail Mary play.

No, she needed something sneakier, something more subtle. Something that would take this rat bitch completely by surprise.

She sat down against the wall on the side of the pit that Dolazar had been standing on and removed the dagger from her boot. As she stared into the darkness, an idea started to take shape in her mind. It wasn't foolproof by any means. There were a lot of variables which could cause it to end in humiliating defeat. But if she managed to pull it off, the look on Dolazar's face would be so worth the sacrifice.

There were a lot of finer points to work out, but fortunately the most important one didn't require much thought. Just mundane time-consuming work, during which she could flesh out how everything else would go down.

Pinching a half-centimeter-thick lock of hair, she sawed through it with her dagger as close to her scalp as she could manage. She divided that into two clusters, then licked her fingertips and rubbed the ends of each between her fingers until the follicles stuck together. With a series of spins and twists, and a considerable amount of saliva, she braided the two strands together to make the beginning of a cord. When she was halfway through, she cut off another lock of hair and wove in additional strands, adding to the cord's length.

Cut. Weave. Lick. Spin. Twist. Repeat.

By the time the cord had grown to about ten feet long, and Stacy was about a quarter bald, the process had become second nature. She smiled to herself as she thought about how clever she was.

Chapter 12

Katherine woke up on Nightwind's rear deck with her head cradled in Butterbean's soft fur. The eastern sky was pink, but the sun hadn't yet risen.

She and Tanner had discussed the food issue the night before and decided between the two of them that they should wait until morning to bring the matter to everyone else's attention. If they'd brought it up the previous night, they were still close enough to Cardinia to turn around. And since Mordred was now aware they were on a boat, it was too risky to return to the harbor.

Poor Tanner had to be starving. He had literally not eaten in his current lifetime. Katherine decided that they were far enough away from Cardinia now so that there wouldn't be any temptation to return. She had to wake everyone up and collect whatever food they had on them to be rationed out until they reached Nazere.

She climbed up onto the ballista platform with Butterbean by her side. With everyone sleeping on the deck, Nightwind didn't look a whole lot different from the floor at the Whore's Head Inn. The open sea air was fresher, of course, but they'd managed to bring some of their familiar musk on board. It was time to captain up. “Excuse me. If I could have everyone's attention.”

The sleepy crew moaned and groaned. Only the elves at the bow who she'd left in charge of Mordred and the Bag of Holding were paying attention to her.

One of Nightwind's features she'd been most curious about since acquiring the ship was the presence of a long-handled cowbell hanging from a peg on the mainmast. Her curiosity was now sated.

She hopped down, swiped the cowbell from the peg, then climbed back onto the ballista platform.

CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG

She shook that bell like a stubborn ketchup bottle until every last one of those lazy assholes was on their feet. She felt a little bad for their familiars and animal companions, and for the elves who were already awake and had the most sensitive ears, but she would not be ignored aboard her ship.

“Thank you,” she said curtly when she lowered the bell. “An important issue has been brought to my attention.”

The sleepiness vanished from Frank's eyes as he turned to the elves. “Did we lose Mordred?”

Tony the Elf shook his head. “Mordred's fine. I checked on him myself a few minutes ago.”

Frank glared up at Katherine. “So what's this important issue? Did you make a list of chores for us? Are we going to do some team-building exercises? Is there a new policy regarding the coffee maker?”

“You know what, Frank?” said Katherine. “I've been giving you the benefit of the doubt because I know you've had a rough go lately. But the more time I spend with you, the more I think you're just an asshole.”

“You woke us up before dawn with a fucking cowbell. Excuse me if I'm not somersaulting with joy. We're all up now. Hit us with the big news.”

Katherine couldn't see any point in putting it off any longer. “We don't have any food.”

The crew exchanged concerned glances and muttered to each other.

“It's nothing to panic about,” Katherine reassured them. “The trip is only a few days. I have a Create Water spell, as well as a Purify Food and Drink spell. And I'm sure there are other spellcasters on board who also have those spells. So we've got water covered. If everyone pools together all the food they've brought with them, I'm sure we can scrounge up enough to make it to Nazere.” She smiled encouragingly as she scanned the crew. None of them were smiling. They were glaring at her now.

Katherine's smile wilted. “None of you brought anything to eat?” She turned to Rhonda and narrowed her eyes. “Really?” There was no way she didn't have the pockets of those voluminous wizard robes stuffed with jelly doughnuts or something.

“What?” said Rhonda. “Why are you looking at me?”

“We didn't plan for this trip,” said Frank. “We left in a hurry, faithful that our captain wouldn't set sail on a multi-day sea voyage without any food.”

Katherine wondered how far she could kick that little gnome prick into the sea.

Tanner climbed up to stand next to her. “There's no need to panic.” He pointed to a fish jumping out of the water not far away. “We are literally surrounded by food. All we need to do is figure out a way to get it from the sea to the ship.”

“That's right,” said Katherine. She clapped her hand on Tanner's shoulder. “He's really clever.” She turned to him. “So what's the plan?”

Tanner shrugged. “You have lines and hooks, do you not?”

“Yeah,” said Katherine. “But we don't have any bait.” She scanned the crew again. “Do none of you have a single morsel of food that we can put on a hook?” Her gaze instinctively drifted to Rhonda again.

Rhonda glared back at her. “Problem with your eyes?”

“I think the solution here is obvious,” said Frank. “We're going to have to kill one of the animals.”

Katherine gasped. “What the hell is your problem?”

“And since the captain is responsible for the well-being of her crew, it only seems fitting that the captain be the one to make the sacrifice.”

“I'm so glad you put a full two minutes into deciding that our only hope of survival is killing Butterbean.” She turned to Tony the Elf, whose big shaggy sheepdog was lying at his feet. “What do you think, Tony the Elf? You've got an animal companion.”

“We're not killing Dave,” said Tony the Elf.

Katherine smiled. “I wouldn't dream of it. I just thought you might have the perspective to advise Frank here on how wise it would be for him to try to take Butterbean from me.”

Tony the Elf grimaced. “I wouldn't recommend it.”

Frank held his hands up innocently. “I'm just saying. If it comes down to starving, we're going to have to make some difficult decisions.”

“Let me make this decision a little easier for you, Frank. If you lay a single one of those stubby little fingers on Butterbean's fur, I'll cut it off and bait a hook with –”

“Carbon Dioxide,” said one of the elves on the bow. His hair blew back as the Bag of Holding spewed out Mordred's most recent exhalations.

“There's the solution!” Katherine said excitedly. “Mordred!”

Frank frowned, the hostility on his face replaced with disgust. “You want to eat Mordred?”

“Ew, no. But we could use him as bait.”

“What are you trying to catch?” asked Rhonda. “A kraken?”

Katherine felt a little sad that Cooper wasn't there to say, Or Dave's mom? “I'm not a monster. I'm not suggesting we kill another Mordred. I was just thinking maybe we could cut off one of his arms and chop it up for bait.” It sounded a lot worse when she said it aloud.

Frank didn't bother to respond. He didn't have to. Everyone else's shocked silence said enough. She was a bloodthirsty psychopath, just like her brother. There might be a mutiny long before starvation started to kick in. She eyed the crew, waiting for one of them to pounce on her. She'd clobber them with her cowbell, then summon a couple of wolves. If she used a Spider Climb spell, she might be able to –

“Not a bad idea,” said Tony the Elf.

The frustration on Frank's face was almost worth the potential mutiny. “So now we're back to torture?”

“This isn't torture. Mordred can't feel pain while he's occupying one of his other avatars. If we cut off an arm, and heal up the wound before he checks in, he won't feel a thing.”

“You're talking about cutting a man's arm off!” cried Frank.

Tony the Elf rubbed his chin and nodded. “There are other benefits as well. If he somehow manages to free himself of the ropes, having one less arm will probably hamper his ability to cast spells with somatic components. Maybe we should cut off both his arms, just as a precaution.”

“He'll need a hand to hold the dice if we want to get back home,” said Fritz.

“Good point.”

Frank's little fists were trembling. “Have you all gone mad?”

“It sends a message as well,” said Tony the Elf.

“Isn't that, like, the textbook definition of torture? You're threatening to cut off a person's limbs if they don't do what you want.”

“That's the beauty of it. We're not threatening anything. Think about it. What happens when Mordred wakes up and realizes he's missing an arm? He'll have no idea why we did it. That's way more terrifying than if we made some kind of threat. He'll be like, Oh shit! They cut my arm off for no reason. Those guys are savage as fuck. I'd better steer clear of them.”

“I can't believe what I'm hearing,” said Frank. “I expect this from one of them.” He nodded in Katherine's direction. “But I expected better from you.”

“Cool it with the dad lecture, Frank. We're in a tight spot, and it doesn't hurt to consider all our options. I don't like the idea of cutting someone's arm off any more than you do. But in this case, it's not going to keep me up at night.”

“Because he's a bad person?” Frank climbed up to join Katherine on the ballista platform, which Katherine found a little nervy of him. He addressed the crew. “Don't you see? We aren't supposed to only refrain from torturing nice people. Otherwise, it wouldn't even be an issue. If the thought of permanently maiming a man doesn't keep you up at night, then what kind of a person are you?”

The crew looked down at the deck, avoiding Frank's judging stare.

“Cut the drama, Frank,” said Tony the Elf. “The reason it's not going to keep me up at night isn't because I'm suddenly cool with permanently maiming a man. Mordred's got four more bodies, each with two perfectly functional arms. That's more than any of –”

“Magic Misile!” cried Rhonda.

Katherine ducked instinctively, but Rhonda was facing away from her, out to sea. The golden glowing arrow that flew out from her open palm sailed ten feet before turning sharply downward and plunging into the water.

As the boat continued sailing, Katherine climbed onto the ballista to get a better view. In the pre-dawn light, she was barely able to make out a cluster of bubbles rise to the surface, followed by the remains of a partially-exploded fish.

“Lower the sails!” cried Katherine. “Drop the anchor!” When they finally got the ship to stop moving, the distance they'd sailed past the dead fish was probably swimmable. Even if there wasn't any salvageable meat, those fish guts could bait a few hooks. They could put the matter of whether or not to cut Mordred's arm off behind them.

“Shall I retrieve the fish?” asked Tanner.

“No. I'm the captain. It's my responsibility to look after my crew.” She turned to the ship's bow. “Tony the Elf. Bring me the Bag of Holding.”

Tony the Elf reached inside the bag. “Carbon Dioxide.” He carried it toward her. “What do you need it for?”

Since he was doing as he was instructed, Katherine gave him the benefit of the doubt in assuming the question came more from curiosity than insubordination.

“I'm going after an exploded fish. I don't want to touch that shit.”

Tony the Elf rolled up the bag and put it in her hand, but didn't let go. “Mordred's only got ten minutes' worth of air. Are you sure you can make it to the fish and back in less than that amount of time?”

Katherine frowned. “No.”

“He already knows he's on a boat,” said Rhonda. “If we put him down in the cargo hold, he shouldn't be any more dangerous down there than he is in the bag.”

“That would be fantastic,” said one of the other elves. “Keeping up with his air supply every ten minutes is really mentally taxing. I don't think I can handle another night of that.”

Katherine nodded, then addressed the rest of the crew. “Any objections?”

Most everyone shrugged or shook their heads, but they all seemed uneasy about the decision.

Katherine led Tanner, Frank, Rhonda, Tony the Elf, and the strong dwarf and half-orc whose names she hadn't yet learned down into the cargo hold. She reached into the bag of holding and said –

“Wait!” said Tanner.

“What?”

“What are you going to say?”

Katherine removed her hand from the bag. “I was going to say Mordred.”

“Don't forget what happened back at the harbor. What if you only pull out Mordred, without the rope and chair and shitbag?”

Katherine thought about the people she'd pulled out of the bag, and the times she'd been pulled out of it. Except for a few special circumstances, they'd always had clothes on. But Tanner was right to be wary.

“What should I say?”

“Tied-up Mordred?” suggested Tony the Elf.

Katherine frowned. “I don't like it. That might only give us the rope, and not the chair.”

“I've got it,” said Tanner. “Mordred and everything within two feet of him.” He looked around, and everyone nodded their approval.

“Chances are he won't be conscious,” said the half-orc. “And if worse comes to worst, Eddie and I can restrain him until we get the ropes back on him.”

Katherine made a mental note to remember the dwarf's name was Eddie. She opened the bag and put her hand inside it.

“Mordred and everything within two feet of him.”

Mordred spilled out of the bag, still tied to the chair, and landed on his side. Eddie and the half-orc righted him, then Katherine checked his pulse. She felt his wrist because his neck was caked with shit.

“Should we take the bag off?” asked the half-orc. “Let him breathe a little easier while he's down here below deck?”

“No,” said Frank. For someone who had only a few minutes before pleaded so passionately about not cutting another person's arm off, he sounded pretty absolute about letting that person breathe Cooper's ass fumes indefinitely. “This Mordred is a powerful wizard. The shitbag is one of the measures we have to protect us from his magic. If he doesn't want to breathe shit, he has the choice to stay in one of his other bodies.”

Katherine didn't give a shit about the quality of the air Mordred was breathing. She had fish guts to retrieve. When she returned to the deck, the top of the sun was peeking over the eastern horizon, and the sky was much brighter. The fish guts should be easier to spot when she swam close enough.

“Be careful,” said Tanner. “The sea appears calm on the surface, but dangerous creatures lurk beneath it.”

“I'm not going to be in that long, and it's not like I've never swum in the sea before.” Katherine removed her hat and placed it on Tanner's head. “You're captain until I return.” She leaned in close to whisper. “Don't let Frank steal my ship.” She folded the Bag of Holding in half, rolled it as tight as she could, then shoved it down the back of her jeans. Launching herself from the rear deck, she hit the water fingertips-first.

The water was clear and cool. She would have preferred to be in more appropriate swimming attire, but it felt good to be swimming again. As close as she'd lived to the Gulf of Mexico, she almost never went to the beach. There always seemed to be something more important she had to do. But now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember having done anything particularly important in her entire life on Earth.

She freestyled hard until she needed to rest. Looking back, she'd swum farther from the ship than she thought. Maybe fifty yards or so. She waved to the few people who were watching over her from the rear deck, then scanned the water around her for the floating fish guts.

No sign of them to the right, or the left. She looked back to align herself with the ship before she started swimming farther out, then turned around. Thirty yards in front of her, a huge grey shark head erupted out of the water, then disappeared back under. It was at least as big as the shark from Jaws.

She tread water, trembling and breathing fast. “I guess you beat me to the fish guts.”

“Katherine!” Tanner called out from the ship. He sounded like he was a million miles away. “Swim back!”

Swim back.

Katherine nodded, then started swimming backwards. She knew in her head that the shark could be anywhere, but the fear in her heart wouldn't let her pull her eyes away from the spot where it had surfaced.

When the fin emerged and started slicing through the water after her, her heart deferred to her head, and she started swimming like a motherfucker.

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!

No. She had to use her thoughts more productively. There was no way she was going to outswim a shark, and the ship was much too far away for her to close the gap in time. She mentally flipped through the spells she had prepared.

Cure Light Wounds? No.

Spider Climb? No.

Purify Food and Water? No.

Then it hit her. She stopped swimming and turned back to the shark.

“Reduce Animal!” she cried, pointing at the advancing fin. She'd meant to use that spell on Tony the Elf's dog, so that he'd learn his place in the pecking order compared to Butterbean while he was aboard her ship.

The shark thrashed and splashed as its body shrank down to the size of... Well, a normal-sized shark that could still very easily kill her.

Katherine hoped that the shark might have gotten freaked out by the experience and swim away, but it reorientated itself and swam straight for Katherine again.

Her last effort was a long shot, but what the hell. “Speak with Animals!” She let herself sink below the surface and shouted at the shark. “STOP!”

The shark didn't stop, but it did change course, swimming in a circle around her rather than right at her. “Why?” Its whiny voice was surprisingly clear for coming through the water.

“Because you don't want to eat me.”

“Yes, I really do. But please continue talking first. I've never experienced an exchange of thoughts like this before.”

One of the drawbacks of underwater conversation was that she needed to pause in order to breathe. “Hold that thought. I'll be right back.” She surfaced, then gave everyone screaming aboard Nightwind what she hoped was an encouraging thumbs up.

Thankful that the shark hadn't taken this opportunity to bite her legs off, she ducked back under the water. “I'm all skin and bones. There's hardly any meat on me.” Thinking that sounded more like self-flattery than criticism, she added, “And I'm crawling with gonorrhea.” She pulled out her Bag of Holding and held it open. “But you should see what I've got in my bag.” She tried to think of things which would appeal to a shark. “Walruses, manatees, fat kids.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Much more so than me. Just a second.” She surfaced, gave a quick wave as she took a deep breath, then re-submerged. She had this thing on the ropes. Now she just needed to apply a little pressure. “If you want the good stuff, you'd better swim in here before that Reduce Animal spell times out and you can't fit through the opening.” She was totally bluffing. The spell's duration was actually several hours.

“Oh dear!” said the shark.

Katherine was alarmed when the shark turned her way, but she trusted in its inherent stupidity and smiled as she held the bag open. She had never been more terrified and exhilarated in her life as she was when it brushed her with a fin on its way into the bag. When the tail disappeared inside, she exhaled what felt like enough relief bubbles to fill ten Bags of Holding.

The immediate danger was gone, but Katherine had a new appreciation for what else lurked beneath the surface of the water. She swam hard for Nightwind. Tanner and Tony the Elf grabbed her by the arms when she'd climbed high enough up the ladder for them to reach her.

“What happened?” asked Tanner.

Katherine took her hat from him and placed it back on her head. “I captained up. The food issue has been resolved.”

Chapter 13

Vaeryn shrieked at the gun blast and clapped her hands over her long ears. Tim lunged at her and thrust his hand into her weighted robe pocket. By the time he managed to pull his gun out and point it at Vaeryn, she had recovered enough to point Officer Williams's gun at him. A Mexican standoff.

Dave stared down at Officer Williams lying on the street, eyes shut tight and breathing fast. His uniform was slick with blood pouring out from the wound in his belly.

“He's hurt fucking bad, man,” said Dave. “What are we going to do?”

Tim didn't take his eyes off Vaeryn. “I'm in the middle of something, Dave.” He grinned at Vaeryn. “Weren't expecting that blast, were you? That gun hasn't been silenced.”

“You got lucky that time,” said Vaeryn. “Do you trust your luck to save you next time?”

“I trust my weapon. That piece of shit in your hand is a standard police-issue Smith and Remington P45. I'll easily fire off three shots to your every one.”

Dave was fairly certain that Tim didn't know dick about guns and was making shit up to sell his Bluff check.

A light flicked on inside one of the houses on the cul-de-sac. Dave noticed that two other houses had their lights on as well, which he was pretty sure wasn't the case a few minutes ago.

“You two need to put the guns down. People are calling the cops, and we are standing here like assholes, waving guns around while there's a dying cop at our feet.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Well gee, Dave. If only there were someone here who could stop the cop from dying. Maybe a cleric?”

“Shit, that's right!” Dave knelt next to Officer Williams and placed a hand on his sweaty brow. “I heal thee!”

Officer Williams shuddered and stopped breathing for a moment. Dave looked at his hand, wondering if he'd somehow screwed up. Then Officer Williams exhaled, opened his eyes, and stared up at Dave.

“What happened? What did you do to me?”

“I hope I healed you. How do you feel?”

The officer untucked his shirt and felt his abdomen. “I feel fantastic. But what did you... How did you do that?”

Dave considered claiming to be a faith healer, but religion already had a tight enough stranglehold on this part of the country. Instead, he opted for the ridiculous truth.

“Magic.”

Officer Williams sat up and narrowed his eyes at Dave. “Don't you bullshit me, boy.” He glared at Tim and Vaeryn, still pointing guns at each other. “You two better put those guns down before someone else gets hurt, and tell me what's going on here for real. Are you in one of those satanic fantasy cults?”

“I don't think those are a thing,” said Dave. “I'm being straight with you. I healed you with –”

A police car siren blared from off in the distance, but sounded like it was getting closer.

“Tim! The cops are going to show up any second. We have to get the hell out of here. Now!”

Tim shook his head. “We'll never make it. We won't get far in a cop car, and you're too slow to get away on foot.”

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do?”

“I'm going to lower my gun,” Tim said to Vaeryn. “And you're going to lower yours. Then  you're going to give Dave your Ring of... my Ring of Invisibility.”

Vaeryn smiled.  “And why am I going to do that?”

“Because he's the only one strong enough to carry us. And because if the cops take us in, you'll never see those boots again. You'll be stuck in this world forever.” Tim lowered his gun.

Vaeryn took a couple of seconds to consider it as the sirens grew louder and louder. Finally, she lowered her gun, reached into her pocket, then tossed the Ring of Invisibility to Dave.

Despite his trembling hands, Dave caught the ring. It expanded to fit his finger, which was considerably fatter than Vaeryn's. Then his hands, along with the rest of him, disappeared.

“Well I'll be damned,” said Officer Williams. “That's some impressive shit.”

“Dave, you idiot!” said Tim. “Take the ring off!”

Dave took it off and became visible again. “Then what the hell did you give it to me for?” He put the ring in his bathrobe pocket.

“You need to be holding us before you turn invisible.”

Vaeryn climbed on Dave's back, and he held her up by her silky smooth legs. He concentrated on not getting an erection while Tim climbed up his front side.

“Okay, now,” said Tim.

“I can't,” said Dave. “My hands are full.”

Tim, whose face was close enough to kiss, rolled his eyes at Dave, then turned to a befuddled Officer Williams. “Hey, would you mind reaching into Dave's pocket and putting that ring on his finger?” He held up the gun to suggest the question form of the request was merely a courtesy.

Officer Williams peered up the dark street like he was considering gambling on the cavalry to arrive before Tim could shoot him. But after a second, he did as Tim instructed, then backed away like a frightened rabbit when Dave, Tim, and Vaeryn disappeared.

“I've still got the gun on you,” Tim shouted over the quickly approaching siren. “Get rid of them.”

Dave felt Vaeryn tense as a police car sped toward them, then screeched to a halt, bathing the cul-de-sac in flashing blue light.

Officer Williams's younger partner from Walmart hopped out of the car, gun in hand and searching for a target. “Williams! What happened? Are you okay? We got a call about a bunch of people out here and a shot being fired.”

“Easy, Joe,” said Officer Williams. “I'm fine. Everything's fine.”

“What are you talking about? Look at you. You're covered in blood!”

“This isn't my blood. It's... um... dog blood. Poor thing jumped out right in front of my car. I held it in my arms, trying to save its life, but I couldn't stop the bleeding. I did what needed to be done.”

Joe holstered his gun and stared at Officer Williams with teary eyes. “Like Old Yeller?”

Officer Williams nodded. “That's right, Joe. Like Old Yeller.”

Dave had to admit, the officer had just pulled a pretty good story out of his ass. He hoped it would get rid of Joe soon. Neither Vaeryn nor Tim were particularly heavy, but Dave was starting to feel the fatigue of holding them in his legs and arms.

Joe sniffled, wiped away a tear, then scanned the street. “Where's the dog?”

Dave's heart skipped a beat, and he felt Vaeryn's leg muscles tense in his hands as her thighs squeezed him. In spite of the danger they were all in, and the fact that his dick was pressing against Tim, he was unable to contain his arousal. The next thing he felt was Tim's gun barrel against his head. That sorted out the erection problem real quick.

“Where do you think it is?” snapped Officer Williams. “The family took it with them. What did you think? They were going to leave their dead dog out here in the street for the flies and buzzards?”

Joe lowered his head. “Sorry, man. I didn't realize the family was out here. That's horrible.”

“Why don't you run on back to Walmart, Joe? I'm going to go home and wash all this blood off me.”

“Sure thing, Williams.” Joe got back in his car and drove off.

Dave felt a hard slap on his right cheek and let go of Varyn's legs. He turned around to find her visible and glaring at him. Thankfully, at least she was holding Officer Williams's gun down by her side.

“What was that for?” Dave asked, rubbing the soreness out of his cheek.

“That was for the way you touched me.”

“I had to hold your legs.”

“You think I can't feel the difference between holding and fondling? You're disgusting.”

Dave felt a hard slap on his left cheek, then Tim became visible as he dropped to the street.

He likewise glared up at Dave. “You know what that was for.”

Screw all this. Dave was invisible, barely dressed, and his balls felt like they were about to burst. What was the point of having a Ring of Invisibility if you weren't going to use it to jack off in public?

“What time is it?” asked Tim as Dave pulled his robe wide open.

The feeling of knowing he could do this without anyone knowing was as arousing as the memory of Vaeryn's soft elf legs wrapped around him, tensing in his meaty dwarf hands. He stared her up and down while he went to town on his thick dwarf dong. She could deny it all she wanted, but he knew she wanted it inside her, penetrating deep into her tunnel in search of precious sparkling gems. It seemed strange that his sexual fantasy involved so many mining metaphors. Must be a dwarf thing.

As he got into his rhythm, he concentrated on breathing as silently as possible, tuning out all the inane conversation happening around him, focusing on those legs, those tits he'd seen glistening as she bathed, that firm little ass as she bent over to –

“Dave?” said Tim.

“WHAT?”

“What do you think? Waffle House or Denny's?”

“Yeah sure,” Dave responded, trying to recapture his momentum.

“Dude. Are you having a stroke right now?”

Shit! Can he see me? Dave continued stroking. If he'd been caught, stopping now wasn't going to make any difference. Oh, wait. Different kind of stroke.

“Ha ha,” said Dave, wishing Tim would stop talking to him for just one minute. “I didn't hear you right. I walked away to take a piss.” Good thinking, Dave.

“We've got a little over an hour to kill, and Officer Williams here wants to know more about your magic. I thought we might grab something to eat. Would you prefer the Waffle House or Denny's?”

“Uh-huh.” Dave had gotten his rhythm back and was determined to squirt as quickly as he could because any further interruptions would make it that much more difficult to get going again.

“Thank you, Dave. That's very helpful.”

“You bet.”

Vaeryn was sitting on the street, waiting for Tim and Officer Williams to finish talking about whatever they were talking about. She was staring at a crack in the pavement. Her moist pouty lips were at just the right height for Dave's dick.

And just like that, he had his rhythm down again. He was escalating. If nobody interrupted him he could be finished in less than –

Oh God. Here it comes. Here... it... comes...

Dave stroked harder and faster as he came closer and closer to his climax. He was beyond the possibility of interruption now.

Do you like that, you pointy-eared bitch? I'm gonna fuck that pussy. I'm gonna fuck that ass. I'm gonna fuck those tits. I'll scratch you and bite you and lick the blood from your –

Dave closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing as he released. It was a solid three-squirt load. It would have slathered those little elf tits if...

Whoa, Dave. What the fuck was all that about biting and scratching and blood licking? That's some fucked up shit. Where did that even come from? I'm not into any of –

Tim cleared his throat.

When Dave opened his eyes, Tim was looking right at him.

Shit! Am I –

He looked down, but couldn't see his hand still holding his dick. He couldn't see his open robe. Nothing. He was still invisible. Then how did Tim know...

Oh shit.

Dave looked down at the street. The crack in the pavement Vaeryn had been staring at now looked like Splooge Lake on a map of Shametown. She was still staring at it, but now with a much more disgusted look on her face.

“Can I have my ring back?” asked Tim.

“In a minute,” Dave croaked.

“By all means, take your time.”

Even Officer Williams looked knowingly uncomfortable.

Dave pulled his robe closed and tied it, then ran his hand down the front of it again and again until he couldn't feel his dick poking forward. He stepped away from his jizz puddle before removing the ring. There was no point in keeping everyone's attention focused there.

He stood next to Officer Williams car and slipped the ring off. “So, did we decide on a place to eat?”

Everyone turned to him, appearing grateful that he'd moved. Maybe they would all silently agree not to bring up what had just happened.

“It seems the dwarf has worked up an appetite,” said Vaeryn. “I wonder what might have brought that on so suddenly.”

“Taco Bell,” said Tim. “It won't raise as big a red flag if we go through the drive-thru there covered in blood.”

“Great idea,” said Dave. He wasn't looking forward to explosive diarrhea, but he was relieved to be talking about anything other than his jizz on the street. Then again, maybe his dwarven stomach could take it. He had a high Constitution score and a +2 bonus to Saving Throws against poison, but would that be enough to handle Taco Bell? Now that he thought about it, he was kind of looking forward to finding out.

Chapter 14

Randy awakened to the unpleasant sensation of being lightly but repeatedly slapped in the face. He opened his eyes to the even more unpleasant sensation of seeing Denise's face right in front of his. She smelled like booze and dog breath.

“Cheese n' crackers!” cried Randy. “Denise, what are you doing?”

“You got to get up, Randy,” Denise whispered. “There is an honest to God n-n-n-colored feller in the tavern!”

Randy rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Jay? Is he awake? You want me to make y'all breakfast?”

“No, I don't want you to make him no goddamn breakfast, Randy! Who the fuck is J?”

“He showed up last night after you passed out on the floor behind the bar. He seems nice.”

Denise rolled her eyes. “I'm glad you two got so chummy.” She gave Randy another light slap on the cheek. “Dammit, Randy. Did it not occur to you that J might stand for Mordred?”

“I had assumed Jay is his name, rather than just an initial. And Mordred starts with an M.”

Denise stood up and folded her arms. “It ain't very nice of you to mock my disability like that.”

“What?”

“You know I forgot how to read when I came into this world.”

“I'm sorry, Denise. That was insensitive of me.”

“I forgive you.”

Randy sat up and glanced at Jay to make sure he was still asleep. “Speaking of disabilities, Jay said he was in a wheelchair before Mordred sent him here.”

Denise turned to Jay. “That guy's a cripple?”

“Not no more. When he came to this world, his legs worked just fine. Ain't that something?”

“Yeah, that's somethin' alright.” Denise stroked her beard and nodded slowly, then grinned. “Boy Randy, he done played you good.”

Randy didn't like where he thought this might be going, but it was best to let it run its course. “What are you talking about now?”

“Can't you see he's playin' the race card? You accuse him of anything, and he calls you a racist. Why you think they're all on welfare back home?”

“He said he had a job,” said Randy.

Denise shook her head. “Fuckin' Affirmative Action bullshit. This is exactly why we can't afford –”

“Good morning!” said Randy as Jay stretched and yawned at the bar.

“Good morning,” said Jay. “You know what? Compared to my cell, this bar felt like Sealy Posturepedic or some shit.”

Denise cocked an eyebrow. “You was in a cell, you say? What a surprise.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mordred put Jay in a cell when he first arrived here quite some time ago,” Randy hastily explained to Denise. “He only recently managed to escape.”

Denise circled Jay, scrutinizing him. “That's real interesting timing. I reckon that was right around the same time Mordred went AWOL from Earth?”

“That makes sense,” said Jay. “Mordred's disappearance was what forced me to start killing rats. And then somehow or another, that led to me being able to pick locks.”

“You got an answer for everything, ain't you?” Denise stopped in front of Jay and stared up at him. “Well tell me, Mr. Jay, if that is your real name. What's your answer to this?” She pulled up her shirt, thrusting her bare hairy breasts out toward him.

Jay jumped back. “The fuck?”

“Denise!” said Randy. “Put those away right now!”

But Denise waddled after Jay like a penguin in heat, backing him into a corner. “Come on, big boy. Whip out that black mamba and ride me like an underground railroad.”

“DENISE!”

“Fuck this,” said Jay, feigning left then dashing right past Denise. “I'm outta here.” He ran out the front door and slammed it shut behind him.

Denise put her hands on her hips and looked as smugly at Randy as someone can look with their hairy tits hanging out. “Satisfied?”

Randy had absolutely no idea what satisfaction he was supposed to have derived from what just went down. “No, I ain't!”

“Grab your shit. We gotta go after Mordred.”

“I'm tellin' you, that ain't Mordred!”

Denise pulled down her shirt. “Goddammit, Randy. You got to take off them semen-tinted glasses and wake up to what's what. How much more evidence do you need?”

“What evidence? You pulled out your titties and threw yourself at him, and he ran out the door.”

Denise closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. I s'pose it ain't fair to expect you to have the same instincts that I acquired over twelve years on the force. But come on, Randy. You think I was actually tryin' to fuck that guy?”

Randy frowned. “Well that's what you done to pretty much every man you've crossed paths with since we been here.”

“I was settin' a trap. It's a trick we use at the station to trick perps into unintentionally giving us information.”

“You try to have sex with them?”

“No, you fuckin' retard! It's called misdirection. We pretend we're after one thing, when we really want something else. The perp is so focused on not saying the first thing that their defense is down about the other.”

To Randy's surprise, Denise sounded sincere. “Okay. I'm willing to listen.”

“Think about it. We already expected Mordred to show, right?”

“It was a possibility we were warned of.”

“And this guy's timing doesn't seem mighty convenient to you?”

“He explained that,” said Randy. “I told you, he was –”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Denise waved her hand dismissively at Randy. “Of course he's gonna make up some lame-ass backstory to throw us off his scent. But think about this. All these Mordreds have been running around with their magic weapons gettin' rich and powerful so they can come after us, right?”

“That's the theory.”

“With that kind of money and power, he could have the finest bitches in the land lined up 'round the block to smoke his pole whenever he wants it smoked, right?”

Randy shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So it would make sense for him to turn down the advances of someone slightly beneath the swimsuit model level of beauty he's become accustomed to, right?”

“Sure.” Randy didn't have the heart to vocally question Denise's self-assessment of her own allure. He tried a more objective argument. “Other fellers have turned you down. Does that make them all Mordreds?”

“That is an excellent observation, Randy.”

Randy was surprised by the compliment and relieved that he'd managed to avoid hurting Denise's feelings. “Thank you.”

Denise grinned. “Now let me ask you this. When's the last time you heard of a colored feller gettin' out of the joint and turning down sex with a white woman?”

Randy held back a gasp. As amazingly horrible as Denise's logic was, she sounded very sincere with her conclusion. A direct and rational argument would only upset her. He tried a more roundabout approach.

“Jay didn't look too powerful to me. I mean, if he was Mordred, what was stoppin' him from kickin' our butts and taking over the place?” He knew Denise's answer before she said it.

“The gods, you dipshit! He knows we're on to him, and he's powerless against us. Now's the perfect time to nab us another Mordred!”

Denise's theory was starting to make more sense than Randy was comfortable admitting.

“I reckon it don't matter too much now. Mordred or not, he's long gone while we was standing here talkin' about him.”

“Please,” said Denise. “He couldn't have gotten that far. And if there's anything my years on the force trained me for, it's hunting down a suspicious black man.”

Chapter 15

Chaz sat in the sand, nibbling a curly fry and nervously staring up at the Crescent Shadow. It could disappear at any moment, leaving him and Julian stranded in the desert. He took a small sip from his cup of Dr. Pepper. It was warm and diluted with melted ice and tasted like shit, but if he drank it sparingly, it might buy him enough time to make it out of the desert alive.

“There you are,” said Ravenus from behind Chaz.

Chaz jumped, and the cup fell out of his hand. The watered-down Dr. Pepper disappeared into the sand.

“Shit!” cried Chaz. He turned to glare at Ravenus. “Look what you made me do!” It was difficult to express the sincerity of his anger while speaking in a goofy British accent.

“Very good,” said Ravenus. “Is that a zucchini?”

“What?” Chaz looked back. A skinny green plant had sprouted from the sand and produced a single cucumber. He ripped it off and threw it at Ravenus. “It's a cucumber!”

Ravenus dodged the attack and glared back at Chaz. “I'm very sorry. I had no idea you were so sensitive about vegetable classifications.”

“What took you so long?” asked Chaz as he glanced back to make sure Julian hadn't seen him chuck a cucumber at his familiar. Fortunately, Julian was still deep in meditation. Chaz turned back to Ravenus. “What were you doing up there?”

“Just as I was asked. I was looking for someone who could help you.”

Chaz rolled his finger impatiently. “And...?”

“And nothing else. I was under the impression that we were under some time pressure.”

“I meant, and did you find anyone who could help us?”

“Oh yes. Several people, actually.”

“And...?”

Ravenus cocked his head sideways. “And others who could not?”

Chaz threw his empty cup at Ravenus. “And where's the fucking help?”

“Ah,” said Ravenus. “There appears to have been some miscommunication between us. I said that I found several people who could help you. None, however, who were willing to.”

“Why?”

“They claimed that if they wanted the place flooded with every two-bit sorcerer's apprentice and their stupid birds, they wouldn't have bothered putting it on an island hovering over the desert.”

“Did you mention that we are going to die if they don't help us?”

Ravenus nodded. “I did mention that.”

“And...?” Chaz caught himself before Ravenus had time to answer with something stupid. “And how did they respond?”

“One of them cast a spell on me which rendered me unable to move. Then they laughed and tossed me back and forth until one of them threw me too hard and I sailed over the edge of the island. I was fortunate that the spell wore off before I hit the ground.”

Chaz felt bad for throwing the cucumber at him. “What a bunch of assholes.”

“What is an asshole?”

Chaz didn't know if Ravenus was asking about the meaning as Chaz had said it, or a literal asshole. The former definition would be the least uncomfortable to explain.

“It's a word we use to describe people we don't like.”

“Yes, I've heard you all say it enough times to gather that much. But what does the actual word mean?”

Shit.

Chaz thought of the most straightforward way he could put it. “It's the hole in your butt that shit comes out of.” That wasn't so bad.

“Like a cloaca?”

“I don't know. What the fuck is a cloaca?”

“It is the orifice from which I shit,” explained Ravenus.

“Then yes. An asshole is just like a –”

“And with which I engage in the act of mating.”

“Oh,” said Chaz. “In that case, it's not really the same at all.” The conversation had now veered outside of Chaz's comfort zone. It felt weird and inappropriate, like he was having 'the talk' with someone else's kid. He glanced back at Julian, hoping he would snap out of his trance and take over. “Why are we even talking about this? You can talk to Julian about your cloacas and assholes any time you want.”

“The subject matter makes him feel... uncomfortable.”

“It makes me feel uncomfortable as well.”

“Yes,” said Ravenus. “But your feelings are not important to me.”

Chaz wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but that would undoubtedly lead to an even more uncomfortable series of questions. He still had a few hours to kill until Julian came out of his trance, and he was exhausted. Explaining the birds and the bees to Ravenus might help keep him awake until Julian woke up.

“In mammals, those two... acts are carried out via separate organs. Males have what is called a dick. It looks kind of like that cucumber.”

“Yes, I've seen several of you pull yours out.”

“I'm sure you have. That's what we use for mating.”

“You have yellow semen? My, but you produce quite a lot of it.”

Ew. Who the fuck's dick did he see? Maybe Cooper had –

Chaz laughed. “Okay, no. You're thinking of urine. I misspoke before. The dick is used to get rid of waste as well as for sexual purposes.”

“Like the cloaca?”

“I guess.”

“But the asshole is strictly for getting rid of waste, and serves no sexual purpose.”

Chaz frowned. “Well, that's not entirely true either.”

This went on for hours until Chaz was questioning how much he actually understood about human sexuality.

*

“What about when she's not using it for mating purposes?” asked Ravenus. “Can she store things in it?”

Chaz grimaced. “Like what?”

“I don't know. Seeds, acorns, a hidden stabbing instrument, perhaps?”

“Are you talking about a dagger? Jesus, Ravenus! I don't know. I guess so, but why would she even want to –”

“What are you two talking about?” asked Julian, finally awake from his trance with a concerned expression on his face.

“Nothing!” said Chaz, unsure of how much of the most recent part of the conversation he'd overheard, and what he might have made out of it.

“Pussies!” said Ravenus.

Julian frowned at Chaz. “Pussies? Really? I can't rest for four hours without you stealing my familiar's innocence?”

“He had some questions, and I did my best to provide honest answers.”

“Chaz says they can be used to store acorns and daggers,” said Ravenus.

Julian gaped at Chaz, but Chaz cut him off before he could say anything.

“I did not say that. He asked, and I said... You know what? We can talk about this later. We're lucky the island hasn't hopped yet. Do you have any spells that can get us up there?”

“I don't know,” said Julian. “I haven't prepared my spells yet.”

“Then what the fuck were you doing for the past four hours?”

“I was resting. I need fifteen minutes of concentration to prepare my spells.”

Chaz stared hopelessly up at the Crescent Shadow. Had it only stayed put this long to inflict the maximum possible damage to Chaz's already fractured psyche by disappearing in the next fifteen minutes?

“Hurry up and do whatever you've got to do!”

Julian closed his eyes and went back into another trance.

Ravenus blinked up at Chaz. “As long as we've got the time to kill, can you tell me –”

“No!” snapped Chaz. “I'm not talking about dicks and pussies with you anymore. Leave me alone.”

The next fifteen minutes were excruciating. With every second that passed, he was sure that the island was going to blink out of existence. Or even worse. It was going to stay there until Julian reawakened, but Julian wouldn't have any spells to get them up there.

“Good news,” said Julian, staring up at the Crescent Shadow with a look on his face that didn't quite resonate with his words.

“Can you teleport us?” Chaz knew that he was being woefully optimistic to even ask the question.

Julian bit his lower lip but wouldn't meet his gaze. “Yes.”

That was absolutely not the answer Chaz was expecting to hear. “Really?”

Julian nodded as he got to his feet. “Turn around and close your eyes.”

Chaz narrowed his eyes at him. “What do I have to do that for? Goosewaddle never made us do anything like that.”

“Professor Goosewaddle was using Advanced Teleport,” said Julian. “Mine is only a Level 3 spell. It works differently. I need to focus on a specific location, and I can't have your vision contaminating my targeting magic.”

That sounded reasonable to Chaz. He remembered Goosewaddle saying something about a margin of error in the spell that could teleport them to the wrong place. He wasn't thrilled about trusting a novice sorcerer with that kind of accuracy, but it was better than any of the other options he'd come up with in the past four hours and fifteen minutes. He turned around and closed his eyes.

“Okay, I'm ready. Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

“Absolutely.”

The next thing Chaz knew, Julian's arms snaked under his armpits and wrapped tight around his chest, and Julian's entire body was pressed against his back.

“Um... Julian?”

“Trust me. This isn't weird.”

“I'm sorry, but it kinda is.”

“Fly.”

“What?” Chaz felt Julian's arms pressing up hard against his armpits. But even more alarmingly, he could no longer feel the sand beneath his feet. “What's going on?” He totally knew what was going on but couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and confirm it.

“Sorry, man,” said Julian. “I didn't want to lie to you, but we didn't have time to argue. Just keep your eyes closed.”

“Why did you make me turn around? I'd feel much more secure if I was holding onto you too!”

“I thought you might think it was weird.”

“It is fucking weird! But it's better than being dead.”

“You're flying, sir!” cried Ravenus cheerfully.

“Yes,” said Julian. “It's my first time, and I'm a little nervous about it. So maybe you could be quiet until we get to the Crescent Shadow?”

Chaz opened his eyes and saw a whole lot more of the Fertile Desert than he wanted to see. They were so fucking high above the ground.

“Stop squirming!” said Julian. “You're heavy enough as it is.”

Chaz went as rigid as he could. “I'm sorry,” he said, moving his mouth as little as possible. “I opened my eyes.”

“I told you not to do that.”

“I couldn't help it.”

“Look,” said Julian. “I'm not the biggest fan of heights either. But have some faith in the spell. It's working, and we're almost there. Just hang on a little longer, and – What the...”

Chaz's stomach lurched as they took a sudden dip in altitude. He closed his eyes again, thinking that opening them might have disrupted the magic somehow. “What happened?”

“Cake,” said Julian. “They're throwing food at us.”

The faint drunken laughter of assholes grew gradually louder as Julian re-established his concentration and he and Chaz continued to ascend.

Chaz could feel the increasingly frequent sensation of being pelted with food. Some of it was soft, like cake or other pastries. Some of it was harder, like bones or maybe even dishes.

“Why do people have to be such assholes?” Chaz muttered to himself as more and more food and howling laughter rained down on them.

“I think it's a rich-person thing,” said Julian. “Or maybe it's just a hazing ceremony they do for people trying to get onto the island. They do seem to be really enjoying themselves. And let's face it. If they really didn't want us up there, they'd be throwing Fireballs instead of food. Oh hey, that reminds me. I can cast Fireball now!”

Chaz spat out something which had just splattered all over his face. It had the consistency of mashed potatoes, but the taste of soy sauce and pickles. “I'm really happy for you.”

“I think I see a good spot to land,” said Julian. A shift in their direction drew boos and jeers from the wizards who were greeting them, which probably had a correlation to the diminished quantity of food they were currently being pelted with.

The asshole wizards' voices faded as either they lost interest or Julian and Chaz flew farther away from them. A few seconds later, Julian let go of him.

“SHI–” Chaz landed on solid ground before he had time to finish the word or his heart had time to explode. He opened his eyes and clutched fistfuls of the beautiful dirt of the small forest they'd landed in, then rolled onto his back and glared up at Julian. “You could have given me a heads-up before you dropped me.”

Julian smiled. “It was more fun this way.”

Chaz wiped the orange mashed whatever off his face, then stood on shaky legs with the support of a nearby tree trunk. “I can't believe I need to pee.”

Julian's expression turned grim. “You had quite a bit to drink.”

Chaz had hoped that Julian hadn't noticed that he'd finished off Julian's drink as well as his own while Julian was meditating. He could see now that this probably wasn't the case. Still, if Julian wasn't going to come right out and say it, neither was Chaz.

“I meant that I was surprised I didn't piss myself on the way up here.”

“I am, too,” said Julian. “That's another reason I asked you to turn around.”

Chaz felt like he would be remiss to not piss off the side of the island, but he couldn't bring himself to go that close to the edge. Instead, he pissed on a tree trunk. All of the anxiety from the flight drained out through his dick.

“So what's the plan now?” he said when he was done.

“I don't expect we'll find anything useful tonight,” said Julian. “You've got to be exhausted.”

“I am.”

“Then we should probably call it a night, and get to work looking for the dice first thing in the morning.”

“And what are our sleeping arrangements?”

“Stacy and I spent a night here in this little forest. It's free, and we didn't get harassed or eaten or anything. I was thinking we could just crash here for the night.”

Chaz nodded. “That's what I was hoping you'd say.” He fell to his knees, fell forward, then fell into a much needed slumber.

Chapter 16

Stacy stewed in her pit, nurturing the anger within her, letting it grow and strengthen. She'd liked her hair. It had perfect shine and bounce. Now it was gone, and all she had to show for it was about forty feet of handmade rope. Sure, it would grow back, but she didn't want to think about that. She needed the anger. With all the time and monotony of making her rope, the anger was the only thing keeping her awake.

Sleep wasn't an option. Stacy had no idea how long it had been since Dolazar visited her, or how long it would be before she visited again. But if Dolazar caught her asleep with a shaved head, she'd know Stacy had a dagger. She and her goons would take the dagger and the rope. Stacy had to stay awake until Dolazar returned.

She tested the slipknot for what must have been the hundredth time. It slid smoothly up and down the rope, expanding and contracting the loop of her lasso.

Keeping perfectly still against the wall with the rope coiled by her side, she listened for a sign of Dolazar's approach. Dolazar would have to make a hell of a Stealth check to surprise her. But why would she even bother? What would be the point? It made sense the first time to catch Stacy off guard and establish a paranoia in her that she could be being watched at any time. But to keep up that same shtick with every visit. That would just be obnoxious. It would also be difficult to pull off without some kind of white noise to cover her footfalls.

No. A better strategy would be to broadcast her next few visits from a mile away. Make the prisoner think she'll always be warned of an upcoming visit. Then make a sneaky visit or two, making just enough noise for the prisoner to wonder if someone was there or not. If someone was there, how long had they been there? Why weren't they saying anything? A good hard mindfuck.

Stacy thought she'd make an excellent prison torturer if she ever decided to be evil. She didn't think she had the stomach for the physical stuff, but she could get all up in people's psyches. And that was probably the most effective –

“What happened to your hair?” said Dolazar.

Fucking amateur.

Stacy turned to face the direction Dolazar's voice had come from, keeping the rope hidden behind her back and closing her eyes to shield them from the coming light. “I'm trying out a new look. What do you think?”

SNAP

Stacy opened her eyes. It only took them a second to adjust to the light shining from Dolazar's stick.

While Dolazar was lifting her magic night vision goggles, Stacy made her move. She swung her hair-rope around once, then tossed the loop up at Dolazar.

“How did you even manage to cut it without a – Oh!”

Stacy yanked hard on the rope, pulling Dolazar off balance. She could have easily caught her, but since she was planning on giving her a good beating anyway, Stacy stepped aside and let the hard pit floor get the beating started for her.

Dolazar landed with a hard thud and an unbecoming grunt. The Cloak of Elvenkind she had stolen from Stacy faded to match the dull grey color of the floor beneath her. It rose like a mound of dirt as she morphed into her hybrid ratperson form.

Stacy had been hoping she'd go that route. Kicking her ass in her human form would be easier, especially with the rope and dagger at her disposal, but Stacy wasn't interested in ease. She had some pent up aggression to work out and welcomed the challenge.

Dolazar tried to scurry away from Stacy when she had fully transformed, but Stacy leaped onto her back and punched her a few times in the back of the head. Dolazar snarled and hissed as she twisted and squirmed out from under Stacy.

Stacy tried to grab her, but Dolazar kicked her with both feet, then made a run for the wall. Then she actually started climbing.

Stacy couldn't believe it. She was awesome in every conceivable way, but she couldn't climb a vertical wall. The claws on Dolazar's little rat hands and rat feet must have been able to latch onto the edges of the bricks.

Whatever. She's not going anywhere.

Stacy allowed her to get a few feet up before grabbing her tail and yanking her down.

While Dolazar picked herself up from another hard fall, Stacy pulled her dagger from her boot. Time to stop fucking around.

Dolazar backed away, eyeing the dagger. She shoved both of her hands into her long rat mouth, licking them and slobbering profusely. Then she removed her hands from her mouth and brandished her dripping claws at Stacy. The threat was obvious.

“Go ahead and turn me into one of you if you want,” said Stacy. “What do you think that's going to accomplish? You have to look at this situation from my point of view. Then you'll understand that I have no choice but to attack you with everything I've got, even if it means contracting your disease.”

Dolazar morphed back into her half-elf form. “Disease? What I have is a gift.” She sneered at Stacy's dagger. “Steel?”

Stacy glanced doubtfully at the dagger. “I think so. Why? What's wrong with steel?”

“Did you fall out of a whore's womb only yesterday?”

Stacy gasped. “What a horrible thing to say!”

“You would threaten a lycanthrope with an ordinary steel blade?”

Stacy thought back to trashy urban fantasy novels. “You're only susceptible to silver.”

“At the very least,” said Dolazar. “Have you any idea how many times you would have to stab me with that worthless instrument to kill me?”

“If the answer is a finite number, then it's not completely worthless.” Stacy smiled. “And that's why you're still talking instead of attacking, isn't it? What a horrible way to go. I mean, getting stabbed to death is bad enough, but if it takes a couple of hundred stabs to finish the job... Yikes. Better you than me.”

Dolazar's facade of confidence disappeared. She scowled at Stacy. “What do you want?”

“First of all, I want my stuff back.”

Dolazar took off Stacy's Cloak of Elvenkind, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it at her. “The rest of it is upstairs.”

“What about the hair clip?” Stacy distinctly remembered seeing her wearing it when she landed in the pit.

“But you don't even have any hair.”

Stacy didn't know if she was being serious or if she just really wanted to get stabbed. “This isn't a negotiation. I want those night vision goggles, too.”

Dolazar felt the goggles on her head. “You can't take my Goggles of the Night. They were a gift from Victor.”

“Who's Victor?”

“My late husband.”

“Oh.” Stacy felt a twinge of guilt for taking the goggles, but she would need them to get out of this basement. Maybe she would leave them upstairs for when Dolazar eventually escaped. “I'm sorry for your loss, but –”

“Don't be. He was a vile, unfaithful little man. I poisoned him.”

Stacy rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Hand over the hair clip and the goggles.” She would not be leaving the goggles upstairs.

Dolazar tossed them over. Stacy put the goggles on her head but didn't pull them down over her eyes. Her hair too was short for the hair clip to hold on to, so she bitterly shoved it into her back pocket.

“Now tell me where my friend is.”

“The half-orc?” said Dolazar. “He's in another pit. I tried to interrogate him, but he yielded no useful information. I'm afraid he isn't handling his incarceration well. He speaks to his axe.”

Stacy nodded, satisfied that Cooper was alive and unharmed. “Speaking of interrogation, I need you to tell me everything you know about Tim.”

“I don't know what that is.”

“The halfling.”

“What makes you think I know any more than you do about him?” said Dolazar. “The only reason I took you and the half-orc alive is because I thought you might have information about him or those new weapons he's equipped his cell with.”

“Guns?”

“There, see? You are vastly more knowledgeable than me in these matters. What information could I possibly give you that you don't already know?”

“All I want to know is where to find him. You said he's operating as part of a cell. Do they have a headquarters or hideout, or some other base of operations?”

Dolazar shrugged. “I would assume so, but I don't know where it is.”

“Bullshit,” said Stacy. She shifted her dagger so that its blade reflected light into Dolazar's eyes, just to remind her it was there, then took a step toward her.

Dolazar took a step back and raised her hands defensively. “Please. Wererats are notoriously cowardly and easy to extract information from. That's why I'm talking to you now instead of fighting, in spite of the fact that you're threatening me with a nigh-useless weapon and I could probably easily defeat you.”

“Don't be too sure about that.”

“Cowardice is the reason the Rat Bastards' hierarchy is structured as it is. The less we know about each other's comings and goings, the less information can be extracted from us.”

Stacy remembered one of Dolazar's underlings saying something similar after their last encounter, and he had been pretty easy to extract information from.

“Your hideout was easy enough to find. What territory does Tim's cell control?”

“It started as a small part of the market district in the eastern part of the city, but since they got those new weapons, they've been expanding aggressively.”

“So what am I looking for?” asked Stacy. “Another phony storefront like the one you run out of?”

“Not likely. It would be too much hassle to run a shop in an actual crowded marketplace, and wererats, on the whole, tend not to be predisposed toward good customer service. They would need a place to escape to after grabbing someone's coin purse, a place their pursuers would hesitate to them into. A filthy dark alley, perhaps. Or a hideout in the sewers. If I were you, I'd make myself look like an easy mark, then be ready to –”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Stacy. “I know the trick. That's how I found you the first time. But let me ask you this. Why are you suddenly being so helpful? The advice you're giving me is above and beyond what I've asked of you.”

“Simple,” said Dolazar. “You and the halfling obviously have some kind of history. If he doesn't want you to find him, then it stands to reason that you pose some kind of unique threat to him. He's caused a major disruption in the relationship between the Rat Bastards and the city's other rogues' guilds. And while it would be nice to be known as the one who took him down, I'll happily settle for you taking him out of the picture. Or, more likely, he'll kill you. Either way, I win.”

“That's really shitty of you, but I appreciate your honesty.” Stacy thought for a moment, then lowered her dagger. “What if we worked together?”

Dolazar's eyes widened. “You and I working together?” She laughed. “What reason have you to trust me, or I you?”

“We don't have to rely on trust,” said Stacy. “Cooper and I can easily beat the shit out of your gang, and you have insights into the Rat Bastards and criminal underworld that we need. It's like you said. We're after the same thing. When it's all done, I'll get Tim, and you'll get the credit for taking him down.”

Dolazar thought about it, then gave Stacy a steely cold stare. “I also want the hair clip.”

“No.”

“The goggles?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine,” said Dolazar with an exasperated sigh. “I'll do it.”

“Very good. Now give me a boost so I can climb out of here.”

“How do I know you won't just leave me?” Dolazar narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. “Why don't you give me a boost?”

Stacy sighed. Ten seconds into their partnership, Dolazar was already trying to fuck her over.

“You can climb out. I saw you climbing up the wall a few minutes ago. The only reason you'd want me to let you out first is so that you could make me your prisoner again. We're not getting off to a very good start.”

“I had to try.” Dolazar took a knee and cupped her hands together for Stacy's foot.

“You should stop trying,” said Stacy. “Deceit isn't your strong suit, and it's just going to piss me off if you keep it up.” She stepped into Dolazar's hands, then climbed up onto her shoulders, and finally her head. It took some Dexterity, but she managed to jump from Dolazar's head high enough to catch the edge of the pit.

When she was all the way out, Stacy sat on the edge to catch her breath and take in the rest of the room. There wasn't much to see. The air was musty and dusty, and the walls were made of the same crumbly bricks that formed the walls of the pit. A wooden door on the other side of the room was the only obvious exit. She looked back down into the pit.

For a second, it appeared as though there was no pit and Stacy's legs were cut off at the knees, but her eyes soon adjusted as she discovered that there was an illusory floor covering the pit. Now that she knew it was there, it was barely visible.

Then she couldn't see anything at all as the light from Dolazar's magic stick faded out.

“Hurry!” whispered Dolazar. “Help me up!” Stacy didn't know why Dolazar was whispering. This was her dungeon, after all.

Now seemed like a perfect time to test out her new night vision goggles. Or rather – what was that Dolazar had called them? – Goggles of the Night. Stacy pulled them down over her eyes and felt a twinge of annoyance as her hands brushed over the mowed remains of her hair. She opened her eyes. Her vision was black and white and kind of grainy like a cheap CCTV monitor, but she could see.

She looked down at Dolazar, who was staring blindly back at her in wide-eyed terror. She was afraid of the dark. Stacy briefly fantasized about how satisfying it would be to leave her down there, but didn't seriously consider it.

“Throw up the rope.”

Dolazar pawed at the ground, feeling for the rope. She wasn't even close to it.

“To the right,” said Stacy. “Sorry, that was my right. Your left. A little more... a little more... There you go.”

Stacy caught the rope and held it as Dolazar climbed out of the pit. Her hands were trembling when they grabbed Stacy's, and she didn't let go even after she was completely out.

On one hand, Stacy thought it kind of extra-shitty of Dolazar to trap someone in a place that terrified her this much. On the other hand, however, she could sort of understand because the power she currently felt over Dolazar was a little bit intoxicating.

“Calm down,” said Stacy as she led Dolazar across the room. “We're almost to the door.”

Chapter 17

There were only a few Strength-based skills in the game, so Cooper used the few skill points he earned at each level to max those out. By doing so, mostly out of laziness, he sacrificed some skills generally thought to be more useful, such as Search, Survival, or Literacy. But every once in a while, he was thankful to have a maxed-out Strength-based skill. Right now was one of those times.

“Fuck,” he said between pants. His arms burned with exhaustion from hours of treading water, and he still had so much further to go before he had any hope of being able to reach the top of the pit.

The water was rising so slowly that he'd swum down at least five times already to make sure the Decanter of Endless Water was still functioning properly in geyser mode.

He rested his arms and let himself sink to the bottom of the pit to check on it one more time. Sure enough, he only had to sink a couple of feet down to feel the force of the water gushing out of the decanter on his feet. He let himself keep sinking anyway to touch base with Nabi.

“I don't think I'm going to make it,” he said through a burst of bubbles from his mouth. “I'm so fucking exhausted.” He knew he didn't actually have to speak out loud, but thinking required more energy than he currently had to spend.

Do not be such a baby. It has not been that long.

“Easy for you to say, Miss I-don't-have-to-breathe.” That reminded Cooper that he had to breathe. He let go of Nabi and pushed up from the floor with his legs. When he broke the surface, he breathed in as much air as his lungs could hold and reflected some more about how much this plan sucked. The worst part of it was that, now that it had risen over his head, there was no turning back. Even if he stopped the decanter, he'd still have to tread water indefinitely. There was no reverse setting on it.

Or was there? Just because he'd never tried it before didn't mean it wasn't a feature.

Cooper shook the thought out of his mind. If Decanters of Endless Water had a reverse setting, then some asshole or extraordinarily lazy fisherman would have drained all the world's oceans by now.

He farted. He'd been farting a lot, and shitting quite a bit too if the taste of the water was a reliable indicator. The anxiety of not knowing if he'd be able to hold out long enough to avoid drowning was making him gassy. He liked to think that each fart gave him a little upward propulsion and each shit made him that much lighter and easier to stay buoyant, but his arms and legs weren't buying it. Any effect his ass was having on his chances of survival were negligible at best.

Sometime between five minutes and eight hours later, Cooper couldn't take it anymore. His arms felt like wet noodles which were somehow also on fire, like he'd just come out of a –

That was it. Jump and Climb were the other Strength-based skills he'd been maxing out. If he were to sink to the bottom of the pit, invoke his Barbarian Rage, and launch himself upward, the combinations of Jump, Swim, and Climb might be enough to break the surface with enough force to reach the edge, like a shark going airborne with a seal in its mouth.

Again, he relaxed his arms and legs, savoring the relief he traded off for air as he sank to the bottom of the pit. The jet from the Decanter of Endless Water ran up his ass and spine until it was massaging his head when his feet touched the floor.

If this didn't work, he would come out of his Rage even more fatigued than he was now. He considered the wisdom of laying all his cards down on the table, then nodded. They were good cards. This situation felt like it was custom tailored to his every specific ability, skill, and class feature. If he couldn't pull this off, he might as well have given up on life a long time ago and blown two skill points on Literacy.

“I'M REALLY ANGRY!” he bubbled. His black and white darkvision took on a pinkish tint as blood pumped harder and faster through his expanding body. He crouched, then pushed furiously against the floor, feeling like that shark who was about to fuck up some dumbshit seal's day. Kicking his feet and scooping water downward with his hands, he was swimming like a motherfucker. He didn't launch quite high enough out of the water to reach the pit's edge, but he did manage to catch his claws between some bricks where the mortar was weak. It supported him long enough for him to seek out a similarly weak-mortared gap with his other hand. Doing the same with his toes, he was able to push himself upward far enough to reach the top. He pulled himself up over the edge, then let out a long low fart as the Barbarian Rage flowed out of his body. As the smell of it hit his nostrils, he reflected on how much fresher the musty basement air was outside the pit than inside, where his farts and shit fumes had been coalescing above the water's surface. How had he even been able to breathe in there? Jesus, how did he still have friends? He was so exhausted, he barely had the strength to stand.

“Dolazar?” called one of her goons from the top of the stairs. “Are you still down there?”

Shit.

Cooper had to get out of there. He could go further into the basement and search for Stacy, but he might run into Dolazar. He could barrel through whoever these assholes on the stairs were, but that would probably mean abandoning Stacy. He wished he could ask Nabi, but she was still down at the bottom of the –

Shit.

He'd left Nabi in the pit. Now not only could he not go anywhere. He was going to have to jump back into that goddamn stink tank to retrieve her and Katherine's Decanter of Endless Water.

A light shone from the stairwell, and footsteps of at least two people started coming down the creaky wooden stairs.

Shit.

Mustering all the strength he had in him, Cooper pushed himself up off the floor and staggered to the pit room across the corridor from the one he'd been stuck in. He leaned back against the wall and caught his breath.

“What's that smell?” said one of the wererats.

“The half-orc's pit,” said another. “It's flooded.”

“Is Dolazar in there?”

“I don't know. The water's all brown and murky. I can't see more than a couple of inches into it.”

Cooper chanced a peek through the doorway. Two wererats, both in their human forms, knelt next to his pit, peering into his shitwater. He considered it a blessing in disguise. They might raise the water level high enough so that it would be easier for Cooper to get back out once he picked up the axe and decanter.

He knew stealth wasn't his strong suit, so he put that effort into speed instead.

“FUCK YOU!” he cried as he charged across the corridor.

The wererat on the right turned around just in time to get kicked hard in the face. He backflipped into the shitwater.

“Wait! No!” cried the other. “I –”

If he'd intended to follow that with “want to get punched in the face,” Cooper saved him the trouble.

Still fatigued, Cooper took another moment to catch his breath while the two assholes coughed and splashed in the putrid water.

One of them morphed into a dire rat and swam effortlessly to the far wall, which he started to climb. The other one followed suit.

“Fuck that,” said Cooper. He leaped into the pit, grabbed both giant rats by the tails and let himself sink while they struggled to swim upward. It felt like he was falling gently to the ground while holding two hairy balloons. He considered waiting it out like that, confident that with his high Constitution score, he could hold his breath longer than they could. But that seemed unnecessarily cruel, and he owed Nabi some blood.

Bending over to grab the axe with his left hand, he felt a searing pain in his right and lost his grip on the rat tails. One of those fuckers had bitten him. As they swam up to the surface, Cooper's foot landed on Nabi's shaft.

Don't let them get away!

Cooper crouched down to pick up Nabi. He had one more Barbarian Rage available for the day. If he couldn't manage to kill the wererats and climb out of the pit before it timed out, he would surely –

HURRY!

Fuck it. “I'm really angry!”

Once again, he furiously launched himself upward. He surfaced to find the two rats gasping for air as they scrambled up the slick wall. Cooper was barely able to catch one by the tip of its tail, but the other one was beyond his reach.

Not beyond mine.

Cooper swung Nabi high and lodged her blade deep into the big rat's hairy ass.

It screamed as it let go of the wall and fell back down into the water, which became even more cloudy with blood as Cooper hacked at the rats with Nabi.

When both rats stopped struggling to flee, Cooper knew the battle was over. He felt his Barbarian rage flow out through his ass and bubble to the surface of the reddish-brown water. Overcome with exhaustion, Nabi felt heavy in his hands.

Just hold on a little while longer, Cooper. You can do this.

He really couldn't. He stopped kicking his legs and let himself sink.

Come on, Cooper. One more try.

When Cooper's feet touched the pit floor, he nodded. He'd hold his breath as long as he could, and hope that it was long enough for the Decanter of Endless water to make enough of a difference. He decided to grab the decanter as well, because fuck if he was going to come back down here again.

He took it out of the corner he'd nestled it into to keep it from flying around all over the place when he activated its geyser mode. In Cooper's fatigued state, the force of water gushing out of it made it difficult to dislodge, but he managed. He yanked it out of the corner and hugged it to his chest to keep it from going berserk. It was upside down, and the force of the water propelled him straight up much faster than he'd been able to do with his legs. When he surfaced, he was embarrassed to not have done this much earlier.

Time passed much more quickly now that he wasn't struggling to tread water. The two wererats had morphed back into their human forms after they died, and Cooper idly watched their mutilated corpses bob up and down while he waited for the water to rise high enough for him to climb out.

When he finally climbed out of the pit again, Cooper deactivated the Decanter of Endless Water and shoved it back into his soaking wet bag. Enough time had passed for the post-Rage fatigue to wear off, and he was feeling like his old self again. Now it was time to look for Stacy.

Remembering that his pit was pretty close to the beginning of the dungeon, it made sense to look for her further in. He hoped there wouldn't be a lot of twists and turns.

Walking through the doorway leading further into the dungeon, Cooper felt the strange sensation of being deaf. There wasn't a whole lot of noise down here to begin with, but he didn't need a backdrop of cannon fire and elephant trumpeting to know complete and utter deafness when it hit him.

“Hello?” he said, just to make sure. There was no sound. He put his fingers in his ears and pulled out an impressive glob of hairy orange wax from each, but his hearing didn't improve. “Fuck.” He didn't hear that either.

He started walking again, and the white noise of the dark and empty dungeon came back to him.

“Hello?” he said again. It was loud as fuck.

“Cooper?” Stacy's voice called back, also loud as fuck. Pulling out that wax had indeed made a difference.

“Stacy?”

Stacy stepped into range of Cooper's Darkvision. Her head was shaved, she was wearing some kind of mad scientist goggles, and she was accompanied by a wererat who she wasn't beating the shit out of.

“Stop right there,” said Cooper. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I was just coming to rescue you,” said the one who most resembled Stacy. “But I guess you managed to escape on your own.”

Something wasn't right, and Cooper didn't want to give away any information to the wrong person. “Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't.”

“You obviously did. You're not in the pit.” Stacy eyed him up and down. “Why are you all wet?”

More questions. Cooper narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. “I'm asking the questions here. First, which one of you is the real Stacy?”

The one trying to pass herself off as Stacy looked at the one who hadn't spoken yet, then back at Cooper. “The one who's not a fucking rat monster.”

The fucking rat monster morphed into the woman Stacy had been disguised as when he fell into the pit. “That was unnecessarily rude. I am a wererat.” She was even doing the voice.

“Stacy!” said Cooper.

Cooper, we have been over this a number of times now.

“Quiet, Nabi. I've got a lot of shit I'm trying to keep track of right now.”

Real Stacy groped blindly at empty air until she found Britney Spears-gone-off-the-rails Stacy's shoulder. “This is your friend. I am the one who trapped you in a pit.”

Are you satisfied now?

Cooper thought about it for a moment, then the pieces fell into place. “If that's true, then why should I believe anything you say, Stacy?” He grinned in his logical triumph. “Game. Set. Checkmate.”

“Cooper!” said Fake Stacy. “I'm Stacy!”

“Don't think I can't see through your magical hair clip disguise. It's not even convincing. Stacy has hair.”

She sighed and put her hands on her hips, glaring at Cooper through her goofy dark goggles. Then she relaxed, and actually smiled.

“Since I don't have any hair, how can I be wearing a hair clip?”

Cooper stood silent and dumbfounded, like the Little Pig who'd built his house out of shitty logic.

“So you're Stacy?”

Bald Stacy nodded.

“What the hell happened to your hair?”

She held up a shitty-looking rope. “I had to cut it off to make this rope.”

Cooper felt bad for judging the rope so harshly. Good on her for taking up a hobby during her incarceration.

“It looks really good. I saw it, and I was like, Whoa! What store did she buy that rope at?”

“How did you get out of your pit?” asked Stacy.

“I used the Decanter of Endless Water. I filled up the pit until I could climb out.”

Stacy gave him a friendly grin. “What a clever idea!”

Cooper looked at his feet. “It was Nabi's.”

“That's nothing to be ashamed of. You two make a good team.”

Nabi didn't say anything, but Cooper felt a sense of warmth from her.

“Speaking of teams,” said Cooper. “Who's your new pal here?”

“This is Dolazar. I believe you've met.”

Cooper sneered at Dolazar. “Yeah, we've met alright. She pretended to be you and tried to seduce me for information.”

Dolazar gasped. “Not a single word of that is true!”

“I want you to know,” Cooper said to Stacy. “I was a total gentleman.”

“Also not true!”

“Dolazar and I have reached an agreement. She and her men are going to help us find Tim.”

“That's nice.” Cooper farted nervously. “It would have been really nice to know that half an hour ago.”

Stacy frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Cooper sighed. “You should probably follow me.” He led them back through the doorway leading back to his pit and briefly lost his hearing again.

“Whoa,” said Stacy when she walked through. “What just happened?” She moved her goggles up to her forehead.

“It's a Silence barrier,” said Dolazar, looking directly at Stacy as she spoke now that there was a little bit of light. “I had it installed so that prisoners in different chambers wouldn't be allowed to communicate with each other.” She sighed and continued following Cooper's lead. “I suppose I have much to learn about keeping and interrogating prisoners. You were my first two, and you both escaped independently of each other. Mayhap I did not deserve this promotion. I shall likely be demoted back to team member again. After all that hard work and – AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

Now that Cooper had spent a few minutes away from it, he was able to take in the scene with more objective eyes. Dolazar's reaction was not unwarranted. The water was dark red, with mangled body parts bloating on the surface. It was some grisly shit.

Maybe you should apologize?

Nabi didn't sound too sure of herself, but Cooper figured it couldn't hurt to try. He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry I chopped up your friends.”

On second thought, maybe you were better off remaining quiet.

When she regained her composure after seeing pieces of her dead friends floating in Cooper's shitwater, Dolazar sighed. “I am definitely getting demoted.”

Chapter 18

If there was some trick to preparing or cooking shark meat so that it didn't taste awful, nobody in Katherine's crew knew what it was.

“This tastes like piss,” said Tony the Elf with a large chunk of the chewy meat in his mouth. “And I don't just mean bad. I mean it literally tastes like piss.”

“Sharks urinate through their skin,” Katherine explained, not realizing before now that this was a thing she knew. She sighed. “Thanks for that, Knowledge Nature skill. I'm so glad I know that.”

“At least it's keeping us alive,” said Frank through a chunk he'd been gnawing on for a while. Finally, he closed his eyes and swallowed. “I'm sorry for how I acted before. I've been under a lot of stress lately.”

“Apology accepted. It takes a big man to admit that he was being a total asshole.” Katherine supposed there were more gracious ways to accept an apology, but she didn't want to let him off without at least a slap on the wrist. She was being sincere, though. It was big of him to apologize openly in front of everyone rather than grumble some half-assed sorry when he spotted her alone.

It must have been a conscious effort on his part. With his leadership experience at the Whore's Head, he would know the morale value of apologizing openly within earshot of the crew; he was vouching for her to those who looked up to him. He must have come to terms with the fact that cooperating with her and following her lead was the best shot all of them had. That was a little bit terrifying.

As grateful as Katherine was for the gesture, there was similar value to making Frank eat some shit about it. She needed the rest of the crew to respect her. She would prefer to not have to flog anyone, so she decided to start with passive-aggressive barbs and work her way up from there as needed.

“I didn't mean to sound ungrateful,” said Tony the Elf. “It was just an observation. I think it's amazing that you went head-to-head with a shark and came out the winner.”

Katherine smiled. “Thank you.” She shifted her gaze to Frank to let him know that some of that was meant for him as well.

“There's so much meat on that shark,” said Fritz. “I'd guess more than all of us could eat in a week. We might consider using some of it as bait to catch something that tastes less like piss.”

“All right!” said Katherine. “Now we're thinking outside the box.” She couldn't believe how much more cooperative everyone was being.

Tanner must have noticed it, too. He stopped gobbling up chunks of shark meat like piss was his favorite ice cream flavor and cocked an eyebrow at Katherine.

“Why don't you tell us what happened on Nazere?” he said. “How did you defeat the Ice Queen?”

Katherine thought for a moment, first of the events that actually transpired, then of how she might take some artistic liberties with how she presented them.

“Pretty much the same way you catch a fish,” she said. “I baited the hook, waited for her to bite, then reeled her in.”

Tanner nodded slowly. “I assume you mean that metaphorically?”

“Of course.” Katherine picked up a chunk of shark meat. “The bait was Basil.”

“She had a weakness for herbs?” asked Rhonda.

“Basil is the name of Randy's pet basilisk. The Ice Queen took an interest in him because his eyes had been removed.”

Rhonda grimaced. “What kind of fetish is that?”

Katherine tried to not make her annoyance evident in her voice. “A basilisk's gaze can turn a person to stone. Having no eyes, Basil presented no such threat to her, and she thought she might be able to use a giant eight-legged reptile for manual labor in her tunnels.”

Tanner cleared his throat. “Are we safe to assume that you do not mean that metaphorically?”

Katherine shot him an annoyed glare. He was as bad as Rhonda. Then she realized that he was probably asking for others' clarification rather than his own.

“That is correct,” she said as politely as she could force. “I allowed her to capture us. Then, when she least suspected it, I fed Basil a Regeneration potion I'd been hiding. Basil grew his eyes back, and the Ice Queen became an ill-fated statue of herself.”

So she didn't give Denise the credit she deserved. Fuck Denise. Tanner had set Katherine up to recount this story in order to make her look like even more of a badass while her crew was in a receptive mood. Unfortunately, everyone looked more horrified than impressed. Even Tanner looked a little shocked by what she'd just said.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“It seems kind of cruel,” said Rhonda.

“What?” Katherine scanned her audience and assessed that they all agreed with Rhonda. “Are you guys fucking kidding me? That frosty bitch owned an island full of slaves! This is a tough world, and sometimes you have to make tough decisions. And being turned to stone is one of the quickest and most painless ways to die that I can imagine.”

“I don't think that's the part Rhonda was referring to,” said Frank.

Katherine turned to Rhonda. “Then what is it?”

“Did you at least try to think of other plans before you gouged out that poor creature's eyes?”

“What are you...” Katherine backed the conversation up in her mind. “I didn't gouge out Basil's fucking eyes! Jesus Christ, what kind of person do you take me for?” She briefly regretted blurting that out, as it might have been beneficial for them to believe she was capable of some pretty psycho shit if they got out of line. Then she reconsidered. Respect was more valuable than fear. A crew full of people who all feared she might lose her shit and start gouging out eyes for insubordination might be more dangerous in the long run. “Some scorpion people stabbed his eyes out in the desert. That's why Randy adopted him.”

The crew breathed out long relieved sighs and some uncomfortable laughter.

“Maybe toss that detail in at the beginning next time you tell that story,” said Tanner. “So you mentioned before that Nazere is now a tropical paradise, I believe is the term you used? That sounds nice.”

Katherine shrugged. “That's what Captain Longfellow said the place was like before the Ice Queen arrived. The ice was still melting when we left, but it should all be gone by now.”

“Captain!” called one of the elves who had eaten his fill and wandered to the bow. There was urgency in his voice, and not a trace of condescension.

Katherine caught Tanner looking at her and checked her smugness. “Yes?” she called back.

“There's something you need to see!”

Everyone rushed to the front end of the ship. Katherine played it cool and moseyed after them.

“What seems to be the problem?” she said when she caught up to the crowd.

The elf pointed to the horizon on the ship's ten o'clock. “There.”

Katherine squinted and saw a dark speck on the horizon. She'd seen a similar speck before.

“What is it?” asked Frank, who was struggling to look over the railing.

“Everybody calm down,” said Katherine. “It's probably just pirates.”

“Is this ship fast enough to outrun them?” asked Tony the Elf.

Katherine shrugged. “Probably. Nightwind is pretty fast. But then we'd have to sail off course.”

“That beats getting boarded by pirates. Fritz, can you turn us around?”

“Yo ho ho and a bottle of slow the fuck down, Longears.” Katherine tapped the brim of her captain's hat. “Do you see this hat? Do you know what it means? I like to think I've been pretty straightforward about this.”

Tony the Elf sighed. “My apologies, Captain.” He bowed like a court douche. “Please proceed with giving the order.”

So much for respect. This crew still had some learning to do.

“Tanner,” Katherine said, giving Tony the Elf as icy a stare as she could muster. “Lower the sails.”

“What?” said Tony the Elf.

“What?” said Tanner.

“Fritz,” said Katherine. “Drop the anchor.”

Tony the Elf glanced at the ship on the horizon, then looked back at her with pleading eyes. “You're the captain, and we respect that. But this isn't the time to get in a pissing contest.”

“Bullshit. You don't respect me or my position on this ship, but I'll be damned if you're not going to before you leave it. This is the perfect time for a pissing contest.” She shot Tanner a severe look. “Lower the sails!”

Tanner straightened and nodded. “Yes, Captain!” He went immediately to the mainmast and started pulling down the sail.

Katherine turned her glare to Fritz. “I don't see you dropping the anchor.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but it won't do any good. We're in the middle of the ocean. The chain isn't long enough.”

“Oh,” said Katherine. “Then don't do that.” She turned her attention to Frank, daring him to challenge her.

“What's the plan, Captain?” said Frank. His tone was more nervous than resolute, but at least he wasn't trying to talk her out of anything without hearing what she had to say. That counted for something.

“If they think we're surrendering, they won't attack us. They won't want to damage Nightwind since their plan is to steal it. And they'll want to keep the crew alive to sail it, especially if the crew is made up of a bunch of subservient pussies ready to surrender at the drop of a hat.”

Frank stroked his beard. “So you think we have better odds of survival by surrendering?”

Katherine rolled her eyes. “We're not surrendering shit. We're just luring them into a false sense of overconfidence.”

“How is that sense false?” said Frank, his tone starting to get more desperate now. “They're a bunch of seasoned pirates. We're just a bunch of nerds in a world we don't belong in.”

“Hmph,” said Katherine. “Some nerds you are. You're living every nerd's dream right now, and look what you're doing with it. You all should be totally stoked to be getting the chance to fight real live pirates. Instead, you're just whining and complaining. You don't deserve to call yourselves nerds.”

Nightwind slowed to a drift.

“I'm sorry, but that's bullshit,” said Tony the Elf. “You can't call our nerd cred into question because we don't want to be killed by pirates. Does that mean that the only true Batman fans are the ones who go into bad parts of town looking for criminals to punch? I mean, if we wanted to do this stuff for real, there wasn't anything back on Earth stopping us from grabbing a sword and running out into the woods to find a bear to stab. Understanding the difference between fantasy and reality doesn't make a person not a nerd. It just makes them sane.”

“Even in game terms,” said Rhonda. “We aren't equipped for this. Maybe if we had gone out in the world more and gained Experience Points and leveled up, we could take on a ship full of seasoned pirates. But most of us here are only first or second level.”

“We don't want to die,” Frank pleaded. “Seriously, look at us. Do we look like we have the stomach to fight pirates? We vastly outnumber you and could take this ship over and flee if we wanted to, but we don't even have the stomach to stand up to a half-elven woman, a wolf, and an NPC.”

It might have been a thinly-veiled threat, but Katherine didn't get that from his tone. He was genuinely laying their coward cards down on the table.

“I'm not asking you to fight pirates,” said Katherine. “I'll take care of the pirates. All you have to do is stand on the deck and look like you're about to piss yourselves with fear. I have every confidence that you can pull that off.”

“And how, exactly, are you going to take care of the pirates?” asked Tony the Elf.

Katherine smiled. “If you stick around, you'll see. If you take my ship and run, I'll explain it after I take it back and toss your asses overboard.” With that, she hoisted herself over the railing and started swimming for the approaching ship.

When she and the ship got close enough so that she could make out individual sailors, she began swimming underwater, surfacing only to breathe and hoping to avoid being spotted. It took longer than she'd anticipated for them to meet, and her arms were sore.

“Spiderbitch,” she said between pants just before the ship came within reach. She slapped a palm on the hull, but it didn't stick to the slippery wood. With two palms, she felt a little tug, but the ship continued sliding past her. If she didn't catch it on her third try, she doubted she'd get a fourth. She attacked the ship like she was trying to sexually assault a whale, spreading as much of her body on it as possible. Hands, forearms, breasts, knees. It worked. The ship was pulling her through the water, but still threatening to brush her off.

Clinging to the hull with as much of herself as she could maintain, she inched upward until she was completely above the surface and out of immediate danger of being swept away. She crawled to the front of the ship, took the Bag of Holding out of the back of her jeans, and held the lip of the bag with her teeth. She reached in and said, “Portable Hole” as well as she could pronounce it.

Feeling the silky square cloth in her hand, she pulled it out, then slapped it onto the hull just below the surface of the water. Satisfied by the suction of water gushing into the ship, she crawled up the side of the ship to eavesdrop. Along the way she read the ship's name painted high on the hull. Seastalker.

“Look at her,” said a husky voice from above. Katherine froze. Had she been spotted?

“What's she doing just staying still like a boil on my ass?” asked a second voice. “She must have some kind of understanding of what kind of trouble she's in.”

Katherine pressed her body flat against the hull and looked up. Nobody was looking back down at her, but the conversation coming from above continued to make her feel uneasy.

“Maybe that's just her way of showing submission,” said the first voice.

“That's no fun. I like it when they put up a fight. Make us work for it a little.”

Katherine felt a little bad that Denise wasn't here. She would have loved these guys.

“You ever ridden one like that?”

“Nah. Always wanted to, though.”

“Mayhap once Captain Logan gets to poke around inside her, he'll want to put some of his semen on her.”

What the fuck? They must be a pretty tight-knit crew to know all the captain's kinks.

“She's nothing special,” said a third voice. “Sure, it's always a bit of fun to ride one you've never ridden before. But once you've ridden her for a while, you come to realize she smells of salt and old fish just like all the others.”

Katherine gasped. I most certainly do not!

“At the end of the day,” the third voice continued. “It all comes down to the mates you share her with.”

It was disturbingly mesmerizing how casually they were discussing raping her. She was frozen in fascination at how much camaraderie could be fostered through discussing such unspeakable acts. Was this what Klan-sponsored barbecues were like? Thinking back to things she'd heard members of her own extended family say during barbecues back in Mississippi, she guessed maybe they weren't too far off.

“You reckon she's got any loot in her hold?” said the first voice.

What the hell does that mean? Does he have a pregnant woman fetish, or... Wait a minute! Have they been talking about Nightwind this whole time? But then what could he have meant by... Sea men!

Katherine almost laughed with relief, but caught herself as she realized that she most likely hadn't been spotted. What an embarrassing way to announce her presence that would have been.

Maybe these guys aren't so bad after all.

“Loot shmoot,” said the third voice. “I just hope there's women aboard.” The others laughed.

They might be interested in healthy consensual relationships. Nothing necessarily wrong with –

“I hope there's children,” said the second voice.

That, along with the responding laughter from the other two, alleviated any twinge of guilt Katherine had for what she was doing.

“Mercy of the gods, Bosley!” said the first voice. “I reckon you'd fuck a pig if the opportunity presented itself.”

“If it was young enough,” said Bosley. “Come to think of it, the very thought of it is raising my sails as we speak. I may have to rub one out before –”

“The hull has been breached!” cried a voice from farther back on the ship. “We're taking in water! Lots of water!”

That was Katherine's cue. She looked down to see that the word Seastalker was a little bit closer to the water's surface than it had been when she climbed up here. She crawled along the hull to the ship's rear, where there should be less eyes to notice her climbing up onto the deck.

When she got there, she climbed to the top and peeked over the edge. As she'd guessed, the crew's attention was focused up front where the hole was.

Katherine sat on Seastalker's rear bulwark, happily observing the chaos of sailors running around having no idea how to stop their ship from sinking. It must have been at least a full minute before someone spotted her.

“Ho there!” shouted a heavyset curly-haired sailor, pointing at Katherine and silencing the chaos of the sailors nearest him. “Who in the Seven Hells are you?”

The silence spread quickly until all eyes and several crossbows were fixed on her.

Katherine waved. “Hello. My name is Katherine. I'm the captain of Nightwind, the ship you were trying to commandeer before I put a hole in your hull.”

When she heard the clicks of crossbows being cocked, she held up a finger to suggest they may want to hear her out.

“I'm also the only person who can stop your boat from sinking. Now which one of you is Captain Logan?”

“Hold your fire!” said a dark-haired man in his mid-forties as he stepped forward. He was handsome in a rugged unbathed sort of way. His tailored red leather coat and matching wide-brimmed hat reflected a care for his appearance, but not an overwhelming consumption like the late Captain Martinoli. “I am Duke Logan. Welcome aboard Seastalker. How may I be of service?”

“Cut the shit, Logan. You came after the wrong ship on the wrong day. You've got about ten minutes before we're all swimming, and I'm the only one who has anywhere to swim to. You can give me what I want, or you can try to grow some gills. What'll it be?”

Captain Logan's charming facade faded, revealing his frustration. “I will not surrender my ship.” He knew he didn't have a lot of options, and he was trying to save face in front of his crew by making it seem like she was bending to one of his demands. She could grant him that much.

“I don't want your fucking boat,” said Katherine. “It's got a hole in it.”

“Then what do you want?”

“First, I want all your food.”

“Our food?”

“All of it, including booze.” After a pause, she added, “Especially booze.”

“If you take all our food, then what shall we eat?” asked Captain Logan. “Starving to death is no better than drowning.”

Katherine reached into her Bag of Holding. “Shark.”

The huge shark carcass spilled out of the bag and landed with a splat on the rear deck.

Captain Logan stared wide-eyed at the dead shark, specifically at the mutilated flesh on its side where Tony the Elf had hacked away meat with a machete. “You have been eating this?”

“Yeah. It tastes like piss, but it will keep you alive until you reach a port.”

“Sharks, they urinate through their skin.”

“I know that, motherfucker. Do you want to swap shark trivia, or do you want me to move on to my second demand?”

“You have more demands?”

“You were trying to steal my ship. Did you really think you were going to get off with just having to survive on piss meat for a few days?”

Captain Logan sighed. “What is your second demand?”

“I want your weapons.”

All eyes turned to Captain Logan.

The captain looked down at the hilt of the sword in his scabbard, then at Katherine. “This was my father's sword.”

“Awwwww,” said Katherine. “Like I give a fuck.” She rolled up her Bag of Holding. “And I think you may have misunderstood me. When I said I want your weapons, I meant the plural your. I want all of your weapons.” She tossed the balled up bag to the captain.

Captain Logan snatched the bag out of the air, not taking his glare off Katherine. “You ask too much. I will give you the food, but you cannot have our weapons.”

Katherine folded her arms and pressed her lips together. She'd given up as much ground as she was going to give. The water was getting closer to the top of the bulwarks with every passing second. He could keep his ship and the lives of his crew until they tried to fuck over the next wrong person, or he could keep his precious weapons for another couple of hours before he and his crew drowned or got eaten by sea monsters or whatever.

“Very well.” Captain Logan held the bag open. “Weapons! Now!”

The grumbling crew crowded around him, each dropping their weapons into the bag. They knew the score just as well as their captain did. The shark staring open-mouthed at them with its cold dead eyes was a not-so-friendly reminder of what was waiting for them if they didn't comply.

“Once you've put your weapons in the bag, run and get all our rum and rations,” the captain ordered his men. “Hurry!”

Katherine glanced back at the water a few times to make sure she could get back to the Portable Hole before water started spilling in over the sides, at which point they wouldn't be able to bail out the ship. Sure, this was a group of cutthroats and criminals, and the world would probably be better off if she let them all drown, but she knew how it felt to get fucked over. She also knew how it felt to fuck over someone else, and that was arguably worse. Those days were behind her. She was a new Katherine now. She was captain of Nightwind, and she had a reputation to build. Fortunately, the water was plenty high enough to stall the ship for a good long time, but still had a ways to go before the point of no return.

When his crew had finished tossing everything they had into the Bag of Holding, Captain Logan took off his belt and lowered it, with his sword and scabbard, into the bag.

“Are you satisfied now, Katherine, captain of Nightwind? Or do you want my semen as well?”

“What the fuck?” said Katherine. His tone sounded really petulant for that to be a come-on. Then she remembered.

Sea men.

“Can't you call them your crew? Or, like, minions or something?” Katherine had a sudden idea. “You know what? I think I would like one of your sea men. Which one of you is Bosley?”

As bitter as they were, the crew had themselves a chuckle at that.

A beefy half-orc with a patch over his left eye and a long scar running under it and down his cheek stepped forward. His greenish-grey skin wasn't as filthy as Cooper's, but his nauseating sneer more than made up for it.

“I'm Bosley,” he said. His gravelly voice confirmed it. “But I'm afraid you're not my type, little lady.”

The crew laughed even harder at that.

Katherine could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. There wasn't much more insulting than being turned down by a serial rapist.

She turned to Captain Logan. “Bag him, and I'll spare your ship.”

Captain Logan's face turned desperate. “You can't ask me to give up one of my sea men. How will the others follow me after I've betrayed one of them?”

“I'd be okay with it,” said one of the other sailors.

“What?” said Bosley. His cocksure smirk vanished instantly.

“It's the right thing to do,” said another sailor. “For the sake of the rest of us. We'll respect you more for it.”

“I never liked Bosley anyway,” said a voice from the back.

Captain Logan shrugged at Bosley. “Honestly, neither did I. Hold him.”

The two sailors on either side of Bosley seized him by his arms.

“You sons of whores!” snarled Bosley as he struggled in vain to free himself. “Mark my words. You'll all be damned to the depths. There's a special place in the Abyss for those who betray their –” Whatever else he had to say was silenced when Captain Logan pulled the Bag of Holding down over his head.

Other crewmen held his arms pinned down to his sides while the captain pulled the bag further down. When Bosley was fully engulfed by the bag, Captain Logan rolled it up and tossed it back to Katherine.

“This is not the end,” he said. “I will find you.”

Katherine instinctively wanted to say, “Good luck,” but that didn't work out so hot for the guys in Taken. She had something more dramatic in mind for her departure anyway. With Seastalker's captain and crew watching, she reached into the Bag of Holding.

Bosley's heart. Bosley's heart. Bosley's heart.

It had seemed like such a badass way to make her exit and take out a rapist, but now that it was showtime, she had a sudden case of stage fright.

Come on, Kat. Think of the kids in this guy's past. Think of the ones in his future. Think of how fast your reputation will spread across the seas of this world after you toss that sick fuck's still-beating heart on the deck in front of all his former shipmates.

She tried to say it without thinking, but she simply couldn't force the words out.

“Goddammit. Bosley.”

The one-eyed half-orc rapist spilled out of the bag and landed hard on the deck. It was about a five foot drop from where she was sitting, and he landed on his head. So that was satisfying, as was knowing that he would spend the rest of this trip knowing that everyone else, including the captain, was ready to sell him out at the drop of a hat.

Katherine waved to Captain Logan. “I'll go and fix your ship now. So long, Captain.”

Seastalker wasn't built to sail this low in the water, so the sails had been lowered lest the wind snap the masts. Consequently, it sat in the water like a tired fat guy who didn't have the strength to get up out of his chair.

Katherine let herself fall backwards off the bulwark like a scuba diver, but she misjudged the height and hit the water with a hard belly flop. It stung, but at least no one saw her... probably.

She pressed her hands against the hull and felt herself cling to the ship. The spell was still working. She had another one prepared, but hoped this one would last until she was able to crawl to the front of the ship and grab the Portable Hole.

She crawled along the hull as close to the water as she could, but as low as the ship was, she was close enough to the deck to hear the sailors' footsteps as they followed along to watch her. When she reached the bow, she went under. She didn't fully appreciate just how far down the ship had sunk until she saw how far down the Portable Hole was. These guys were going to spend days bailing this ship out.

Digging under a corner of the hole with her fingernail, she pulled it off the ship's hull and slapped it back on the side of her jeans, then swam up for air.

Captain Logan and most of his crew were staring down at her.

Katherine gave them a thumbs up. “All patched up.” She tried to think of a good line to part ways on, but nothing that came to mind sounded appropriately cool, especially compared to the Bosley's heart thing. Ah well. If she spent too long trying to think of something, the silence would grow awkward. And besides, her arms were getting tired, and she still had a considerable distance to swim. “Take it easy.” She started swimming back to Nightwind.

“GET HER!” Captain Logan screamed furiously. Even before she could turn her head back to look, she heard splashes raining down behind her.

Shit! Why didn't I see this coming?

Either Captain Logan didn't believe she'd held up her end of the deal, or he didn't see any repercussions about not keeping his.

Katherine swam as hard as she could, but she knew she couldn't outswim a bunch of seasoned pirates. All they needed was one to catch up to her, and he could slow her down enough for the rest to pile on.

The first hand grabbed her ankle. She tried to kick it away, but whoever this was meant business.

“Hello, Captain,” said Bosley, pulling her back toward him. “I've changed my mind about you. You might be my type after all.”

Katherine struggled and thrashed in the water, but she knew she was too late. The other sailors had caught up, and they were grabbing her other leg and her arms. She was doing all she could now just to keep her head above water.

Wait a second. This is stupid. Why don't I just turn into a dire bat and fly away? No, no, no! Katherine, you've got to stop thinking of vampire solutions to solve all your problems. You're NOT a vampire anymore. The Spider Climb spell was a lucky exception, but you can't turn into a –

She stopped struggling.

Holy shit! I can totally turn into a dire bat! Hell, I can turn into all sorts of animals. But for now, let's stick to dire bat.

Katherine could feel her whole body changing. It was strange, but not painful. Her foot shrank and pulled out of Bosley's hand as her leg retracted into her furry body. The men's screams filled her ears, which were rapidly increasing in sensitivity even as they shrank.

It felt good to be a bat again. She slapped the water awkwardly a couple of times before finally catching some air under her wings, and soon she was flying, leaving behind a bunch of bewildered pirates to question their sanity.

As relieved as she was to have escaped them, it was a shitty time of day to be flying around as a bat. The sunlight glaring off the water was giving her a headache and blurring her vision. She closed her eyes and screeched out some bat profanity to find Nightwind via echolocation.

It was remarkable how clear a picture that painted of her surroundings in her mind. She couldn't see colors or anything, but shapes came to her in crystal clear bursts with every screech she belted out.

“What the fuck is that?” said Tony the Elf. His voice was far clearer than it should have been given the distance between them. She couldn't tell which one of the vaguely human-shaped blobs on the ship he was, but she could hear him like she was standing right next to him.

“I think it's a dire bat,” said Tanner. “Did Katherine get turned into a vampire again while I was dead?”

Frank, easily identifiable as a gnome-sized blob next to him, shook his head. “No. It must be a regular dire bat. But what's it doing out here on the ocean?”

“Maybe they're transporting animals,” suggested Rhonda. “It's bound to taste better than shark. Should we shoot it?”

What? No, you idiots! It's me, Katherine!

“Vampire or not,” said Tanner. “I cannot help but feel that Katherine swimming toward that ship and the dire bat coming from it are not coincidental.”

Frank nodded. “It's one bat. We can take it if we have to. Let's just wait and see what it does, but grab something to hit it with just in case.”

Oh great. I just saved all their asses, and they're going to beat the crap out of me with oars and shit as soon as I land on the deck.

A deck landing wasn't very suitable for a bat anyway. Instead, she flew to a yard extending from the mainmast and hung upside-down from it.

Changing back into her half-elf form was like rapidly turning down the volume on the radio. That was weird. Weirder still, she didn't snap her neck from landing headfirst on the deck. Changing forms while hanging upside-down was an oversight she would try not to repeat, but fortunately her Spider Climb spell was still in effect.

She walked upside-down to the mast, then climbed down to the deck to meet her crew, who were all gawking at her. Their expressions showed nothing short of awe.

“Hey guys. Thanks for sticking around.”

Chapter 19

Tim sat up front to keep Officer Williams from trying anything, which put Dave in the back seat with Vaeryn. She kept the gun on her lap, pointed at him with her finger near the trigger. Ostensibly, this was to remind Tim that Dave was her hostage, but Dave suspected part of it had to do with the awkwardness in the cul-de-sac.

“What would you all like?” asked Officer Williams when he pulled into the Taco Bell drive-thru. He was remarkably good-spirited for someone who was covered in his own blood and being held at gunpoint.

Dave craned his neck to get a better look at the menu.

“Just order, like, a dozen Burrito Supremes and let's get the fuck out of here,” said Tim.

The car in front of them moved forward, and Officer Williams pulled up to the speaker.

“Welcome to Taco Bell,” said a barely coherent crackling voice. “What can I get for you?”

Vaeryn looked around frantically. “Who said that?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Jesus.” He leaned over Officer Williams. “Twelve Burrito Supremes and four Cokes.”

“Is Pepsi okay?”

Tim grimaced. “Fuck no.”

“Excuse me?”

“Lemonades,” Tim said after scowling at the menu for a few seconds.

“Large, medium, or small.”

“Fucking hell, lady. I don't know. Large.”

“Would you like to add churros to your order for only ninety-nine cents each?”

“You mean the price they're clearly listed at on the menu that I've already seen and opted not to order? No, as a matter of fact. I fucking wouldn't.”

“I don't appreciate the tone you're taking with me, sir.”

“Oh, don't you?” Tim laughed. “Well, shit. Minimum Wage Mickey in the Taco Bell drive-thru doesn't like my tone. I guess I'd better turn my fucking life around.”

As long as their food was almost certainly going to have spit in it anyway, Dave figured he might as well order something he actually wanted.

“Can I get a Cheesy Gordita Crunch?”

Tim sighed. “No, Dave. You can't. If I gave a shit what you wanted, I would have asked you. We're trying to speed this along. Speaking of which...” He leaned toward the speaker. “Hey, Captain Ambition. What's the total?”

“Is there a problem here?” The new voice coming from the speaker was louder and more authoritative.

“Yeah, there's a fucking problem,” said Tim. “You're paying that shitbag employee of yours too much. This should be a simple transaction. We give you money, and you give us fucking burritos. How complicated is that?”

“I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir.” He pronounced sir in such a way as to make plain that it was nothing more than a formality.

“I can't wait to fucking leave, Fuckface! That happens after we make the exchange. Now, if you can't figure out how to put burritos in a bag, maybe you should get your supervisor over here. I'll take this all the way up to the goddamn chihuahua if I have to.”

“Sir, if you don't leave, I'm going to have to call the police.”

“The police?” It was amazing that Tim's voice could get any higher. “Look out the window, Shithead! We are the fucking police!”

A curly-haired man with a headset and a fast-food-manager mustache poked his head out of the window. When he saw the car, his eyes went wide with surprise. He quickly pulled his head back in.

“I apologize,” said the speaker. His tone was more annoyed and resigned than apologetic. “Your total is forty-two dollars and sixty-five cents. Please pull up to the first window.”

“You know,” said Dave as Officer Williams pulled forward. “We could have been out of here a lot quicker if you hadn't been such an asshole.”

“That's your problem, Dave. You let people walk all over you and you never stand up for yourself. You take shit, and people are just going to shovel more shit on you. If you ever want any respect, you've got to start shoveling shit right back at them.”

Dave laughed. “You think these Taco Bell employees respect you now?”

“They're Taco Bell employees. Why should I give a shit what they think about me?”

“If you didn't give a shit what they think, we would have gotten our burritos a long time ago.”

Tim glared at him and was about to respond when the window opened.

“That's forty-two sixty-five,” said Ron, the manager.

Officer Williams turned to Tim.

As much of a dick as he'd been being, Tim now looked bashful and embarrassed.

“I'm sorry. We left our wallets in our other bodies.”

Ron didn't seem to even notice all the blood on Officer Williams, but he scowled at Tim when he recognized his voice.

Officer Williams sighed. “I suppose this one's on me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn leather wallet, then passed a credit card to Ron.

“Your coins are flat and rectangular?” asked Vaeryn. “What is that made of? It looks so insubstantial.”

“That's a credit card,” Dave explained, hoping to get back in Vaeryn's good graces, or at least cut through some of the awkwardness between them. “It's like a promise to pay later.”

She eyed him like he was licking a pair of balls that had just sprouted down from his nose. “That can't be right.” The crinkle of paper bags drew her attention back to her window. “What is in those bags?”

“That's our food.”

“Impossible!” said Vaeryn. “We have only just ordered it. No one can prepare food that fast.”

Dave shrugged. “That's why it's called fast food. That's kind of the point.”

“It smells... delicious.” Her voice was less filled with vitriol as she stared longingly at the bags through the barrier that separated the front seats from the rear. Then her attention was drawn back to the window. She glared at Dave. “Why is he giving back the credit card? The promise has not yet been honored.”

“He has a machine which scans the card for the owner's information and communicates with the lender who sponsors the –”

“Jesus Christ, Dave,” said Tim as Officer Williams pulled away. “This is her first day in a new world, and you're making it as boring as fucking possible.”

“I was just –”

“You can drone on about the wonders of credit later. Right now we've got to find some place to lay low until midnight.”

That seemed obvious enough to Dave. “What about the Chicken Hut?”

Tim glared at him through the barrier like he was pissing down the well on Baby Jessica. “Where's that, Dave? I've never heard of it.”

For a second, Dave wondered if Tim had suffered some kind of memory loss, then suddenly understood. If they ever made it back here in their own bodies, it probably wasn't a good idea to give the cop they'd taken hostage clues as to who they really were.

Shit. Think of something to fix this.

“Just some old shithole chicken restaurant that closed down a couple of months ago. It's on Highway 90, by the Waffle House. I used to pass it every day on my way to work at the oil refinery.” It couldn't hurt to sprinkle in a bit of false information about himself.

“I know the place,” said Officer Williams. “We busted some folks there last month. They'd turned the place into a meth lab.”

“They did what?” shrieked Tim. His tone and expression did little to back up his story that he was unfamiliar with the place. He quickly caught himself. “I mean, did they learn nothing of the dangers of running such an enterprise from Breaking Bad? What a senseless waste of potential.”

“Do you still want to go there?”

Tim nodded. “Sure. One place is as good as another when we're just looking to kill time. And that place sounds like it would be pretty secluded.”

“What's a meth lab?” asked Vaeryn.

Officer Williams was preoccupied with driving the car and trying not to get shot again. Tim was no doubt fretting over his shitty restaurant. As uncomfortable as it was for Dave to talk to Vaeryn, leaving her hanging was even more uncomfortable.

“It's a lab where people make meth.”

“How very helpful,” said Vaeryn, rolling her eyes. “Mayhap it would be more helpful if I knew what lab and meth are.”

“Lab is short for laboratory.”

“Why not simply say laboratory?”

“It's an abbreviation. Using the shortened forms of words saves time and energy.”

Vaeryn smirked. “Are you trying to conserve more time for masting?”

“Masting?”

“It is short for masturbating. Did I do that right?”

Tim and Officer Williams snorted.

Dave sighed. “Sure.”

“How fun.” Having gotten in her little dig at him, her tone lightened. “What is meth?”

“It's short for methamphetamine, a mind-affecting drug.”

“Like a potion?”

“Kind of?”

“What does it do to you?”

“Nothing to me,” said Dave, making sure to speak loud enough for Officer Williams to hear. “I've never touched the stuff. But I've heard it makes you feel good.”

“So it has healing properties?”

“No. Quite the opposite, in fact. That shit can kill you.”

“Why do people use it then?”

Dave shrugged. “Why do people do a lot of stupid things? They value the short-term good feeling more than the long-term damage they're doing to their bodies and –”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” said Tim. They had arrived.

The Chicken Hut was barely recognizable. All the windows were broken. The building was covered in graffiti, most of which were different variations of a symbol that was somewhere between a chicken leg and a human dick and balls. The car's headlights illuminated some of the restaurant interior, showing some fire damage back behind the dining area.

“What the fuck have they done to my –” Tim caught himself again, “ – faith in humanity? How long ago was it that an independent restaurateur could step away from his or her place of business without having to worry about people breaking in to cook meth and paint dicks all over it?”

“They did more than step away,” said Officer Williams. “The brother and sister who ran this place disappeared about six months ago.”

“Oh?” Tim perked up. “How do you know that? Did someone file a missing persons report on them?”

Officer Williams shrugged. “Beats me. We tried to contact them, and discovered that was the last time they paid any of their bills, here or at the apartment they shared.”

Tim slouched. “Oh.”

“Can we hurry this along?” asked Vaeryn. “I long to taste one of these boridos.”

“What?” Dave turned to Vaeryn. “Oh, you mean burritos.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That is exactly what I said.”

Dave glanced down at the gun she still had pointed at him. “Sorry. I must have misunderstood you.”

Tim turned around in his seat to face Vaeryn. “What do you say you and I call a truce so we can enjoy our burritos without having to worry about getting shot?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing fancy. I'll tuck my gun away, and you tuck away yours. If we both behave, this will all be a lot less stressful.”

Vaeryn tucked Officer Williams's gun into the back of her pants. “I agree to your terms... for now.”

Tim got out of the car. When he was a safe distance away from Officer Williams, he tucked away his gun. He set the Taco Bell bag on the ground and pulled out three burritos before walking back to the car and opening Dave's door.

Dave was shocked when Vaeryn grabbed his hand. He gawked at her.

Vaeryn grimaced. “Oh please. I merely want to make certain he doesn't try to trap me in here as soon as you exit the vehicle.”

“Oh,” said Dave in the same tone Tim had said it when he realized that nobody aside from bill collectors knew he was missing. “That's very clever of you.”

Once everyone was out of the car, they took turns approaching the bag, grabbing their three burritos, and backing away.

Vaeryn watched Dave, Tim, and Officer Williams carefully as they unwrapped the first of their burritos and bit into them, then followed their example. Her eyes lit up as she chewed and swallowed.

“This is amazing!” She devoured the rest of it and began unwrapping her second one. “We should go back. I think three will not be enough.”

“You might be right,” said Tim through a mouthful of burrito. “A dozen sounded like a lot when I ordered it, but I can't even remember the last time I ate anything.” He glanced back at the remains of the Chicken Hut. “I wonder.” Then he turned to Vaeryn. “Truce is still on, but I'm going to take out my gun to go inside the building. Are we cool?”

Vaeryn put her hand on Officer Williams's gun but didn't pull it out of her pants. “Proceed carefully.” It was clearly more of a warning not to fuck her over than a show of concern for him facing what unknown perils my lie in wait for him inside the Chicken Hut.

Tim drew his gun slowly, keeping it pointed down as he crept barefoot onto the broken glass that used to be the front door. It reminded Dave of Die Hard, if John McClane was a three-foot-tall alcoholic asshole and Hans Gruber had decided to seize control of a shitty fast food restaurant.

Tim disappeared inside. “SHIT!” Four rapid flashes lit up the dark busted windows.

“Tim?” Dave called into the restaurant. “Are you okay?”

“Just a raccoon. It's, um... gone now.”

“What's this all about?” Officer Williams asked Dave. “Who are you people? How did you heal me? How did all of you disappear like that?”

“Magic.” Dave didn't expect that answer to satisfy the officer, but that's all he had.

Officer Williams stared at him skeptically. “Do it again.”

“Heal you?” said Dave. “Do you want her to shoot you again first?”

“No, you fool. Turn yourself invisible.”

“Okay.” Dave slipped off the Ring of Invisibility, then slipped it back on. Officer Williams's old eyes went wide. His gaze darted left and right, perhaps looking for where Dave might have run when he blinked. Given Dave's speed, that would have been a much more impressive feat than turning invisible.

“Where did you go?” said Officer Williams, staring about two feet to the right of Dave.

“I didn't go anywhere. I'm still right here.”

Officer Williams's gaze shifted suddenly, focusing about six inches to Dave's left.

“That wasn't no sleight of hand or misdirection. You actually disappeared!”

“Ask him how he prefers to use that power,” said Vaeryn.

Dave karate chopped the air, causing himself to reappear.

Officer Williams started, taking a step back and looking even more shocked than when Dave disappeared. “I never believed in magic before, but there's simply no other explanation.”

Vaeryn swallowed the last of her third burrito and stared quizzically at him. “What do you mean, you never believed in magic? I understand why you might choose not to practice it, but to deny its very existence when the evidence is literally shining in your face? How do you explain the light shining from your carriage if not magic?”

Officer Williams stared back at her just as quizzically. “Electricity?”

Vaeryn rolled her eyes. “Which is a form of magic.”

“Is that what they're teaching young folks nowadays? I need to call my congressman. That just won't – ”

“Fuck yeah, baby!” said Tim, leaving slightly bloody footprints on the floor as he came back through the dining area holding up a three-quarters-full bottle of Smirnoff.

“What is that?” asked Vaeryn.

“Vodka. It's like stonepiss, only not quite as strong.”

“How did you know there would be vodka in there?” asked Officer Williams in a suspicious tone.

Tim shrugged. “I didn't. I just figured that folks might like to unwind after an arduous day of cooking meth.”

“We cleared out every room of this restaurant.”

“I guess you missed a spot.” Tim took a swig from the bottle. “Or, I don't know, maybe a hobo came by later on to take a dump and forgot his booze when he left.”

Dave knew exactly where it had come from. There was a secret panel in the office wall that Tim had created when he was slightly more ambitious, if watching YouTube videos about how to make secret panels in a wall counted as a sign of ambition. He wasn't as far gone a drunk back then. The bottle he was now holding was likely the same one he'd originally put in there, and the only reason he put it in there in the first place was that he needed something to hide in his new secret compartment.

It wasn't even that big a secret. Tim was so proud of himself that he'd shown it to everyone... except for Katherine, as she would almost certainly have stolen the vodka.

Officer Williams wiped the sides of his mouth with a napkin, then put it in the empty Taco Bell bag. “That's evidence in a criminal investigation.”

Tim laughed. “You can have it when I'm done. I'll piss in those little evidence bags for you. You better bring a bunch of them.”

“May I try it?” asked Vaeryn. “I've never tasted vodka before.”

“No.”

Vaeryn made a pouty face. “Why not?”

“Because fuck you, that's why not. You tried to kill me. And I know you set Dave up to get caught masturbating in front of you.”

Dave appreciated Tim sticking up for him, but he wished they could all just stop mentioning it altogether.

Vaeryn scoffed. “As if he needs any setting up. That's the first thing he did as soon as he got a hold of a Ring of Invisibility, in front of all of us!” She scowled at Dave. “Positively indecent. He makes me ill.”

Dave sighed. He'd thought they were getting past the whole jerking-off-on-the-street thing.

“I was already primed from before,” he explained. “I wasn't going to be able to think straight until I released.”

The silence that followed was palpably awkward. Trying to explain had been a monumentally bad idea.

“I'm sorry,” he continued. “That's no excuse. I shouldn't have –”

Vaeryn doubled over in pain, clutching her stomach. “Mercy... of the gods. What is... nnnnnnngggggggg...”

Tim lowered his bottle. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I don't know. I feel...” Her eyes went wide as she glared at Tim. “You did this!”

“Me? How would I even... You said just a second ago Dave made you ill.”

Way to throw me under the bus, buddy.

Vaeryn was sweating now and breathing shallowly. She struggled to remain upright as she pulled Officer Williams's gun out of the back of her pants.

“You put meth in my dorito!”

Dave cleared his throat. “Burrito.”

Vaeryn shifted her glare to him.

“I'm sorry. I misheard you again.”

“I didn't put any fucking meth in your fucking burrito,” said Tim.

“Liar!” Vaeryn tried to aim the gun at Tim, but her hand was shaking. “It feels good at first but does damage later.”

“Just calm your tits, lady. I don't need to spike a Taco Bell burrito to cause damage. Your body just isn't used to – Oh my god.” Tim doubled over and clutched his belly.

“What is it?” asked Dave. “What's wrong?”

Tim looked up at him, his eyes panicked and face sweating. “My body isn't used to Taco Bell either.”

“How can that be? You used to live on it.”

“Not in this body, dumbass.” Tim winced and forced his ass cheeks together with both hands. “How are you... not... shitting yourself right now?”

Dave panicked as he suddenly felt a rumble in his tummy. It was happening. He tried to squeeze his ass cheeks together, but he was too late. Fortunately, it was only a small squeak of a fart, then his insides felt fine again.

“It must be my high Constitution score.”

“I fear I cannot hold out much longer,” said Vaeryn. “Has this place a commode?”

Officer Williams let out a long low whistle. “Believe me, ma'am. You do not want to go in there.”

“Just go squat around that side of the building,” said Tim, backing away from her. “I'll take this side.”

Vaeryn narrowed her eyes at Dave, then turned to Officer Williams as she carefully and deliberately backed around the side of the building. “Make sure the dwarf stays visible.”

Dave balked at the implied accusation. “You think I want to watch you take a Taco Bell shit?”

“I know not to what depths of depravity your sick mind craves to delve.”

That was enough. It was time for Dave to put his foot down.

“Listen,” he called out to Vaeryn's side of the building. “I've been having kind of a rough time these past few days. It's like my mind... I don't know.  Strange thoughts and... and fantasies keep popping into my head. I'm dealing with it as best I can. So I'd appreciate you not giving me any more shit about the Ring of Invisibility incident.”

Around the side of the building, he heard the simultaneous sounds of Tim sighing and a gush of liquid spraying onto the ground.

“That's just your alignment shifting to Evil.”

“Evil?”

“I went through the same thing when I turned into a wererat. My inclinations tend to lean more toward violence and manipulation, rather than spying on women going to the bathroom, but I guess it's different for everyone. Just handle your shit, and you'll get used to it.”

“For the last time, I wasn't watching her go to the bathroom! I have absolutely no desire to watch her, or anyone else, go to the fucking bathroom.”

Vaeryn grunted loudly as she soiled the other side of the Chicken Hut. “You just stay where you are, dwarf!”

Dave raised a middle finger in her general direction. “What was that about my alignment shifting to Evil?”

“It's in the Monster Manual,” said Tim. “When you contract lycanthropy, your alignment changes to match whatever kind of creature bit you.”

“Nobody bit me. I caught it from a turkey leg someone dropped on the floor.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he'd thought before speaking.

“Ew,” said Vaeryn.

Dave clenched his fists. “Oh like you're one to talk while you shit Taco Bell on a restaurant wall.”

“I don't know, man,” said Tim. “That's pretty fucking gross.”

Even Officer Williams was looking at him a little judgmentally. “You don't know where something like that's been.”

“Can we forget about the fucking turkey leg for a second?” said Dave. “I don't want to be evil.”

“And I don't want to have a one-inch dick,” said Tim. “But here we are. Would you mind running inside and grabbing a roll of toilet paper? There should be some on the shelf in the office.”

Officer Williams cocked an eyebrow. “I'm afraid that was taken in as evidence.”

“Evidence of what? That people who work here need to take a shit every once in a while?”

“In cases like this, we tend to take everything we can get our hands on. After a few months, if nobody claims it, we use it at the station.”

“That's fucking corruption, plain and simple!”

“I must say I'm curious as to how you knew exactly where the owners of this establishment kept their toilet paper.”

After a long pause, Tim sighed. “Goddammit.” After a longer pause, he said, “Is the shop next door still open?”

Chapter 20

“You almost done in there?” Randy asked Denise through the outhouse door. “The longer we stay here, the harder it's gonna be to find Jay.”

“And the longer you keep talking to me, the longer it's gonna take for me to finish. Besides, I do my best thinking on the shitter. So why don't you pack some snacks or somethin' and let me do my business.”

Randy went back into the Whore's Head Inn and looked behind the bar for something they could eat on the go. The pickings were slim. All he managed to scrounge up were a few scraps of dried meat. He had a little money though, so they could always stop somewhere if the need arose. They were in a far better situation than poor Jay, who had neither food nor money, and didn't know his way around.

“I got it!” said Denise, barging in through the back door. “I know how we're going to find Mordred.”

“You mean Jay?”

“You play his little game all you like, Randy. I  know a Mordred when I smell one.”

“What's your idea?” asked Randy. A pointless argument wasn't going to move them along any faster.

“Just like I said. We'll sniff him out. I got skill in Tracking.”

It wasn't a bad idea, but there was a crucial part missing. “Tony the Elf and his dog went off with Frank and Katherine and them.”

“Tony the Elf can suck a dick,” said Denise.

“We ain't got a dog,” said Randy, just in case the point needed clarifying. “Does your Tracking skill give you a supernatural sense of smell?”

“No, you dumb shit. But who needs a dog when we got us a magical basilisk?”

“Basil?” Randy thought about it. Maybe the idea had some merit. “I reckon it don't hurt to give it a try.” He pulled some tables out of the way to make space for his Special Mount. “Basil!”

Basil appeared, majestically bathed in soft white light, nobly awaiting Randy's orders.

“Good to see you again,” said Randy, stroking the massive eight-legged lizard on the cheek. “How you been?”

Very good, thank you.

“What?”

“I ain't said nothin',” said Denise.

I have been very good. Thank you for asking.

“Son of a biscuit!” said Randy. “You can talk?”

Denise put her hands on her hips. “Dammit, Randy. We got stuff to do. I need you to keep your shit together.”

Randy turned to her excitedly. “Basil's talkin' to me.”

“I don't hear nothin'.”

“No, he ain't talking out loud.” Randy tapped himself on the temple. “He's in my head.”

Denise rolled her eyes. “There's room enough, I s'pose. It's like the inside of a goddamn opera house in there.”

Randy ignored her and turned his attention back to Basil. “I'm so excited to finally be able to get to know you. Tell me something about yourself.”

I like food.

“Me too!”

“Randy!” snapped Denise.

“Alright, alright. Hey listen, Basil. I was wondering. How's your sense of smell.”

Basil sniffed the air.

It appears to be functioning normally.

“No, I meant, how does it compare to a human sense of smell?”

I don't know. I've never been a human.

“Jesus, Randy,” said Denise. “I thought you was the one in such a big fuckin' hurry.”

Randy picked up the stool Jay had slept on the night before and held the seat in front of Basil's nostrils. “What can you smell?”

I smell wood. Wood is not food.

“Can you smell any trace of a person? An elf, perhaps?”

Small trace of elf. But not enough to make me want to eat wood.

“I ain't trying to get you to eat the wood, Basil.”

Denise snorted and shook her head. “Well, if you ain't two peas in a fuckin' pod.”

Randy scowled at her, then continued waving the stool in front of Basil. “Do you think you could follow the scent of the elf you smell on this stool?”

Maybe. If it did not travel far.

Randy looked doubtfully at Denise. “Basil said he can only track Jay if he didn't travel too far yet.”

“Then we best get moving,” said Denise. “We might get lucky and find that some city guards stopped him not long after he left.”

“Stopped him for what?”

Denise shrugged. “Possession, most likely. A little bag of weed is pretty easy to plant after you beat the shit out of someone.”

“I don't think –”

“But just in case, we should try to think of where we might go if we was Mordred and colored. I'm thinking maybe some place kind of secluded, so I can check out my new big junk.”

“That's certainly worth considering,” said Randy. “But let's rule out the immediate area first. Come on, Basil.”

When Basil and Denise joined him at the door, Randy opened it.

“Hey, man,” said Jay. “I wanted to – AAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

Basil pounced on him through the doorway, knocking him to the ground, and bit down on his arm.

“Basil!” cried Randy. “NO! Stop that!”

When Basil backed off, Randy was relieved to see that Jay's arm, while bleeding profusely, was at least still attached. He lay a hand on Jay's shoulder. “In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, I heal you.”

The bite wounds sealed themselves back up, and Jay wiggled his bloody fingers. “How did you do that?”

“I'm a paladin,” said Randy. “That's what I do.”

“What is that thing?” Jay stared wide-eyed at Basil as he used the door frame to pull himself back up to his feet, leaving a bloody handprint on the wood.

“That's Basil. He's my Special Mount.” Randy turned to give Basil a disappointed glare. “And he's usually much better behaved than that.” He picked up a reasonably clean-looking cloth off a table and tossed it to Jay to wipe the blood off his arm.

You said to find the elf food. I found it.

“He ain't food, Basil. He's our friend. We don't eat our friends.”

I am sorry.

Randy patted him on the cheek. “It's alright, buddy. Everybody makes mistakes. Now, why don't you run along and play in the celestial plane? I'll call for you again later.”

Okay.

Basil started fading. When he'd completely disappeared, Randy turned back to Jay.

“We was just about to go out and look for you. It can be dangerous out there for someone who don't know their way around.”

“That's why I came back, only to have some magic dinosaur nearly bite my arm off.”

“Basil ain't meant no harm. He's had a rough couple of weeks, and he's coping with being a celestial beast as best as he can. We're both going through an adjustment period. Before a few minutes ago, I didn't even know he could talk.”

“I appreciate you patching me up,” said Jay. “I know you two are in a hurry to get out of this place, so I don't want to get too friendly.” He let that thought linger for a moment while he gave Denise a cold stare. “But I wonder if I could bother you to help get me started.”

Randy smiled. “That ain't no bother at all. We'd love to help you. What would you like to –”

“Wait just a goddamn minute,” said Denise. She stomped into Jay's personal space but thankfully didn't take off any of her clothes. “It don't take much more than a big ol' black dong to turn Randy's mind to mush, but I see right through your little charade. I know who you are. The question is, what is it you want from us, Mordred?”

Jay had stood his ground when Denise stepped up in his face, like he wanted to let her know he was prepared to defend himself if need be, but now he laughed at her. “You think I'm Mordred?”

“It ain't a matter of thinking.” Denise pointed to her head. “I got intuition.”

Jay pointed to his chin. “What you got is some kind of hormone imbalance.”

“Female dwarves have beards! That's perfectly natural!”

“Listen. I don't give a shit about your hairy face or your hairy tits. I just want to know what you can tell me about this.” Jay pulled a silver tube out from under his shirt.

Randy recognized it immediately. It was identical to the one he and Denise had found on their persons when they arrived in this world.

“That's your character sheet.”

“Okay, now we're getting somewhere,” said Jay. He twisted off the tube's cap and unrolled the paper inside. “What does all this stuff mean?”

Randy stared at the paper, trying to figure out where he should begin explaining. The ability scores seemed like the simplest place to start.

“These are your ability scores,” he said, pointing at the block of stats in the upper left hand corner. Your Strength score tells you how strong you are. Your Dexterity tells –”

“Stop right there,” said Jay. “I understand what the words mean. I spent a long time in that cell with nothing to keep me occupied but a bunch of rats and this piece of paper. Through a series of tests I conducted on myself, I came to the conclusion that 10 is an average score, and the pluses and minuses below the scores reflect how much better or worse I am than an average person. But what's this here, under Class and Level?” He pointed to a field on the top of the page. “Ranger 1, Rogue 1? What does that mean?”

“We're kinda new to this as well. But from what I gather, your class is what kind of character you are. It affects what kinds of special abilities or powers you have. I'm a paladin, Denise here is a barbarian. It looks like you got two classes, ranger and rogue.”

“What kind of ranger? Like a park ranger, or Walker, Texas Ranger, or what?”

“I think it's more like a Robin Hood type of character, but you fight to protect the wilderness from folks who would do it harm.”

“And a rogue? What is that? Like a maverick cop who plays by his own rules?”

“My understanding is that it's someone who sneaks around and stabs people.”

Denise squinted long and hard at Jay. “You really ain't Mordred, are you?”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Way to go, Sherlock. You caught me. What gave it away?”

“With all the knowledge he has of this game, there ain't no way he'd only be a Level 1 ranger and a Level 1 rogue after all the time that's passed.” She looked down at the sheet. “That's just fuckin' pathetic.”

“So sorry to disappoint you.” Jay turned to Randy. “You were saying something about special abilities and powers? What kind of powers do rangers and rogues have?”

“That ought to be listed on your character sheet somewhere.” He scanned the sheet. “Look here under Skills. It says you got Animal Empathy.” He smiled. “Well, that's nice.”

“I figure that's what helped me lure in the rats. I'd just put down my hand, and they'd come right to me.”

Something on the other side of the paper down near the bottom caught Randy's eye, causing him to frown with confusion. “And it says here you got animals as a Favored Enemy. That seems kind of at odds with the Animal Empathy.”

“That wasn't there when I first arrived here,” said Jay. “I kept feeling this strange compulsion to choose some type of creature that I'd be extra good at killing, but I tried to ignore it because I thought I was losing my mind. What if that's the first step toward becoming a serial killer, you know?”

Randy shrugged. “Not personally, no.”

“But when my prison guard stopped showing up, my survival depended on me being able to kill rats. So I made a choice. Since then, I've had this strange sense of hatred towards animals in general. I was luring in more rats than I could eat, just as a way to pass the time.”

Denise laughed. “I know the feeling. I used to sit on my back porch and shoot at coons.” She looked up sharply at Jay. “I'm talkin' about the animals, you understand.”

Randy scowled at Denise, then turned back to Jay. “Please continue your story.”

“I was trying to use their bones to pick the lock on my cell, but I didn't have much luck. But I noticed that as I killed more and more rats, I was gaining these Experience Points.” He pointed to the field on his character sheet. “When this number reached 1,000, The rogue stuff appeared. And just like that, I knew how to pick a lock.”

Randy gave him an encouraging smile. “Good for you.”

But Jay wasn't smiling. He stared down solemnly at his character sheet. “Is that it? My special powers are that I can sneak around and I hate animals? You can heal wounds with magic. That's a hell of a lot cooler.” He eyed Denise. “Can you do anything special? I mean, besides growing facial hair?”

Denise pointed at him. “You better watch yourself, son. My special power is Rage, and you don't want to be on the wrong side of me when I unleash it.”

Jay frowned at her. “I guess emotional instability is on par with hating animals, but I kind of expected something more, I don't know... fantastic, seeing as how this is a fantasy game.”

“Don't you worry,” said Randy. “You'll get more special powers as you increase your level.”

“You ain't got it so bad,” said Denise. “Just count your blessings you ain't a bard.”

“From what I've seen, being a bard doesn't look so bad. What kind of powers do they have?”

“Singin' songs and suckin' dick, if that Cheese guy is a proper representation. The shit he wears makes him look gayer than Randy.”

“Excuse me,” said Randy. “I understood you was locked in a cell for most of your time here. When did you see any bards?”

“That city I escaped from, Hollin. There's a singer there who's taken the city by storm recently. It's all anyone seemed to talk about over there. I swear, the guy's got a cult following like Elvis.”

A worrying thought suddenly occurred to Randy. “He ain't actually Elvis, is he?”

Jay shook his head. “No, he had some kind of proper fantasy name. Duke, or Count, or Squire, or something like that.”

Randy sighed with relief. “Okay. For a second there, I wondered if maybe –”

“Knight,” said Jay. “That's his name. Jordan Knight.”

Denise laughed, but Randy's blood went cold.

“What did you say?”

“The singer in Hollin I was talking about. His name is Jordan Knight.”

Denise stopped laughing. “Hang on a minute. Are you fuckin' serious?”

“Yeah,” said Jay. “Why? You guys know him?”

“Know him?” said Denise. “We ain't personally acquainted, no. But I'm familiar enough with New Kids on the Block.”

“Who?”

“Come on, man. You know. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.”

Jay brightened up again. “Right! That's one of this guy's songs. Everyone in Hollin is singing it.”

“You're telling me that Jordan fuckin' Knight, from New Kids on the Block, is doing concerts in this world?”

“I don't know this New Kids on the Block thing, but a guy named Jordan Knight is singing that song in Hollin.”

“How do you not know New Kids on the Block?” asked Denise, apparently unaware of the more severe implications of this revelation. “Where the fuck was you in the late eighties and early nineties?”

“I was born in ninety-two.”

“Well while you was swimmin' around in your daddy's nutsack, that song was all over the fuckin' radio.” Denise stroked her beard thoughtfully. “I don't recall having heard much from them since then.” She looked up at Randy. “You reckon Mordred banished New Kids on the Block to this world?”

“I have another theory,” said Randy. “What if this Jordan Knight is actually Mordred?”

A long period of silence passed as Denise and Jay contemplated Randy's theory.

“Let me get this straight,” Denise finally said. “Their time in the spotlight fades, and the band breaks up. Then Jordan Knight moves to Gulfport, Mississippi, changes his name to Mordred, and starts playing nerd games? Something about that just don't add up.”

“Perhaps that's another theory to consider,” said Randy. “But it ain't the one I was proposing.” Before Denise could interrupt him again, Randy continued. “What if one of Mordred's six avatars was a bard? He hightails it across the sea and makes the most out of it by starting up a musical career. He calls himself Jordan Knight, passes off some New Kids songs as his own, and builds himself a following.”

“Why New Kids?”

Randy shrugged. “Maybe Mordred's a fan.” A darker thought crossed his mind. “Or maybe because he remembers how popular the songs were. Bards don't just play music for entertainment here like they do back home. Their music wields power that can affect people's minds. Think of the kind of power he could wield with that kind of following.”

Denise's face turned pale. “That's why he skipped town.”

Randy wasn't sure where he was going with that logic. “You think Cardinians' musical tastes are too refined for Hangin' Tough?”

“No. He could have done as well in this shithole as any other. But all that talk about superpowers got me to thinking about Spider-Man.”

“I'm not sure you understand how serious this could –”

“Will you just let me finish a goddamn thought for once, Randy?”

Randy nodded. “I apologize. Please continue.”

“What was Spider-Man's biggest weakness?”

“Mary Jane?” said Jay.

Denise looked at him quizzically. “Spider-Man had a drug habit? I ain't read the comics, but I don't recall that from the movies.”

“That was his girlfriend's name.”

“Oh right. No, fuck her.”

Randy was eager to get back to more important matters, and he knew the only way to do that was to let Denise's tangent run its course. “Poverty?”

Denise raised her eyebrows. “You're on the right track, but no.”

Randy sighed. “I don't know, Denise. What was Spider-Man's biggest weakness?”

“Geography.”

“Geography?” said Jay. “How do you figure?” It was kind of him to entertain Denise's rambling.

“The only reason Spider-Man was ever able to beat his enemies was that they was all within a few square miles of where he lived. Now think what if the Green Gobbler or Mr. Octopus went and set up shop down in Tucson or somewhere. Can you imagine Peter Pecker having to ride his little bicycle back and forth all the way across the whole goddamn country between shifts at one of his shitty jobs?”

Jay frowned. “I'm pretty sure you got every single one of those names wrong.”

“That's a real interesting theory, Denise,” said Randy, hoping to close the matter and move on to more important matters. “Now maybe we should talk about Mordred.”

“Goddammit, Randy! Can't you see I was talking about Mordred? I was backin' up your theory, dumbass. That wizard Mordred who came at us with the big-ass boat and dragons and shit, he thought he was a badass and came at us straight away. The little midget Mordred tried to infiltrate this place by warming up to you and me. The dwarf Mordred thought he was protected good enough in his haunted forest. But a bard Mordred is gonna get the fuck outta Dodge for a while and get some help before he thinks about trying to attack anyone.”

“What's that got to do with Spider-Man?”

Denise threw up her hands. “Jesus fuckin' Christ, Randy.”

“I believe what she's trying to say,” said Jay, “is that we are Spider-Man in this allegory, and that Mordred is one of the Spider-Man villains. Except that he's exploiting the weakness of distance to get his shit together before confronting us.”

“That's right,” said Denise. “And that's why we got to hit him now, while he ain't expecting us.”

Chapter 21

Julian sat on the edge of a brook and let the running water cool his feet as he watched the sun rise over the Fertile Desert. The shady trees and abundant wildflowers were almost enough for him to be able to delude himself into thinking he was in a proper forest, if not for the bone dry desert air making his nasal cavity feel like the inside of a pizza oven every time he inhaled. He wasn't sure how many times the Crescent Shadow had teleported during the night, but he was quite certain the lush green hills being bathed in the light of dawn weren't there the previous evening.

Leaning back against a tree, he also wondered how this brook even existed. With no precipitation coming from the sky, he guessed there must be something akin to a Decanter of Endless Water as the source. But then that begged the question of why water wasn't constantly flowing over the side. Perhaps there was a Bag of Holding or Portable Hole at the other end to swallow up whatever was left after the trees and plants had taken their fill. These were idle curiosities, though, and he didn't care enough to investigate either. Besides, it was a new day, and they had work to do.

“Chaz, Ravenus. Wake up.”

Chaz yawned. “Just a few more minutes.”

“Good morning, sir!” said Ravenus, causing Chaz to sit up like a sprung mousetrap.

“Jesus Christ, I'm up.” Chaz rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Where's the fucking fire?” Squinting at the sun peeking over the hills, he yawned again. “Why do we need to get up at the ass crack of dawn?”

Julian shook the water off his feet and put his boots back on. “We're on a mission, don't forget. The more time we let slip away, the less likely it is that the dice remain on this island.”

“What do you hope to find out this early in the morning? You saw how drunk those wizards throwing shit at us were. There's no way they'll be up before noon.”

“There are bound to be a few early birds, or people still awake from the night before. We might be able to get more information out of them when their minds are compromised from alcohol and sleep deprivation.”

“I don't know, man,” said Chaz. “Think about back home. Pestering random drunks on the street in the wee hours of the morning is a good way to get yourself stabbed. And you want to do that with wizards?”

“I don't want to pester random drunks on the street. I've been thinking about how to best go about this while you were sleeping, and I think I know a good place to start. Get yourself cleaned up. Our strongest asset right now is our high Charisma scores.”

While Chaz washed his face and hands in the brook, Julian summoned Ravenus down for a talk.

“Here's your job,” he said. “I want you to hang out on the rooftops and keep out of trouble.”

Ravenus scraped the dirt with a talon. “I shall do as you say, of course. But I must say, that feels like you simply want me to stay out of your way. Have I become a nuisance, sir?”

Through their Empathic Link, Julian felt a heavy sense of being rejected. He smiled at his familiar.

“Of course not, Ravenus! You'll never be a nuisance to me. But I need some eyes in the sky.”

“I could go for a pair of eyes as well. I'm starving.”

“I was referring to your eyes, to see things with. Chaz and I don't have a lot to go on, so we've got to rely on as much luck as we can make for ourselves. That's where you come in.” Do you remember those magic dice, like the one everyone was making such a fuss over at the Whore's Head?”

“The one that shattered on the floor?”

“That was a phony. But do you remember what it looked like before it shattered?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“Good. It's very important that we find those dice. The real ones, I mean. So I want you to look out for anyone who might have one. Maybe they've mounted it on a piece of jewelry, like a pendant or a big earring or something. Or it might be at the top of a walking stick. Or it could be something else. I don't know. So keep your eyes open, okay?” He felt Ravenus's heart lighten.

“I shall not let you down, sir!”

“You never do. But listen, I need you to be careful out there. Make sure you stay within a mile of me, and don't do anything to call attention to yourself. There could be people out here who would take you away from me again. Maybe Mordred. I hate to think it, but maybe even Tim. So don't talk to anyone.”

“Unless they possess one of those magic dice, of course.”

“NO!” said Julian. “If you see someone with one of the dice, absolutely don't talk to them. Just come and get me.”

“Very good, sir. I shall be like a shadow in the night.”

Julian nodded. “Good. Oh, there's one more thing.”

“What is that, sir?”

“There doesn't seem to be a lot of natural fauna here. Any other birds you see might be a wizard's familiar. So don't rub cloacas with anyone.”

“Oh.” Ravenus scratched the ground in thought for a moment, then looked up at Julian again. “What if she makes the first move, and it would raise more suspicion for me to refuse than it would to engage in a quick cloacal kiss?”

“Gross,” said Chaz, shaking his hands dry. “Is it really called a cloacal kiss?”

“I'll trust you to use your judgment, Ravenus,” said Julian. “But remember that all our lives are on the line.”

“You may rest assured, sir, that during any cloacal activity I may be forced to engage in, I shall be first and foremost thinking of you.”

Chaz snorted.

Julian hoped Ravenus wouldn't misinterpret the sudden pang of disgust he felt. “Okay, Ravenus. That's enough cloaca talk for now.”

“So where's this big lead of yours?” asked Chaz.

“It's not that big a lead,” said Julian, leading him through the small wooded area toward the populated part of the island. “Or at least probably not. There's this bar Stacy and I went to where the bartender had the hots for Tim.”

Chaz laughed. “Isn't Tim paranoid as fuck about us right now? If this woman's trying to ride his monster halfling dong, what makes you think she's going to tell us anything we want to know? Wouldn't she be more likely to tip Tim off to us?”

“She didn't know Tim as a halfling. He was magically disguised as a human, calling himself Darton. He was still hung up on Stacy. I think he was just stringing this poor bargirl along because she'd serve him free booze.”

Chaz nodded knowingly. “She's a chunker, huh?”

“What?”

“I'm not judging. I fucked a fatty for Kid Rock tickets once.”

Julian couldn't find the words to properly articulate his disappointment. “Kid Rock? Really?”

“They were good seats.”

“She isn't a fatty,” insisted Julian. “I think she just has some self-esteem issues. I don't really remember her all that well.”

“Fine. Whatever. So what kind of information do you expect to get from her?”

“I don't know. I was thinking we'd just go in there, start talking, and see what shakes loose. Maybe Darton didn't always come in there alone. Maybe she knows some of his associates who are still here on the island.”

“Again,” said Chaz. “If she's trying to get in Darton's pants, why would she give up any information about him to two assholes who come in off the street asking about him?”

They emerged from the woods to find themselves among the most modest establishments on the floating island, where young wizards who couldn't afford to stay at the ritzier inns on the main strip vomited in the streets from partying too hard the night before.

“You're not going to ask about him right out of the gate,” Julian explained as they stepped over a snoring half-elf. “You're just going to let her talk about herself until she brings him up. Then you can start asking more specific, but not too suspicious, questions about him. The trick is to make her think your interest in him is merely peripherally about your interest in what she's talking about.”

“What's all this you're business? You sound like you've got the whole conversation mapped out in your head. Why don't you talk to her, Mr. Diplomacy?”

“Believe me,” said Julian. “I'd much prefer it that way. But she'll recognize me, and she'll totally clam up if I start asking about Tim.”

“I don't want to go in there alone. Where are you going to be?”

“Don't worry. I'll be right beside you.”

Chaz rolled his eyes. “Give the girl some credit. Just because I'm the one doing the talking doesn't mean she's not going to be suspicious of you.”

Julian smiled at Chaz. “She won't even know I'm there, because I'll be invisible.”

“Ohhh,” said Chaz. “I forgot you had that ring.”

“I don't. I gave that away to someone who needed it more than I did.”

“Stacy?”

“No. Some girl who was trying to kill us.”

Chaz squinted at him. “So you mean you were mugged, and this girl took your ring?”

“No. She was going through a hard time and she was all alone. I gave it to her so that she could stay safe while she searched for her family.”

“Are you fucking crazy? Don't you know how valuable something like that is? I'm not just talking about monetarily. I mean practically. With all the shit we're in, and the stakes as high as they are, how could you even think about giving away something so useful?”

“I didn't need it anymore,” said Julian. “I learned the spell.” He thought he'd just landed his checkmate, but Chaz still looked annoyed.

“Well, what if more than one of us needs to be invisible at the same time?”

Julian shrugged. “I can cast it more than once. It just means I won't be able to use a Web spell that day. I can't think that's going to be as big an issue as you're making it out to be.” He glanced left and right as they stepped out onto the quiet strip. “Stop thinking about the ring and put on your charming game face. That's the bar across the street.”

Chaz grimaced. “LIVE NUDE GNOMES?”

Julian grabbed him by the top of the head and turned it toward the far end of the strip. “Over there. The Mortar & Pestle.”

“Oh.” Chaz shivered. “Good.”

Julian looked up at Ravenus, perched on the rooftop of The Slippery Serpent. “You stay closer to the middle here, and please try to stay out of trouble.”

Ravenus raised a wing as if saluting. “Very good, sir. Please be careful.”

Julian nodded, then led Chaz across the street. Only a few old wizards were still stumbling around, but none of them gave Julian and Chaz so much as a passing glance.

They stopped in front of the unfortunately named Wiz in a Bottle, the bar next door to The Mortar & Pestle. It must be a new place. He was sure he would have remembered that name if he'd seen it before. He was also confident that it would be replaced again by the next time he visited.

“Okay, here we are. Remember, just be charming and let her do the talking. Maybe put your lute case down on the bar. If she asks you to play something, you can use it as an opportunity to cast a Charm Person on her. But don't offer if she doesn't ask.” As he explained, he appreciated just how intricately involved his Diplomacy skill was, not to mention a bit sketchy. “Are you ready?”

Chaz nodded. “Not really.”

“That'll have to do.” Julian scanned the street to make sure nobody was looking his way, then held his hands in front of his face. “Invisible.” He watched with fascination as his hands faded away before his eyes.

Chaz poked him hard in the chest.

“What was that for?”

“Just making sure you're still there.”

Julian grabbed Chaz's shoulder and turned him around. “Go inside. I'm right behind you.” He held on to the shoulder to make sure the door didn't close between them.

The inside of The Mortar & Pestle was just as dark and dreary as Julian remembered it. Little effort had been put into the décor of the place except for the bar area. The booths looked like they were made of splinters and semen, and each one had a flimsy curtain to afford the patrons a bit of privacy in the event that they cared to enjoy more than just a drink. He immediately recognized the booth Stacy had dumped him in while she attempted to Gather Information, and felt compelled to take a shower.

One notable difference between this visit and his last, however, was the person behind the bar. Instead of a passably pretty half-elven girl, the bar was being tended by a rough-looking human man. His coarse black chest hair poked out the top of his threadbare, pit-stained shirt. Julian felt like kicking himself for not thinking of this as a possibility. Of course that poor girl didn't work there every hour of every day.

“I take it that's not her,” Chaz muttered while trying not to move his lips.

Julian leaned in close to his ear. “We're already here. It'll be weird if you don't go have at least one drink. Maybe he knows something.”

“Do not be shy,” said the bartender. His voice was as gruff as his leathery sun-baked face. “I'm not going to tear your limbs off. Stop gibbering to yourself and sit down. What'll you have?” The fact that he appeared to be able to tear Chaz's limbs off made the comment feel like less of a joke and more of a not-so-subtle threat of what might happen if Chaz started any shenanigans.

Chaz pulled back a stool from the otherwise empty bar and sat down. Julian sat two stools away, but had to sit facing away from the bar because he didn't want to risk moving the stool back to accommodate his legs.

“Do you have a light beer?” asked Chaz meekly.

The bartender laughed heartily and slammed a fist against the bar, rattling the recently cleaned glasses at the end of it. “A light beer, he says!” When his laughter subsided, he said, “First time on the Crescent Shadow?”

Chaz nodded.

“Of course it is.” The bartender turned around and scanned the shelves behind the bar. “Listen, son. This is the Crescent Shadow. You want to let loose and have some fun while you're here, right?”

“Sure, I guess.” Chaz was not making the most of his Diplomacy check.

“You don't want a light beer, whatever the Seven Hells that even means. Ah, here we go.” He pulled a large glass bottle of reddish-brown liquid off the shelf and turned around. “You want a man's drink. That is, unless you're a little sissy boy.” He eyed Chaz up and down, then grinned. “But I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Chaz in his flamboyantly colorful bard outfit didn't seem, at least from Julian's perspective, to warrant the benefit of the doubt.

“Thank you, sir.”

The bartender had another laugh at that. “Please! The bugbears of Blackwood Forest call me sir. At least they started to after I caved in their leader's face with my bare fist. You call me Lodor.” He poured Chaz a shot of what was in the bottle, then poured another one for himself.

Chaz stared down into his glass. “Thank you, Mr. Lodor.”

Lodor gulped back his shot, then squinted as he sucked in air through his teeth. When he regained his composure, his gaze fell to Chaz's still full glass. “Pussy.”

“Excuse me?” said Chaz.

“That's what you came here for, right? That's what all men your age come to the Crescent Shadow for. Of course you'll tell your parents that you're here for the cultural experience, to hobnob with more experienced wizards and pick up some tips on how to improve your craft. But we know the real reason you come is for the pussy.”

As uncomfortably vulgar as that was, Julian saw it as the perfect opportunity to bring up the bargirl from last time. He poked Chaz in the side, hoping he'd take the hint.

“YAH!” said Chaz, apparently more ticklish than Julian had anticipated.

Lodor narrowed his eyes at him as he dried a glass with a dirty towel. “Huh?”

“I mean, yeah! Pussy!” Chaz picked up the shot glass in front of him.

He'd be worthless for the rest of the day if he got trashed this early in the morning. When Lodor turned around to put away the glass he was drying, Julian snatched Chaz's drink away, gulped back the contents, then shoved the empty glass back into his hand.

Unable to control himself when he felt the effects of the booze, Julian wheezed as he sucked in air.

When Lodor turned back around, Chaz made his best effort at faking a wince.

Lodor grinned. “Good stuff, is it not?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Care for another shot?”

Though he knew Chaz couldn't see him, Julian shook his head.

Ask for something else. Ask for something else. Ask for –

“Sure,” said Chaz.

Lodor poured another shot for Chaz, but his own glass was only half full when the last few drops dripped out of the bottle. “That won't do, will it?” He winked at Chaz. “No worries, I've got another bottle in the back.”

As soon as his back was turned, Julian grabbed Chaz's drink off the bar and gulped it down.

“Hey!” said Chaz as his empty glass slammed back down on the bar.

Lodor stopped and looked back at him. “Yes?”

“Huh? Oh, um... Do you have peanuts?”

Lodor's eyes widened with rage. He looked like he might leap over the bar and beat Chaz's head to paste. “One big enough to split your blessed mother in twain!”

“No no no!” said Chaz. “Pea-nuts. Like, to snack on.”

Lodor's rage dissipated and he bellowed out a laugh. “I thought you'd gotten a couple of drinks down you, and you sought to challenge me manhood.”

“No, Mr. Lodor! I would never.”

“I'll see what I can find in the back.” Lodor disappeared through the doorway behind the bar.

Chaz whirled around and glared at a point about three inches above Julian's head. “What the hell are you doing?” he whispered. “Why do you keep stealing my drinks?”

“We're not here for you to get hammered,” said Julian, swaying on his stool. “You're supposed to be trying to get information from this guy. When he started talking about pussy, that was an opportunity to steer the conversation toward the girl who works here.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Subtly.” Julian heard Lodor's heavy footsteps returning from the back room. “He's coming back. Shut up and act natural.”

“I found some hard tack,” said Lodor as he reemerged from the back room with a fresh bottle of booze and a small basket of crackers. “They are not terribly tasty, I'm afraid, but they should help soak up your bitch tears.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Chaz. Julian had to agree that was kind of a harsh thing for Lodor to say to his only customer.

Lodor laughed. “That's what this is called.” He held up the bottle. “Bitch Tears.”

“Oh.” Chaz nodded as Lodor poured him a third shot. “By the way, speaking as we were of pussy, I was told there was a young girl who worked here.”

Julian cradled his face in his hands and willed himself not to punch Chaz.

“Nadia?” said Lodor. “You don't want to get mixed up with a woman like that. You should thank the gods I finally cut her loose last week. Always droning on about this Darton fellow to anyone patient enough to listen to her tale of woe.”

Chaz sighed. “Yeah, that sure would suck.”

“It's bad for business. Men talk to women in bars because they want to bend them over and give them a good rogering.” He held his hand in front of him, grabbing imaginary ass while he thrust his pelvis, presumably in case his choice of vernacular was unclear. “A bar wench's job is to provide the customer false hope of that fantasy becoming a reality.”

“And here I thought it was to serve drinks.”

“A man can drink anywhere. The bar business isn't about drinks. It's about pussy.”

“Is that right?” Chaz gave a small smile in Julian's direction before gulping down his firs shot of Bitch Tears. Then he started choking and coughing. “Jesus! That's some strong shit.”

Lodor laughed. “That one didn't go down as smoothly as the first two, it seems. Perhaps you've had enough?”

“I'm fine,” Chaz croaked like he was being strangled. “Sorry I interrupted you. You were talking about Nadia?”

Julian had to hand it to Chaz. He'd set that train right back on the track.

“She has no self-respect,” said Lodor. “If you don't respect yourself, others will not respect you either. And there is nothing in this world more important than respect. Do you know what I did to those bugbears after I killed their leader?”

Chaz shook his head.

“I made every one of them lick my testicles in front of their families.”

“Oh,” said Chaz. “Whatever turns you on, I guess.”

“I did it not to satisfy some depraved fetish, boy. I did it to command their respect. No man will have the confidence to stand up to you once his sons have watched him lick your testicles.”

Chaz thought for a moment while he watched Lodor pour the next round. “So you're saying Nadia should have made the customers lick her balls?”

Lodor stared at him as if he wasn't sure whether or not that was a serious question.

Julian likewise didn't know if Chaz was making a joke or if he was drunk from his one shot of Bitch Tears, but he certainly wasn't being helpful. He gave him another poke in the ribs.

“OH!” yipped Chaz.

“What's wrong?” asked Lodor.

“Nothing. I was just admiring that bottle.” Chaz pointed to the far end of the shelves behind the bar. “What's that?”

As soon as Lodor turned his head, Chaz let loose with a barrage of retaliatory pokes in Julian's direction, which Julian dodged with ease. As an added bonus, he swiped Chaz's drink, gulped it down, and put the glass back while Lodor walked over to fetch the bottle Chaz was pretending to be interested in. Unfortunately, he missed his stool when he went to sit back down and took a hard fall on the floor.

“What was that noise?” asked Lodor as Julian lay still and panicky on the floor.

“Huh?” said Chaz. “Oh, nothing. I accidentally kicked over my lute case.” He leaned over and gave Julian the finger as he picked up his lute case, then sat up and set it on the bar.

“So you're a musician,” said Lodor as he set down the bottle on the bar. “Mayhap I can persuade you to play a tune?”

Chaz got down from his stool, opened his lute case, and carefully removed the exquisitely-crafted lute given to him by the pixies of Glittersprinkles Grove. After a few initial strums, Julian quickly recognized the song from Chaz's playlist at Millard's keep. Neil Diamond's America.

Part of Julian wished that Chaz would expand his musical repertoire. On the other hand, why mess with a tried and true crowd pleaser?

And pleased Lodor was. Several times, as Chaz belted out a cover that Neil himself would have wept at, Julian caught Lodor wiping a tear from his eyes.

Chaz's confidence grew stronger with each verse, and near the end he was bellowing out the lyrics. Even Julian felt himself getting choked up.

“My country, 'tis of thee

Sweet land of liberty

Of thee I sing

Of thee I –”

“Mercy of the gods!” cried Lodor, looking directly at Julian. “Where in the Seven Hells did you come from?”

Julian looked down at his hands. They, along with the rest of him, were perfectly visible. His Invisibility spell had timed out.

Maybe I should have held onto that ring after all.

“I, um...” Julian fumbled for some reasonable excuse to have been sitting there invisibly listening to their conversation, then the door burst open behind him.

A grizzled old wizard with bits of dried vomit in his long white beard staggered up to the bar. “That song! What was that beautiful song? Did my old ears deceive me, or did it not come from within this place?”

“Yes!” cried Julian, forming the lie as he spoke it. “I was just walking by, and I heard this lovely music. I'm an elf. I have really good hearing, and I... uh...”

The old wizard spotted Chaz holding his lute. “Was it you? Did you play that song?”

Chaz turned to Lodor, who nodded eagerly.

“Uh... yeah.”

“In all my years, I've not heard anything like it,” said the wizard. “Play it again, I beg you.”

Lodor cleared his throat. “This is a place of business, sir. There is a two – No, three drink minimum to stay and listen to the bard's performance.”

The wizard reached into a pocket of his blue satin robes, then slapped a shiny platinum coin down on the bar. He scanned the selection on the shelves, then his gaze fell to the bottles right in front of him. “Oooh, Bitch Tears. Line them up!”

Lodor raised his eyebrows expectantly at Julian. “And for you?”

Julian was barely able to stand up as it was. “I think I've had enough for tonight. Maybe I could buy some drinks for the bard?”

Lodor smiled broadly at Chaz. “His drinks are paid for in song.” His smile faded as he turned back to Julian. “Yours are paid for in gold, or you may see yourself out.”

“Oh, no. I couldn't possibly miss this.” Julian fished a few silver pieces out of his coin purse and set them on the bar, hoping they would only be enough to cover this world's equivalent to Zima. “Three of whatever this will buy me, please.”

“Very well,” said Lodor as he frowned at what must have looked like sofa-cushion change next to the shiny platinum coin. He poured the wizard's drinks into proper shot glasses, then ladled three scoops of some murky brown concoction from a barrel behind the bar into dented tin cups and placed them in front of Julian.

“Thank you,” said Julian. He took a sip from the first of his drinks. It tasted like the sweat of two raccoons that had just finished having sex in a dumpster, but not any less strong than Bitch Tears. “Mmmm.”

Lodor nodded at Chaz, who immediately began strumming his lute strings again.

He started with I Am... I Said, then followed that up with Brooklyn Roads, then Love on the Rocks. Each song he played brought in a few more drunks from outside. When he picked up the tempo a bit with Cracklin' Rosie, Kentucky Woman, and Cherry, Cherry, every wizard with an avian familiar sent them out to go fetch their friends. By the time he got to Brother Love's Travelling Salvation Show, The Mortar & Pestle was packed to capacity, and Lodor was openly weeping tears of joy. Julian suspected that had less to do with being moved by the evangelical nature of the song, and more to do with the amount of money being dumped in his till at this hour in the morning.

The crowd went wild when Chaz started Done Too Soon with the opening lyric of “Jesus Christ”. They no doubt assumed he was referencing the fifty-foot tall Pillsburg Doughchild which had recently manifested as a god and singlehandedly saved the city of Cardinia. But as Chaz rattled off the list of names in the song, Julian sipped the third of his horrible drinks and pondered why Neil Diamond felt John Wilkes Booth was “done too soon”. Surely, the world would be a better place if he'd been done a few weeks sooner.

Visibly exhausted and audibly drunk, Chaz thanked the crowd and announced that he only had one more song in him. Unsurprisingly but appropriately, it was Sweet Caroline. Not Neil's best work, in Julian's opinion, but so legendarily popular that it wouldn't do to close a show with anything else.

Most of the crowd left when Chaz put away his lute, but a few people hung around for another drink. When Lodor made sure all their glasses were full, he excused himself and walked over to Chaz.

“That was quite a performance, kid. What is your name?”

“Charles,” said Chaz. “But I go by Chaz.”

“You've got quite a gift there, Chaz. Did you write those songs yourself?”

Chaz's gaze flickered to Julian, who nodded. “Yes.”

“You referenced a lot of names and places which I did not recognize. From where did you draw you inspiration?”

“They're, um...” Chaz smiled. “They're from a fantasy world that I created.”

Lodor rubbed his massive chin. “Interesting. I don't want to tell you how to do your job or stifle your creative process or whatever, but I was thinking you might appeal to a broader audience if you sang about real people and places instead of this silly fantasy nonsense.”

“Oh?”

“I don't mean big sweeping changes. Just little things. For example. Katookie Woman? Nobody knows what that is.”

“You mean Kentucky Woman?”

“Whatever. It's just some goofy made up word. But what about Efreeti Woman?” Lodor grinned. “See that? Now you got yourself a song that invokes feelings in people. It's terrifying.”

“That song's not supposed to be terrifying.”

“And what about that Coming to Amalaga?”

“It's America,” said Chaz, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“It doesn't matter what it is. It's a place that doesn't exist anywhere but in your mind. People can't relate to that. I mean don't get me wrong. You know how to stir up a crowd, I'll give you that. But would it kill you to change it to Coming to Cardinia?”

“I'll certainly take that into consideration.”

“You do that. Now go get some rest, and be back here before dusk.”

“What? Tonight? I don't think I can –”

Lodor grabbed Chaz by the arm and shoved his meaty fist into Chaz's much smaller hand. Instead of a clap, Julian heard a distinct jingle. When Lodor took his hand away, Chaz was holding a small but weighty-looking coin pouch.

When he looked inside the pouch, his eyes widened. He looked up at Lodor. “That's very generous of you. Thank you.”

“If you can pull in that kind of crowd at this hour in the morning, imagine what we'll be able to accomplish at night.” He scratched his head as he scanned the room. “If I get rid of these tables, we could easily pack twice as many people in here. And I'll have to hire on some new bartenders. Merciful gods, do I have work to do. You run along and rest those pipes of yours.”

Chaz stumbled toward the exit, and Julian followed discreetly behind him.

Chapter 22

Stacy idly perused an assortment of hats, bonnets, and scarves, still feeling self-conscious about her new hairstyle, though she found that men on the street didn't seem to be checking her out any less frequently.

“Why don't you try one on?” asked the kind-looking old half-elven woman manning the booth. She tapped the top of her walking stick against a mirror to let Stacy know it was there.

“Thank you, ma'am. But I was just browsing.” She hadn't walked across the whole city to go hat shopping after all. She needed to keep her eyes fixed on Dolazar, who was across the street keeping her eyes fixed on Cooper, who was a few booths down from Stacy, supposedly keeping his eyes fixed on her. Each of them had coin purses filled with copper coins hanging at their sides begging to be plucked by wererat thieves.

“I can't blame you,” said the old woman. “'Twould be a pity to cover that bold, yet elegant, choice of hairstyle.”

Is this lady screwing with me?

Stacy took her eyes off Dolazar for a moment to glance at the mirror. She was amazed to discover what a fantastic job she'd done cutting her own hair in the dark with a dagger. She'd expected it to be uneven and blotchy, with patches of near-baldness, but it actually came out really nice and even. It wasn't a style she'd thought she could ever pull off, but it was working for her.

Now that she thought about it, it kind of made sense. Her Charisma score was an 18. It would be nearly impossible to have bad hair, no matter how she styled it. She turned back to Dolazar, wondering how it might look in a bob after it grew long enough. She'd always wanted to try a –

“Shit!” Dolazar's coin purse was missing.

“Excuse me?” said the old woman.

“I'm sorry. I have... um... Tourette's.” Stacy scanned the street for someone running away, but the market was crowded enough for the thief to easily disappear into. She sighed. Of course it was. That was the whole point of operating their petty theft crime ring here.

She jogged across the street to the Holy Biscuit booth where Dolazar was doing a good job of pretending to be fascinated by bagels.

“Your purse got snagged,” Stacy whispered as she pretended to be interested in the same bagel Dolazar was staring at.

Dolazar glanced down at her side where her coin purse was supposed to be. “Not bad. I didn't feel a thing. Which way did he go?”

“I don't know. I...” Stacy considered how shallow she was about to sound, but couldn't come up with a lie that sounded any better than the truth. “I got distracted looking in the mirror.”

Dolazar smirked. “Someone's a little full of themselves.”

“It wasn't like that. There just happened to be a mirror there, and I hadn't seen my hair since you forced me to cut it off. I only turned away for a second. You've been staring at these bagels like you've never seen one before.”

“What's a bagel?”

“What the hell do you think?” Stacy pointed at a bagel on the table in front of them. “The thing you've been staring at.”

“I am sorry, miss,” said the dwarven man running the booth. “These are Holy Biscuits. It's a play on words, you see. They have holes in them.”

Stacy sighed. “Yeah, I get it.”

“They were inspired by the coming of the New God.”

“That's very respectful. I'm sure he appreciates you capitalizing on his existence with terrible puns. Now, if you'll please excuse us?” When the dwarf backed away, Stacy glared indignantly back at Dolazar. “We're not here for baked goods. You're supposed to be watching – Cooper?”

Cooper was charging across the street straight toward them.

“MOVE!” He shoved aside those who were too dumbstruck or just plain dumb enough not to get out of his way, then ran right past Stacy and Dolazar.

Looking past him, Stacy saw who he was chasing. It appeared to be an elderly human man who was running a hell of a lot faster than anyone his age had any business running.

“Your purse is gone,” said Dolazar.

Stacy looked down to confirm. “Shit! How could he... I didn't feel anything at all.”

Dolazar shrugged. “Neither did I.”

“But I'm awesome.”

Dolazar gaped at Stacy like she had spiders crawling out of her ears. “You were just checking your hair, were you?”

“Come on!” Stacy grabbed Dolazar's arm and ran after Cooper, just in time to see him leap through the air and tackle that poor old man like he was five yards away from scoring a game-winning touchdown. The nearby market-goers stopped to gawk at them.

“Someone help that poor old man!” cried a woman. “This orc is trying to kill him. Call the kingsguard!”

The last thing they needed was to get the authorities involved.

“Cooper,” said Stacy when she and Dolazar caught up to him. “What are you doing?”

“This geriatric fucker stole your purse.” Cooper scowled at the woman who was shouting for help. “And I'm a half-orc, thank you very much.”

“Please!” cried the old man, pinned down beneath Cooper's girth. “My old bones! I am innocent! This beast means to murder me.”

His face was wrinkled and filthy. His dirty white beard was long and grizzled. Stacy feared he wasn't a wererat, or part of any guild at all, but rather just an elderly homeless man who spotted an opportunity to feed himself for a few days.

“Beast?” said Cooper. “Really, dude? We're in a crowded public place, and you're coming off as a little racist. It's really kinda disgusting.” A long tendril of drool dripped from Cooper's lower lip onto the old man's face.

The old man closed his eyes and struggled as the crowd around them groaned in disgust.

“Oh shit. My bad. Sorry about that. I don't always have control of my... Here, let me wipe that off for you.” Cooper rubbed his spit around on the man's face until a piece of it peeled off in his hand. “What the fuck?”

The crowd gasped in horror as Cooper lifted up the piece of skin to examine it. The woman who'd been shouting for someone to call the kingsguard fainted.

Stacy knelt next to Cooper. “What are you doing?”

“Everyone stand back,” said Dolazar. She took the piece of skin from Cooper's hand. “Skin, but no blood.” She leaned over and peeled away more skin from the struggling old man's face. Not only was there still no blood, but there was a smooth layer of skin underneath. She touched the larger piece to the tip of her tongue. “It is as I suspected. A mask made of dried flour.”

Stacy tugged lightly on the old man's beard. When his struggling didn't change in a way that suggested she was hurting him, she pulled harder, ripping it completely off and eliciting another shocked gasp from the crowd.

“It's fake,” she said, holding it up for everyone to see, as well as to examine it more closely herself. “It's a really good fake though.”

The not-so-old man stopped struggling. “It's not fake. I cut it from a sleeping vagrant.”

After patting him down a bit, Stacy found where he'd stashed her coin purse under his tattered cloak, then pulled it out for the crowd to see. “My coin purse!” She grabbed Cooper's wrist and thrust his hand up high. “This half-orc is a hero!”

A few people in the crowd clapped quietly before everyone suddenly seemed to remember they had other places to be. Stacy got the impression that they'd all been waiting for the cops to show up and beat the snot out of Cooper.

When enough of the crowd had dispersed, Stacy helped the thief to his feet and twisted his arm behind his back.

“Ow!” he said. “You got your gold back. What else do you want from me?”

Stacy shoved him into the alley he'd been headed for, pinned him against the wall by his throat, then reached her other hand into her coin purse.

“You don't get it, do you? We were setting a rat trap. The coin purse was just the bait.” She opened her hand in front of his face, showing him five copper coins.

“The whole bag?”

Stacy nodded, feeling quite satisfied with herself.

The thief shrugged. “It would have been a modest haul, but every little bit helps.”

“That's very... sensible of you.” It was a difficult sentence to say while Stacy was trying to maintain a threatening tone. She loosened her grip on his throat. “What's your name?”

“Jeldon.”

“If I take my hand away, Jeldon, will you run away?”

Jeldon's flour-based makeup was beginning to turn doughy with sweat. “Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“Then I won't run.”

Stacy let go of his throat, then stepped to the side, blocking her side of the alley while Cooper and Dolazar blocked the other.

“Are you a Rat Bastard?” asked Dolazar.

“What?” said Jeldon. “No. I don't know what you're talking about.”

Dolazar rolled her eyes. “We'll kill you if you don't tell us the truth.” Her tone was less threatening and more like just going through the motions of making a threat.

“Okay, okay! Yes, I am a Rat Bastard.”

“Do you know Tim?” asked Stacy. “Is he part of your gang?”

Jeldon's eyes narrowed. “Tim and his pet dwarf betrayed us. They murdered Zippo, stole his Boots of Teleportation, and kidnapped Vaeryn.”

“This dwarf,” said Stacy. “Did he have a name?”

“Yeah. I can't remember what it was. Some stupid dwarf name I'd never heard before.”

“Dave?” asked Cooper.

“Yes, that was it.”

Dolazar laughed. “You must be suffering even heavier losses than I was led to believe. Since when do the Rat Bastards recruit dwarves?”

“We didn't recruit him. He just showed up, and Tim insisted we keep him around. And what Tim wants, Tim gets.”

Cooper frowned. “Are we talking about the same Tim?”

Stacy was wondering the same thing. “Why does Tim get what Tim wants?” she asked Jeldon. “We've got a bit of history with Tim, and he doesn't have a very good track record of getting what he wants. And then he sulks about it and drinks himself into a stupor.”

Jeldon shrugged. “As long as he kept supplying the guns, nobody asked questions. Before long, he was practically running the chapter.”

“It sounds like he had a good thing going,” said Stacy. “Why did he suddenly turn on you?”

“Let me guess,” said Cooper. “He got balls-ass drunk and flipped out over something stupid and wound up accidentally killing Ziggy.”

Jeldon glared at Cooper. “His name was Zippo. And no, Tim was blinded neither by temper nor drink. His actions were cool and calculated. Zippo had been backing Tim up on his gun-retrieving missions, but this time he decided to try a solo mission. It was unsuccessful. The guards in the other dimension shot him several times before he was able to teleport back to the hideout. Instead of helping him, Tim walked up and shot him directly in the face.”

“Damn!” said Cooper. “That's some cold-blooded shit. But I guess it's not something we haven't seen before.”

Stacy presumed Cooper was referring to when Tim sliced Mordred's throat. “No, this is different. When Tim killed Mordred, he was very much blinded by temper and drink. It was a deliberate fuck you to the rest of us because he was pissed about what he imagined was going on between me and Julian. I don't understand his motivations for killing Zippo. Did it have something to do with this Vaeryn girl you mentioned?”

“No,” said Jeldon. “Vaeryn was just a means to the end of getting away. Tim killed Zippo because he wanted to be the only one with knowledge of how to access this other dimension. When Zippo tried going alone, he became a threat to the power Tim had secured for himself.”

Cooper scratched his ass. “Shit. That's way more thought and ambition than Tim's ever put into anything.” He paused for a moment as Stacy stared at him. “I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't condone murdering your friends, but it's nice to see him finally take some initiative for once.”

“Acquired lycanthropy has been observed to have unique effects on certain subjects' personality and behaviors,” said Dolazar. “I've witnessed paladins renounce their gods and turn into bloodthirsty savages. Even I was quite the meek little flower of a girl before I got bitten.”

“And that's how the disease is transmitted?” said Cooper, scratching his ass a little harder. “Through a bite?”

“The gift,” Dolazar corrected him. “It may be given via blood, saliva, or semen.”

Stacy looked at Cooper's hand scratching under his loincloth, then up at his fearful eyes. “Cooper, you need to be honest with me. Is there a chance you might have contracted lycanthropy?”

“It was a bite,” said Cooper. “I want to be totally clear on that. No semen was involved.”

“Show me.”

Cooper lifted the back of his loincloth. The bottom of his right ass cheek had a series of long purple gashes which Stacy judged to be consistent with toothmarks from a wererat in hybrid form.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“It was yesterday,” said Cooper. “When I was fighting those two dudes in my flooded cell.”

“And why didn't you tell me about this before now?”

Cooper shrugged. “I didn't think it was a big deal. I've gotten bit by shit plenty of times since I've been here.” He shot an annoyed look over his shoulder, then took his axe off his back. “It was just a little bite on the ass,” he reassured it. “I feel fine. No rattier than usual.”

Jeldon and Dolazar exchanged doubtful glances.

“Cooper,” said Stacy. “You'd better listen to Nabi. Remember when she made you kill all those wererats in front of that sewer entrance? What do you think is going to happen when you turn into one?”

“YOU!” cried Jeldon, backing away from Cooper. “You are the one who killed so many of our brothers in the Collapsed Sewer District? You are... the Defecutioner?”

Cooper frowned. “Can I answer those two questions separately? Or are they a package deal?”

“How dare you hunt me down like a common animal for so petty a crime as stealing a bag of copper coins after you ruthlessly slaughtered so many of my kind.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” said Cooper, “it was in self defense... at least at first. We got a little carried away there toward the end, but Nabi insisted they were evil. In fact, she's been nagging me this whole time to kill you two as well.”

Jeldon spat on the ground in front of Cooper. “Insane orc. It isn't worthy to have our gift bestowed upon it.”

“Whoa, dude. I'm picking up a little bit of that racist vibe again.”

Stacy was on Cooper's side, of course, but she couldn't help but see a bit of irony in what he'd just said. “Didn't you just claim that all wererats are evil? That doesn't strike you as a little racist?”

“Lycanthropy isn't a race,” said Cooper. “It's a disease. It's not the same as if I were to say all black people are evil. It's more like if I said all people with AIDS are evil which, now that I say it aloud, still sounds kind of fucked up.”

“Maybe you should think about that next time you decide to indiscriminately slaughter them.”

“I used a bad example. Wererats are actually evil.”

Stacy turned to Dolazar to see if she wanted to play any part in defending herself, but she seemed fascinated by their conversation.

“What makes you the arbiter of good and evil?” she asked Cooper.

“I'm not arbiting shit,” said Cooper. “The rules are written in the Monster Manual. Wererats are evil, cut-and-dried. That's their alignment. If you turn into a wererat, your alignment changes to Evil. Doozlebar said it herself. She used to be a nice person before she got turned.”

“Dolazar,” corrected Dolazar.

Stacy kept the spotlight on Cooper. “I don't know if that's enough evidence to –”

“Then what about Tim?” said Cooper. “He changed, too.”

“Tim was already an asshole and a murderer. I don't think an increase in aptitude for it is proof of a sudden shift in morality. Maybe he just went up a level or something, and became a more effective murderous asshole. What about Dave? I mean, aside from killing that old wizard at the Whore's Head Inn, which can be explained by temporarily losing control during a full moon. That's a standard trope of werewolf movies.”

“Wererat,” corrected Dolazar. “We are not savages.”

Stacy turned to her. “Has Dave, while not under the influence of the moon, shown any noticeable change of character, or any signs of having turned 'evil'?” She accentuated the last word with air quotes.

Dolazar stared blankly at her. “I don't believe I've ever met this person.”

“Oh, right.” Stacy turned to Jeldon. “Well?”

Jeldon shrugged. “I have only known him a short time, and only after the gift was bestowed upon him. I do not know what his behavior was like before.” Just as Stacy was about to give up that line of questioning, he continued. “But he was caught in the lavatory pleasuring himself to Vaeryn while she bathed. This did not sit well with the rest of the chapter.”

“Jesus, Dave,” said Cooper.

Stacy had probably spent less time with Dave than she had with Dolazar, but she knew he and Cooper went back a ways. She thought about how she might phrase her question most delicately.

“Is that... unusual behavior for Dave?”

Cooper shrugged. “Who knows? It's not the sort of thing you talk about. But I'd say no. Dave sucks, but he's not a creep. That's why I believe Dave has changed. I don't know what kind of fucked-up porn he watches when he's alone. He might be into some voyeuristic shit. But he would never have the balls to try it for real, not without some major rewiring in his head.” Cooper paused to squeak out a small fart. “And that's why I also believe that I wasn't affected. My personality and behavior haven't changed at all.”

“Aside from murdering my people,” sneered Jeldon.

“That was before I was bitten,” said Cooper. “And it wouldn't count anyway, because it was an act of Good.” He frowned in reaction to Jeldon's continued seething. “Perhaps that was an insensitive thing to say.”

“There is no way to tell if the gift has taken to you or not,” said Dolazar. “You won't exhibit any signs until the first full moon.” She smiled. “Then, if you have it, it will be plainly obvious.”

Stacy frowned at Cooper. “It will be a pretty shitty night for you, me, and Nabi if you suddenly rat out on us.” She turned to Dolazar. “Is there any treatment available? Any way to prevent him from turning?”

Dolazar crossed her arms. “If I tell you, will you let us go?”

“Don't act like this isn't information we can easily get from someone else.”

Cooper glared down at his axe. “We can find other evil people to kill.”

Stacy didn't like the idea of letting Dolazar off the hook so easily, but she liked the thought of having to prevent a bloodbath even less. Besides, if Tim had betrayed his little wererat gang, they weren't going to find him here anyway. With Boots of Teleportation, he could be literally anywhere. They were back at square one, except now Cooper might be afflicted with lycanthropy. Getting Cooper sorted out had to be their first priority.

“Fine,” Stacy said to Dolazar. “Tell us how to get rid of the dis– the gift, and we'll let you go.”

“There was an herbalist booth next to the Holy Biscuits.”

“The what?” asked Cooper.

“Bagels,” said Stacy. “Shush.” She turned back to Dolazar. “You were saying?”

“Ask for a sprig of belladonna,” said Dolazar. “The fresher the better.”

Stacy nodded. “Belladonna. Got it. Then what?”

Dolazar stared blankly at her for a moment. “Then, I suppose you come to an agreement on a price and pay the man.”

Stacy rolled her eyes. “No, I mean after we procure the belladonna. What does Cooper have to do with it? Eat it? Smoke it? Rub it all over his body?”

“How should I know?” said Dolazar. “I don't go near the stuff. Ask the herbalist how to prepare it.”

“That's fair.” Stacy took Cooper by the arm. “Let's get you fixed up.” She and Cooper backed away from Dolazar and Jeldon. Jeldon wasn't seething quite so hard now that certain death was no longer the only option on the table.

“One more thing,” said Dolazar when Stacy and Cooper were almost to the end of the alley. “Belladonna will reduce the chances of the gift manifesting in your friend, but it is by no means a guarantee that he will not turn. If he is fortunate enough to receive the gift in spite of your best efforts to refuse it, I hope the two of you will consider joining us. As you are aware, I am now short a few members in my chapter. Your resourcefulness and his strength would be most valuable.”

Stacy didn't like this chummy tone Dolazar was taking with her one little bit. She had half a mind to let Cooper and Nabi loose on them, but wasn't entirely ready to discount their potential usefulness in the future.

“Cooper got bitten as a direct result of you tossing us down in those pits. If I'm forced to hurt my friend because you filthy rodent people gave him rat rabies, you will see me again.” She pointed at Nabi. “And I'll be wielding that crazy-ass bloodthirsty axe.”

“Okay,” Cooper muttered to himself, then looked up from his axe. “Nabi says she gives Stacy her consent to wield her.”

Stacy turned around and led Cooper out of the alley. “So what's your deal with Dave? Why are you always so down on him?”

Cooper scratched his ass while he thought about his answer. “Did you ever know anyone who was just kind of there? They weren't particularly fun to be around. They didn't add much to a conversation. They didn't even have the latest game console to justify you pretending to like them so you could play the latest version of Mario Kart. But on the other hand, they weren't overtly offensive. There wasn't anything you could pinpoint about why you didn't want to hang out with them, and you needed someone who was willing to play a cleric?”

“That's really specific, so... no.”

“Tim and I were marked as outcasts pretty much from elementary school, but we had a lot in common. When cliques started to form, we had each other and that was good enough. Fuck everyone else and their bullshit. But Dave didn't even have that. He was like a turd adrift at sea, hoping to attach himself to an island. You should have seen the phases he went through in middle school. Can you imagine Dave as goth?”

Stacy tried hard, then shook her head. “No.”

“Of course you can't, but he tried it for about two weeks. Then he started with the auto shop kids and actually turned in an essay justifying the South's position in the Civil War because there were documented black Confederate soldiers.”

“He didn't!”

Cooper shrugged. “It was middle school. Everyone was a little fucked up back then. And he was Dave. That didn't last long anyway. He cut his mullet off and went after the rich pricks destined for private high schools and Ivy League colleges. That's when he started making fun of me and Tim, calling us Archie and Jughead.”

“How is that an insult?”

“Who the fuck knows? Kids started calling us that in elementary school and it stuck. Dave tried to stir it up again in seventh grade, and even the pricks he was trying to impress thought it was sad.”

Stacy smiled at Cooper. “So that's what it's all about? You're still holding a grudge because Dave called you names in middle school?”

Cooper snorted. “Fuck no. You're missing the point. It's not about a grudge. It's about a general lack of respect. Dave doesn't have enough personality to warrant holding a grudge over. That's why he never fit in with anyone. He'd try way too hard for a week or two, then move on to something else when the group he was trying to impress didn't buy his bullshit.”

“So how did he end up with you guys?”

Cooper shrugged. “He'd run out of cliques, and we needed someone who was willing to play a cleric.”

“That might be the saddest friendship story I've ever heard.”

Chapter 23

“Land ahoy!” cried Fritz excitedly from the crow's nest.

Katherine re-sheathed her new sword that she'd been admiring, jumped to her feet, and ran to the bow. Tanner and Tony the Elf were already there, peering ahead at an island on the horizon.

“That doesn't look like much of a tropical paradise,” observed Tony the Elf.

He was right. As they sailed closer to the island, Katherine saw that most of its trees had fallen over. The ones that were still standing were dead, and looked like they might fall over too at any minute.

Tanner squinted. “Is that really Nazere?”

“I don't know,” she said. “Last time I visited Nazere, it was covered in ice and snow. At any rate, it's a place we can get out and stretch our legs for a bit.”

That suggestion was more for her crew than for herself. She had grown fond of life at sea over the past couple of days. Using her newly discovered ability to turn into various kinds of animals, she had enjoyed spending a few hours every evening as a bat, getting some exercise and reliving her vampire days.

Aside from that, she'd enjoyed her time on deck as well. She found she had a lot more in common with the Whore's Head gang when they all got a few swigs of Captain Logan's booze in them. Even Rhonda was surprisingly fun to talk to once she got over being so confrontational. They'd laughed and swapped stories about their lives on Earth, which Tanner found fascinating. If Katherine was honest, she was a little sad that this journey was coming to an end. It had easily been the best stretch of time she'd spent since coming to this world. In fact, she would be hard-pressed to remember ever having such a nice time back on Earth. She was actually beginning to think of these people as her friends. That wouldn't necessarily change once they made landfall, but she was reluctant to make any adjustments to the dynamic while things were going so well.

But they had a mission to accomplish. Unsure of exactly how far the shallows extended from the island, Katherine ordered the ship to be anchored about a half mile from the shore.

Nightwind only had one dinghy, which would hold a total of four people.

“I'll turn into a bat and fly to shore.” She took a moment to consider who she wanted on her initial landing party, taking into account who was most loyal to her, who was most capable, and who she most needed to warm up to. “I want Butterbean, Rhonda, Tanner, Tony the Elf, and his dog to accompany me in the dinghy.” She took off her captain's hat and smooshed it down on Frank's head. “You're Acting Captain while we're gone.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Frank.

“We'll have a look around. If we confirm that this is Nazere, we'll send the dinghy back to pick up Mordred and the rest of you. If not, we'll take a bit of shore leave and try to get our bearings.”

Everyone nodded their agreement as they crowded against the starboard bulwark, seemingly more interested in watching Katherine's launch than they were about shore leave.

Once the dinghy was lowered into the water, Katherine jumped off the side of the ship and changed form mid-air. It was a move she was still working on, and it still needed some tweaking. Just as she had the last three or four times she'd tried it, she splashed down into the ocean before she could get her flaps timed right. The sea was as warm as bathwater. If this was Nazere, not a trace of the Ice Queen's magic remained.

She could hear the crew laughing above her, but it was good-natured, and those laughs turned to cheers after she slapped the surface of the water a couple of times and finally caught some air.

She soared over the dinghy, which Tony the Elf was rowing as hard as he could, then onward to the island where she caught a whiff of something unpleasant. The smell grew stronger as she passed over the strange black perimeter separating the blue-green water from the white sand.

After landing clumsily on the sand and turning back into her half-elven form, the stench brought her to the brink of throwing up. She would have certainly remembered a smell like this. They had to be on the wrong island.

“I think... we're in the... right place,” said Tanner after he and the others hauled the dinghy past the black perimeter and got far enough inland to breathe.

Katherine sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, concentrating on keeping her insides inside her and wondering what the hell Tanner thought he knew about this place that she didn't.

“I thought you said you've never been here.”

He smiled at her. “Of course I haven't. But aside from some extremely localized sea plague, it's the only explanation I can think of for all those dead fish.”

“Decades' worth of fish,” said Tony the Elf. “All preserved in ice for so many years, then thawed out and washed ashore at the same time.”

“Correct,” said Tanner. “It would also explain the trees. All of them dead, but without any sign of decay.”

Katherine was annoyed. As a druid, that observation should have been hers. But she wasn't completely without knowledge to contribute.

“The freeze would have killed off all the bugs and worms and shit responsible for decomposition. Even if some of their eggs managed to survive, it'll take years before this place has a balanced ecosystem again.”

Tanner stared at her as if he wasn't sure whether or not she was making up words. She was satisfied with that.

Rhonda knelt next to a small sapling poking out of the moist soil, surrounded by pale green seedlings. “It looks like some of the seeds managed to survive.”

The young plants gave Katherine a warm tingle inside, similar to how she imagined people who liked babies felt when seeing one. But as comforting as it was to know that the damage this island had suffered was already starting to heal, it would be a long time before she could ask nature to provide for them.

“We'll be long dead before they bear any fruit,” she said. “Captain Logan's food isn't going to last forever, and I'm guessing all of the Ice Queen's food stores are probably pretty nasty by now. That was an oversight on my part. I hadn't counted on complete and utter devastation.”

“You can't take full blame for that,” said Tony the Elf. “We knew what this island was. Any of us could have predicted this if we'd given it enough thought. But we're here now, and this is where the others know to come look for us when they find one of the dice. Our focus now needs to be getting organized. We've got an abundance of wood in pristine condition to build shelters with. We'll set up fishing schedules on the ship, send out a party to scout for a source of fresh water. Before you know it, this place will be better than the Whore's Head.”

“What a high bar to strive for,” said Rhonda.

Katherine turned back to the beach. “We'll need to scoop up all those dead fish as well.”

Tony the Elf grimaced. “What for?”

“First of all, because they're gross and we have to live here. But more importantly, we can use them to fertilize the soil and help the island heal itself. If we're lucky, there might be some vegetables growing wild. We can keep an eye out for them when we're looking for the mines.”

“Mines?” said Tanner.

“Yes. Keeping Mordred contained in an abandoned mine shaft was one of the main reasons we decided to come here.”

“Sorry. I was having a little trouble paying attention after I resurrected on an empty stomach. I'll take the dinghy back and pick up another load of –”

Butterbean stood at attention and barked sharply, peering inland.

At least a dozen figures of different races stood on a ledge about fifty yards away, silhouetted against the purple evening sky, staring back at them.

“Friends of yours?” asked Tony the Elf.

Katherine shook her head. “They must be some of the Ice Queen's slaves.”

The figures started walking toward them, all armed with long sharpened sticks.

“That's good, right?” said Rhonda with hopeful doubt in her voice. “I mean, you set them free. Shouldn't they be grateful?”

“Set them free on a devastated island without any means of escape,” said Tanner.

Katherine shot him an annoyed glare. “I didn't have any choice. You don't know what these people were like. They were essentially cultists. The Ice Queen had them all brainwashed.”

“I wasn't passing judgment. I would have done the same thing. I was merely trying to take their point of view into account in order to predict how they might receive us.”

“You're right,” said Katherine, turning her attention to the slowly advancing party. She pulled her Bag of Holding out from the back of her jeans and unrolled it. “Everybody take a weapon. We'll try to resolve this peacefully, but we need to show that we're capable of defending ourselves.” She held the bag out for Tony the Elf.

Tony the Elf accepted it, but didn't reach inside. “Maybe we should go back to the ship.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Rhonda. “It's not like they're going to swim after us.”

Katherine didn't appreciate that half of her landing party already wanted to bail on her, but she supposed she owed it to them to hear them out. “And then what?”

Rhonda shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe we'll sail around to the other side of the island and land there.”

“No good,” said Tanner. “We don't know how many of them there are on this island. If we back away now, it will only give them time to warn others. Now that they know we're here, they'll be able to post sentries all along the perimeter of the island. If we can reach peaceful terms with them, so be it. They are obviously not starving. We can offer our talents and labor to help them during our stay, or safe passage to a destination of their choice once our work here is finished. But if confrontation is inevitable, I would prefer to face a small band directly.”

“A small band?” said Tony the Elf. “They outnumber us three to one!”

“They are armed with sticks, though even those appear more substantial than your spine.”

Oh snap.

Tony the Elf laughed. “Oh give me a fucking break. You think you're going to shame me into putting my neck on the chopping block? I'm just pointing out that there is a perfectly reasonable alternative to fighting. We have lives to get back to, and we don't need to risk them just to prove how big our dicks are.”

Katherine and Rhonda exchanged a glance. Of the three of them Tony the Elf presumed to speak for, only he had a dick to prove the size of.

“What lives?” said Tanner. “You live in a tavern!”

“Enough!” said Katherine. “Rhonda, Tony the Elf, you may go back to the ship if you want. If the worst should happen, tell Frank to stay anchored near the island so that the others can find you when they retrieve one of the dice. I need to stay here and do what I can to assist the island in her rehabilitation.” She was also a little eager to try out her new pirate sword, but she kept that to herself.

Tony the Elf sighed. “I was suggesting we all go together. I'm not going to ditch you here to fight a dozen guys with this jerk-off.” He reached into the Bag of Holding. “My machetes.” He passed the bag to Rhonda, then slid his weapons into their sheaths on his back.

“Crossbow,” said Rhonda, then pulled a crossbow out of the bag. A ranged weapon was a sensible choice for a woman of her talents and girth, but Katherine hoped she was also packing some magic.

Tanner accepted the bag from Rhonda. “Scimitar,” he said, then grinned with wide eyes as he pulled out the long curved blade. “I was hoping they would have one of these. I've always wanted to use one.”

Katherine frowned. “You intentionally chose a weapon you've never fought with before?”

“I am a fast learner.” He danced forward and back, slicing through the air like a child with a new toy.

Tony the Elf rolled his eyes. “Will you put it down? We're still trying to resolve this peacefully if we can, right?”

The islanders stopped about fifteen yards away from them and fanned out in a semi-circle, which left nowhere for Katherine and her party to go but back into the sea.

“Who are you?” demanded a dwarf directly ahead of them. He and the others were dressed in the same filthy overalls as Gabrok the would-be rapist had been wearing last time she was here.

“My name's Katherine. This is Tanner, Rhonda, and Tony the Elf.”

Rhonda and Tony the Elf offered halfhearted waves.

“And whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?” asked Tanner with a polite bow.

“We are the Free Folk of Nazere.”

That gave Katherine some hope. They were so happy about being freed that they'd decided to identify themselves as such. She gave Tony the Elf a sideways glance and a grin, then turned back to address the spokesperson.

“Isn't that interesting? It just so happens that I'm the one who freed you.”

The islanders glanced at each other doubtfully, then the dwarf narrowed his eyes at Katherine.

“Our freedom comes from the Ice Queen.”

“Like fuck it does.”

“Katherine,” said Tony the Elf.

Katherine ignored him. “That frosty old bitch was your oppressor. You were her slaves.”

The dwarf gave her a steely-eyed glare. “True freedom comes from the enrichment of the Ice Queen.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” said Katherine. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

Tony the Elf leaned in close. “You said yourself they were brainwashed. I think they have a Democratic People's Republic idea of freedom.”

Katherine waved him back, confident that she could make these people understand that they were better off now.

“You aren't free if your entire life is spent working for someone else, your every action controlled by them. That's the opposite of freedom. Now that she's gone, you can do whatever you want.”

“Do you know where she has gone?” asked an olive-skinned human man hopefully. “We have suffered much in her absence, and pray for her swift return.”

Katherine laughed. “You don't get it. She's gone gone. I turned her to stone and smashed her into dust. Why do you think all the ice and snow melted?” She smiled.

The islanders did not return her smile.

Uneasy with the tense silence, she tried to get the dialogue flowing again. “You're welcome?”

“You killed our mother,” said another human, his hands clenched tight around his stick.

“She wasn't your mother. She was using you. Come on, you don't even look like her.”

The dwarf stalked toward Katherine and lowered the pointy end of his stick at her. “You slaughtered so many of our brothers!”

Though she wasn't yet near his stabbing range, Katherine stepped back. “It was only one! Look, I'm sorry if Gabrok was your brother, but that was self defense. He was trying to kill me!”

“And all those who were in the mithril mines when the ice and snow melted so suddenly?”

“Oh, shit. Are they okay?”

“Their bloated corpses, as they float to the surface, are all we've had to sustain ourselves since our mother's disappearance.”

“Ew,” said Katherine instinctively. “I mean, sorry.”

Food and Mordred storage were definitely going to be problems.

“Surely you could have chopped some of them up to use as bait,” said Tanner, drawing horrified looks from both parties. It was a practical suggestion, if not a particularly sensitive one.

The rest of the islanders readied their sticks, then closed in on Katherine and her group.

“I have grown fond of the taste of half-elf,” said a sunburned shirtless half-elf, licking his lips and staring hungrily at Tanner. “And it's time I enjoyed some fresher meat.”

Katherine drew her sword, but kept from pointing it at anyone just yet. “That's really disturbing. And I'm not just saying that because my friend and I are half-elves, but more so because you are.”

“She's right,” said Tony the Elf, machetes in hand. “Look at yourselves. Think about the people you were before you came to this island. We've got a boat right there.” He nodded back to Nightwind. “We can take you back to your families. You can live productive lives, and you won't have to eat people.”

Katherine appreciated Tony the Elf's effort at reasoning with them, but it didn't seem to have much of an effect. The islanders moved in closer, all of them looking like they sincerely wanted to eat people.

“Fuck this,” said Rhonda. “Magic Missile.” Two bolts of golden magical energy flew out of her open palm and struck the dwarf in his bare chest, leaving gaping fleshy holes when they exploded.

The dwarf collapsed dead in the sand. But if Rhonda had hoped to send the others running by taking out their leader, she had misjudged them.

The remaining islanders lunged toward them, screaming and thrusting their sharpened sticks.

Katherine fought on autopilot, taking neither joy nor satisfaction in her kills or the gracefulness with which she wielded her new sword. These people weren't mindless zombies, at least not literally. They wouldn't even be her enemies but for an extremely fucked-up set of circumstances.

It was a completely one-sided fight. Working in the mines may have strengthened the islanders' bodies, but not enough to make up for what they appeared to lack in combat training or overall health. A strict diet of their decomposing former coworkers hadn't done them any favors as Tanner, Katherine, Butterbean, Tony the Elf, and his dog took them down like stalks of wheat, while Rhonda kept her distance and employed the less conventional harvesting method of shooting them. When the massacre was finished, she and her friends were heavily splattered with blood, though Katherine was confident that very little of it was their own.

She surveyed the slaughter, thinking back on how cool and smug she'd felt returning to Nightwind after single-handedly incapacitating Seastalker. She didn't feel anything like that now. Instead, she felt like she wanted to throw up. This must be the downside of leadership. But it shouldn't have been. This was stupid. Why the hell hadn't they just surrendered? Fucking assholes.

“I'm sorry,” said Rhonda. “I thought that if I –”

“You did the right thing,” said Katherine. “They didn't leave us any choice. They were too far gone.”

Tanner frowned at the mass of dead bodies on the beach. “I know the bait idea didn't go down well with these folks, but it still might be –”

“We're burying the bodies,” said Katherine. “All of them.” While she didn't feel guilty about doing what she had to do to defend herself and her friends, she felt they had suffered enough in life, and deserved to at least be put to rest with dignity.

After they'd all scrubbed off as much blood as they could with damp sand, Katherine had the others help her put the bodies into the Bag of Holding.

“I thought we were burying them,” said Tony the Elf as he struggled to lift one of the human bodies by the upper arms.

Katherine slid the lip of the bag under the dead man's feet, then began to pull it up his legs. “The bag will keep them preserved until we have time to look for a suitable burial spot. We've got a lot of things to take care of in the meantime, and we don't need them to start stinking up the whole island any worse than it already is.”

“You'll get no argument from me.”

When the last of the bodies were bagged, Katherine rolled up the Bag of Holding and tucked it into the back of her jeans. “I'll go back for another load of passengers while we've still got a little bit of light.”

“Take a rest,” said Tanner. “I'll take the boat out.”

Katherine felt like she could fall asleep right there in the blood-stained sand. She smiled at Tanner. “Thanks.”

Tanner peered out toward Nightwind. “I don't know if they are close enough to have seen what happened here. Should I tell them?”

“You can if you want. If you don't tell them, I will as they arrive. We did what we had to do, and there's no point in keeping it a secret. It's better that we're all prepared for anyone or anything else that may be out there.”

Chapter 24

“What the fuck are you doin', Randy?” said Denise. “We ain't got a second to waste.”

Having found a quill pen and a piece of paper under the bar, Randy stood up. “It's bad enough we're abandoning our post. It's just plain rude to not leave a note.” He dipped the quill in the ink, then spoke as he scrawled sloppy letters on the paper. “To who it may concern. Me and Denise had an unexpected visitor. He had information we felt it necessary to pursue. We are headed to –”

“Don't you tell nobody where the fuck we're going! We got no idea who's gonna find that note.”

Jay nodded. “I agree with Denise.”

Randy looked down at his paper again, hoping to find a way to change course without crossing out any of what he'd already written. His handwriting here was so much nicer here than how he wrote back on Earth, and it would be a shame to sully the letter with a bunch of messy scribbling. He had an idea and continued writing. “We are headed to pursue it.”

“That's fuckin' beautiful, William Shitspear,” said Denise. “Can we get moving now?”

Randy continued writing to close out his letter. “Lots of love, and I hope this letter finds you well. We hope to return with good news. Sincerely, Randy.” He placed a heavy glass on one corner to keep it weighed down on the bar where it would be easy to find. “Okay. I'm ready now.”

Before closing the door, he took one last look inside the empty inn which had been his home since he arrived in this world. In spite of the smell, he felt more fondly for this place than any home he'd ever lived in. He hoped to return soon, and find it filled again with all his new friends.

The walk to the harbor seemed to take forever. Denise's condition had advanced in the past few days to the point where she looked like she'd swallowed half a dozen bowling balls, and walking had become a chore. But as slow as she was, Randy felt that calling a celestial basilisk to carry her through the middle of a crowded city would only slow them down more.

“Just a little bit further,” said Randy encouragingly. “Ain't more than two or three miles to go.”

Denise scratched her stubbly neck. “I'm fine. Just a little hungry is all. You reckon we got time to grab something to eat before we set sail?”

“We gotta find a ship headed for Hollin first. Once we figure out when it's leaving, we'll have a better idea of how much time we got to get some food and other provisions.”

“I don't know how either one of you can think about food right now,” said Jay, looking around at the shops and restaurants they passed with disdain showing clearly on his face. “This place is a dump. I've been surviving for weeks on rats, and I'd still be wary about eating anything that came out of any of these places.”

Randy was surprised at Jay's reaction to the city. He'd been overwhelmed with awe by all the quaint old-timey buildings and little hints of magic everywhere he looked. But looking around now, in the specific part of town they were in, he could see Jay's point.

“The city's been through some trying times lately,” said Randy. “They're still in the process of rebuilding. There are some nicer parts of town a little farther away from the harbor.” He wondered how his self-professed 'disciples' were doing. Were they still building bakeries for opportunistic land grabbers? Had they moved on to more productive ways of spreading the Good News? He hoped that they had at least remained together and not fallen back into the old ways that landed them in the prison where he met them.

Jay sniffed the air. “I just hope we're getting near the harbor, or else I don't even want to know where that fish smell is coming from.”

“It's just over this hill,” said Randy. “You keep walking with Denise. I'll run ahead and see if I can find a ship headed for Hollin.”

After asking for directions to the harbormaster, Randy entered an unassuming little wooden shack at the end of a short pier.

“Arriving or departing?” asked the weary-eyed half-orc behind the rough wooden counter.

“Me and two friends would like to book passage to Hollin.”

The harbormaster's heavy eyelids rose when he looked at Randy as if he'd just noticed he was there. “Hollin?”

Randy frowned, wondering if he'd pronounced it wrong. “That's right. Hollin is a city across the sea, ain't it?”

The harbormaster let out a hollow chuckle. “Who can say by now? There have been reports of some kind of political upheaval in Hollin, in case you have not heard. Trust me, boy. You do not want to visit Hollin right now.”

“It ain't so much that we want to,” said Randy. “We have an urgent matter of business to attend to there.”

“Then I'm afraid you'll have to swim. No ship out of this harbor is sailing for Hollin until things settle down.” The harbormaster turned around to scan a map on the wall behind him. “The closest port I can get you to is Lymn.”

“And how far away from Hollin is that?”

The harbormaster rubbed his chin as he stared at his map. “It is hard to say. As the raven flies, it seems to be only a two or three-day journey on foot. But there doesn't appear to be a road between them, at least not according to this map. I've never been that way myself.”

Two or three days didn't sound too bad. “I reckon that'll do. Do you know when the ship leaves?”

“I do not. You can ask the captain yourself. Pier 12. Captain Longfellow of the Maiden's Voyage.”

Randy laughed. “Are you serious?”

The harbormaster frowned. “I see you've made Captain Longfellow's acquaintance before.”

“Sure have,” said Randy. “Weren't that long ago neither.”

“Then perhaps you can understand why he's the only one mad enough to go anywhere near Hollin during this turbulent time.”

“Thank you kindly, sir.” Randy left the harbormaster's office with a smile on his face. Wouldn't Captain Longfellow be surprised to see him. He was actually looking forward to reuniting with that salty old sea dog.

He recognized the tiered cabins of the Maiden's Voyage before he found the sign for Pier 12. And sure enough, he heard the captain shouting orders and insults at his crew before he caught sight of him.

“Watch where yer going with that thing! Damage me cargo, and I'll be shipping pieces of you to all of your possible fathers and yer sperm jar of a mother as well! You there! Where'd ye learn to tie a knot? That sorry excuse for a twist o' twine wouldn't even secure yer sister's cock betwixt her syphilitic legs. What be ye looking at? Get yer fist-stretched arse on the move before I shove me –” His eyes widened as his gaze met Randy's. “Mercy of the gods! How in the Seven Hells did you manage to make your way back here?”

“Little bit of faith. Little bit of luck. Little bit of help from my friends. Permission to board, Captain?”

Captain Longfellow laughed. “Aye, permission granted.”

Randy bounced along the plank connecting the pier to the ship, and Captain Longfellow grabbed his wrist to assist him on board.

“I take it ye didn't make it to Nazere, then?”

“No, we was there.”

“Horsecock!”

Randy raised his right hand. “I swear by the New God.”

Captain Longfellow forced Randy's hand down and leaned in to whisper. “None of that, now. Seafaring folk carry with them the gods of their homelands. Best not to chum those waters.” He stood straight again and raised his voice. “Now, where's that big lizard of yours?”

Two of his nearby crewmen snorted.

Captain Longfellow turned around to give them a sharp glare. “When I want to see a man's cock, I don't mince me words. Now back to work with ye!” He turned back to Randy.

“Basil didn't exactly survive the trip.”

Captain Longfellow removed his hat and placed it over his chest. “Ye have me deepest condolences, friend.”

“That's real kind of you, but he's doing okay now.”

“Is he?” Captain Longfellow squinted at Randy, then put his hat back on. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company once again?”

“I understand you're headed to Lymn.”

“I am. Have you business in Lymn?”

“Not exactly. My friends and I is tryin' to get to Hollin, but the harbormaster said Lymn's as near a destination as anyone's going.”

“Too right it is. Mercy of the gods, ye damned fool! If it's death ye seek, I can shove a flaming scimitar up yer arsehole.”

“I would prefer you didn't do that, thank you.”

“Will it be the same three of ye again?”

“It'll be me and Denise again, but Katherine had to sail back to Nazere.”

Captain Longfellow rolled his eyes. “Of course she did. So who be the third you wish to take aboard me ship? And please don't tell me it be some rabid owlbear.”

“No, he's a colored feller we just met.”

“Colored feller?” asked Captain Longfellow. “I'm afraid I don't catch yer meaning.”

“I'm sorry. I meant African American.”

Captain Longfellow stared at Randy for a moment. “Very well. I shall have yer quarters cleaned out. We set sail as soon as the sun dips below the horizon.”

The sun was currently high in the midday sky. Randy bade Captain Longfellow farewell for now and hurried back to tell Denise and Jay that they had plenty of time to eat before their trip.

“Ain't nothin' racist about it,” Denise was saying to Jay as Randy came within earshot. “When you take into account all the shit my people have achieved while yours was chuckin' spears in the jungle, it's really more racist not to have a White Appreciation Month.”

“Denise!” cried Randy, then turned to Jay to get a feel for how far down this rabbit hole their discussion had delved in his absence. Much to his surprise, Jay seemed completely unbothered by Denise's observations.

“It's cool,” he said. “Denise here was just strengthening my resolve to never return to North Carolina.”

Denise smirked smugly at Randy. “See? You don't have to always go around bein' Mr. Social Justice Warrior.”

Randy thought about that for a moment. “Actually, I kinda do. That pretty much sums up my role as a paladin.”

“He's one of the good ones,” said Denise, slapping Jay on the back. “If all his people thought like him, we could ship them all here. Then everyone would be happy.”

Jay smiled. “You'd still have the Mexicans.”

Randy scowled at Jay. Now he was just poking the anthill.

“They can come too,” said Denise. “Randy and I passed through this village that had more fruit needing pickin' than you could shake a maraca at. They'd feel right at home.”

Jay's eyes lit up like he'd just thought of a cure for cancer. “And then there's the Muslims.”

“Hey!” Randy shrieked, cutting off whatever awful thing Denise was about to say. “I got some news. Captain Longfellow said his ship don't leave until sundown. Who wants to get something to eat?”

“Too fuckin' right I do,” said Denise. “I'm hungrier than a busload of queers at a jizz buffet. No offense, Randy.” Before Randy had the chance to address the offensiveness of Denise's comment, she held up a fist to Jay. “What do you say, my man? I bet you could go for some fried chicken right about now.”

Jay gave her fist an uneasy bump. “Considering I don't know what kind of weird shit people typically eat in this world, that sounds pretty good.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said a full-bearded halfling cautiously approaching them. He gave Denise a slight bow. “M'lady.”

“'The hell you want, you fuckin' Ewok?”

“I couldn't help but overhear you were seeking a place to feast upon some fowl.”

“Well you heard wrong, motherfucker. You and Randy here can toss each other's salads if you like, but my man Jay and me was lookin' for some chicken.”

“Might I humbly suggest the Happy Cock?”

“Damn, boy. You just lay your cards right down on the table, don't you?”

Randy didn't like the direction this was going. “I think he means –”

“I got this, Randy,” said Denise. “I don't need no knight in shining armor to protect my virtue.” He turned back to the halfling. “Listen, son. I like your style. You skip all the bullshit and get right to the point. I respect that, and I'm flattered. But let's be real. I got a vag like a subway tunnel compared to whatever you're packing down there. And in case it ain't obvious, I got a belly full of freaks that need feedin'. So I'll tell you what. If you can point us in the direction of a good chicken restaurant, I'll take you down this alley so you can whack off on my titties. How's that?”

“Denise!” said Randy.

“Mind you, we're all pretty hungry right now. So you got to be quick about it.”

The halfling's confident restaurant solicitor persona had dwindled to a hollow stare.

“I apologize for my friend's behavior,” said Randy. “Would you mind pointing the way to the Happy Cock?”

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 is 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 toward 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!”

“You mean, like, a makeover?” said Chaz. He sounded more excited about that than Julian felt was appropriate. “I've got a show this evening, you see, and I need to look top-notch.”

“Have no fear, sir,” said Beezorp. “When we finish with you, you shall be the toasts of the Crescent Shadow. Now hurry along. We haven't got much time!”

Chaz grabbed Julian's arm and led him toward the stairs.

“That guy just took all our money?” said Julian as they started climbing.

“That's just the way they do business here,” said Chaz. “They're going to give us the royal treatment. You can't nickel and dime that shit. Besides, we should have an even bigger payout after tonight's show.”

When they got to the room, Chaz grew even giddier. It wasn't as nice as the room Julian had stayed at in the Ivory Palace, but Chaz didn't need to know that. It was a heck of a lot nicer than sleeping on the floor of the Whore's Head Inn.

While Chaz tore off his filthy clothes and jumped in the bath, Julian walked out onto the balcony and scanned the rooftops for Ravenus. He was only two rooftops away, and Julian was able to attract his attention with a whistle.

“This is nice,” said Ravenus as he perched on the railing and looked around.

“Chaz made a little money singing this morning, and he's determined to blow through it all as quickly as possible.” Julian looked up and down the street. “At least it's got a pretty good view. Why don't you keep watch from here, and I'll keep the balcony door open so you can get in if you see anything.”

Julian returned to the suite's common room just as the door burst open. He struggled to remember the incantation for Magic Missile, but stopped when he saw a female half-elven member of the hotel staff roll in a cart, atop which sat their promised bottle of sparkling wine in a bucket of ice and two champagne flutes.

“Thank you,” said Julian. “I'd offer you a tip, but Beezorp took all our money.”

The room service girl tapped the top of her cylindrical red hat and gave him a friendly smile. “That is not necessary. We do not work for tips. Our reward is to see that our guests have a satisfying experience.” She bowed deeply, then backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

That sounded like some Grade A customer service bullshit, but Julian couldn't shake the feeling that she'd meant every word of it. Such sincerity from someone in the service industry gave him the willies.

He poured himself a glass of wine. With as much as he'd already had to drink today, he would have preferred a glass of water, or maybe even a cup of coffee. But compared to Bitch Tears and well sludge, the wine went down like Sprite.

“Bathroom's free,” said Chaz, exiting the bathroom in a forest green bathrobe and drying his hair with a beige towel. “You've got to try that bath, man. It's the fucking tits.”

Julian had to admit, he'd never seen Chaz looking so clean and refreshed. Stepping into the steamy bathroom, he discovered that the floor was both heated and studded with pebbles, which gave his feet a much appreciated massage as he walked across it. The bathtub was a large square of polished granite, the water inside crystal clear and bubbling. It betrayed no evidence that a grimy man had just bathed in it, but there wouldn't have been enough time for Chaz to have drained and refilled the tub. From what Julian knew of Chaz, that wasn't the sort of courtesy he'd go out of his way to perform anyway.

Dipping a finger in, he found the water to be the perfect temperature, hot to the point of almost painful. When he pulled his finger out, it was clean. He could actually see the line, far more defined than any tan line he'd ever had, delineating pristine cleanliness from grubbiness. He hurriedly peeled off his clothes and submerged himself in the bubbling water. It sizzled around him for a moment, but didn't hurt. In fact, it was the opposite of hurt. It was exhilarating. He felt a cleansing so thorough it was as though his sins were being forgiven. When he sat up and opened his eyes, he discovered that he was in factory showroom condition, and the water wasn't the least bit clouded with filth. This bath alone might be worth following Chaz in his rock star endeavors.

Just when he thought he couldn't possibly feel better about the experience, Julian caught sight of Chaz's clothes hanging from a hook on the wall. While they still had the cuts and tears earned from months of adventuring, they looked as clean as Julian felt. He immediately leaned over the side of the tub, scooped up his own pile of filthy clothes, and dunked them in the water between his legs. They fizzed and bubbled as if he were sitting in a tub of peroxide. The water surrounding them turned slightly cloudy, but only for a second, then the filth completely dissolved before his eyes. His whites were as white as a line of cocaine on Snow White's bare ass, and the colors of his serape were as vibrant as a Skittles commercial.

Reluctantly, Julian got out of the tub. He wrung out his clothes, hung them to dry on a hook next to Chaz's, donned an identical forest green bathrobe, and wrapped his hair in a beige towel, eagerly anticipating a short rest on one of those huge luxurious beds. He opened the door to find the suite in a state of absolute bedlam.

Rolling stands full of brightly-colored clothing crowded the room. Hotel staff ran about like ants on a recently stepped-on hill. When they spotted him emerging from the bathroom, they swarmed on him.

“Feeling better now?” said the girl who'd carted in the wine. “This is Boudreaux, and his fashion apprentice, Twigly.”

“What do you think of this?” said a young human man Julian assumed was Twigly, shoving a sequined teal shirt in Julian's face.

“Too flashy,” snapped the more distinguished-looking grey-haired man with the pointy beard, presumably Boudreaux, as he slapped the sequined shirt away. “The star's job is to shine. The manager needs to look professional and understated. Take a moment to look him over. See what style he's comfortable with, then work with that.” He waved his hand in front of Julian's face before turning back to his fashion apprentice. “Tell me what you see.”

Twigly stared at Julian for a moment, then turned to his instructor. “The towel?”

Boudreaux smiled at his apprentice. “Precisely. Now let us see what inspiration you can take from that.”

When Twigly disappeared into a forest of clothing racks, Boudreaux held up what appeared to be a tiny pair of silver underwear. “You'll want to put these on.” He reached for the belt of Julian's robe, but Julian slapped his hand away.

“Sorry,” he said, snatching the underwear from the surprised old man's hand. “This is all just a bit overwhelming.” The wine girl was also staring dumbfounded at him. “Excuse me.” He ducked back into the bathroom.

Closing the door behind him, he took a deep breath and stared at the underwear. Even as slender as he was, how could he be expected to squeeze himself into this thing? There was barely enough material to cover his junk if he bunched it all up front. These were clearly made for a ten-year-old. On the other hand, the material did seem to have some flexibility to it. As weirdly creepy as it felt, he supposed there wasn't any harm in trying to squeeze into them. Much to his surprise, they slipped on quite easily, supporting his cheeks and hugging his junk with a comfort he'd never thought possible.

Taking a look at himself open-robed in the mirror, he judged it to be a sexy look for him, albeit one he'd never have the requisite confidence to show anyone.

He tied off his robe again and opened the door. Twigly had returned with a set of shimmering pale green robes and a matching roll of fabric.

“If Master is too timid,” said Boudreaux, “we shall happily accompany you in the bathing room.”

The thought of going into the bathroom and stripping down to his shiny skivvies for two dudes still ranked pretty high on Julian's timidity meter, but it was preferable to disrobing in front of the whole staff.

“Thank you,” he said, then led them back into the bathroom.

Once he got past the initial uneasiness of being undressed by two men, he felt silly for having been put off by it in the first place. Both Boudreaux and Twigly moved fast and were professionally dispassionate as they put the new clothes on him.

Looking in the mirror when they were done, Julian couldn't help but disagree with Boudreaux's interpretation of “professional and understated”.

“How do you like it, sir?” asked Boudreaux.

Julian tried to think of a Diplomatic way to express his true thoughts. “You don't think the turban's a bit much?”

Twigly's hopeful eyes narrowed. “I can put the towel back on if you prefer it.”

“Nonsense,” said Boudreaux with a friendly smile. “Everyone's wearing them, and it looks very good on you.”

Julian took another look at himself in the mirror. It did look good. It complimented the rest of the outfit nicely. “I just thought that maybe it's a little... I don't know... culturally appropriative, if that's a word.” Then again, the same might be said about his sombrero and serape. His gaze falling to his chest, he noticed a crescent-shaped silver pin holding the corners of his slightly darker green cape together. It looked kind of like a moon, but not quite. “What's this?”

“The Holy Croissant,” Boudreaux explained as he opened the bathroom door. “The symbol for the New God. It is extremely fashionable these days.”

Julian followed him out, wishing he'd never asked the question in the first place.

“No, bigger,” said Chaz from somewhere beyond the maze of clothing racks. “BIGGER!”

Julian spread two racks apart to find Chaz getting his hair done. He could say whatever he could about emulating Neil Diamond, but costume-wise, he'd gone full Vegas Elvis. His shirt was open in front and decorated with gold-studded patterns on either side of his oiled chest. It had a collar you could land a plane on.

“How is this?” asked the pretty elven hairdresser as she gave his already fluffed-up hair a little more fluff.

Chaz held a mirror up to his face, then grinned and nodded. “I dig it, baby. Take five.” He slapped her on the ass and stood up. “Hey there, Julian. What do you think?”

“You look ridiculous.”

“What do you think you look like? What are you supposed to be anyway? The Sultan of Agrabah?”

“I didn't choose this! I was perfectly fine with the –”

“Master Julian!” squawked Ravenus as he flapped down and perched on a clothing rack. “I've spotted him! The man with the die!”

“If you are displeased with your attire,” said Boudreaux, “we have an assortment of other options to try.” He ran a finger along all the clothes on the rack Ravenus was perched on.

“No,” said Julian. “This is perfect. I love it.” He grabbed Chaz by his gold-studded sleeve. “Come on!”

They made a beeline for the door, then raced down the stairs and out the lobby door. Ravenus, who had opted for the balcony doors, met them outside.

Julian looked up and down the street, spotting several fat men walking around. “Which one is he?”

“He went into that building there,” said Ravenus, nodding toward the Ivory Palace.

“Shit. Stacy and I swiped the bedsheets last time we were in there.”

“Why?” said Chaz. “Were they covered in splooge? Believe me, those guys see a lot worse. I saw this episode of Inside Edition once. Dude, you don't even want to know what they –”

“Shut up! They weren't covered in splooge. Stacy used them to make a pair of wings so that we could glide down from the island.”

“Stealing sheets? That's a pretty minor offense. I don't think they've got an APB out for you.”

“We were on the run at the time. Two big guys were trying to break down the door. Granted, there's a good chance they were working for Tim, but they could have been cops or hotel staff. I just want to play this as safely as possible.”

Chaz grinned. “I've got you covered.” He unfastened the Holy Croissant on Julian's cape. “Turn around.”

With no better ideas, Julian resigned himself to accept whatever it was Chaz had in mind. He turned around.

The cape was suddenly over his nose and mouth. Julian could feel Chaz tying the corners together at the back of his head. He'd turned the cape into a veil.

Julian faced Chaz again. “Does this not make me look extra ridiculous?”

“You look like a fucking fortune teller, but we're well past trying not to look ridiculous. Take a look around. No one is giving us a second glance. The point is, you're nearly impossible to recognize. In fact, if you shove some extra fabric down your front, you could probably pass for a smoking hot harem girl or something.”

“I think I'll pass, thanks.”

Chaz shrugged. “Just sayin'.” He clapped the Holy Croissant clasp into Julian's hand.

“OW!” cried Julian. “You stuck me with the pin!”

“Sorry about that.”

Julian sighed. He felt more self-aware than ever, not to mention less prepared. Whether they now 'looked the part' or not, they still didn't have anything close to a strategy mapped out. “Whatever we're about to do, let's just get it over with.”

With no serape to tuck him under, Julian had to let Ravenus sit on his shoulder. The satin of his clothing wasn't nearly thick enough to alleviate the discomfort of the bird's talons.

“I'm very sorry, sir,” said Ravenus, apparently sensing Julian's discomfort. “I'm trying to be as gentle as I can, but it's difficult to maintain my balance.”

“Don't worry about it,” Julian whispered. “And keep your voice down. Just give my shoulder a little squeeze if you see the man with the die.” Half-elven doormen held the doors open for them as they walked up the front steps of the Ivory Palace and into the lobby.

Chapter 26

“You sounded pretty confident back there,” said Cooper once they were out in the market again. The rat bite on his ass itched, but he resisted scratching it for once.

Stacy gave him an encouraging smile. “Don't you worry. You're going to be okay.”

You are blessed to have such a devoted friend. She will take care of you. Stay strong, Cooper.

Cooper laughed, hoping to put both Stacy's and Nabi's minds at ease. “No, I meant the part about 'If I have to hurt my friend...' What makes you so sure you'll be the one hurting me? I mean yeah, you're strong. But I'm a fucking barbarian. I'd have my Rage, and I guess rat powers, whatever those are.”

Stacy stopped and turned to face him. “It's not always about raw power.” She unbuttoned the top button on her shirt, drawing Cooper's eyes down to her cleavage. “I have certain... talents as well. Intelligence, charm, and...” She thrust a fist hard into his gut. “Sneak Attack!”

Cooper dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks, cradling his belly. It had felt like a cannonball. “Son of a motherfucker.”

Yes, I'm beginning to like this one.

“I'm sorry, Cooper,” said Stacy. “I didn't mean to hit you that hard. I was just messing around.”

“So was I,” Cooper groaned. “Which is why I didn't fucking punch you.”

“Don't be such a baby.” Stacy reached down to help him to his feet. “Come on. People are staring at us.”

Cooper accepted her help and stood up. “Sorry, folks. My bad. I didn't mean to draw all that attention.”

Stacy grinned at him as she re-fastened her top button. “Let's get your ass healed up before I kick it again.”

The herbalist booth was just where Dolazar had said it would be, easily recognizable by the multitude of jars filled with various colored powders and oils, the tendrils of incense smoke rising from censers that hung from the front of the roof, and the mystical symbols painted on the signage... or maybe those were just letters. The pungent blend of herbs mingled nicely with the aroma of baked goods from the next booth over.

“Is there anything specific you seek?” asked the shopkeeper, a gnome with yellow robes and a cylindrical blue hat.

“I was looking for some belladonna,” said Stacy.

The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed as he quickly looked her and Cooper up and down. “I don't get much call for such a toxic plant. May I ask for what purpose you require it?”

His suspicion was palpable, and Stacy was choking. Cooper needed to say something fast.

“I have glaucoma.”

What?

“What?” said the shopkeeper.

“He means gophers,” said Stacy. “We have gophers in our garden.”

The shopkeeper looked even more suspicious than before. “You two are a couple?”

Cooper farted. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, of course not! It's just that... I only meant...”

“I heard that sprinkling belladonna on your crops keeps gophers away,” said Stacy.

The gnome laughed. “I'd say that would do the trick. It would keep away just about anything with a healthy sense of self-preservation.” He reached down under the counter and produced a small bundle of twigs with dried brown leaves. “This should be plenty to suit your purposes.”

Stacy frowned at the bundle. “Those don't look very fresh.”

“It's easier to crush into a powder this way. Still plenty toxic enough to keep the gophers out of your garden.”

Who gives a shit? Belladonna is belladonna. Cooper had done a bit of cooking when the urge hit him, and he'd always ignored recipes when they insisted on fresh oregano leaves or whatever. He'd always used whatever three years expired McCormick shit he could find at the back of his mom's pantry, and it always turned out fine.

“We don't actually have any gophers,” Stacy blurted out. “We don't even have a garden.”

The gnome put his suspicious face back on. “I suppose next you're going to tell me you're not actually a couple.”

“This is really embarrassing for me to have to admit,” said Stacy. “I used the restroom right after someone else, who I later heard was rumored to be a werewolf.”

That was news to Cooper. “When the fuck did that happen?”

I believe she's making up another story in order to –

“Do you have open wounds on your bottom?” the shopkeeper asked Stacy.

“Whoa!” said Cooper. “Dial it the fuck back a little, man. Is that seriously how you chat up a woman?” He thought about it a little more. “Does it work?”

“I simply mean to alleviate her fears,” the gnome explained. “Lycanthropy is transmitted through bodily fluids such as blood and saliva.”

“And semen.”

The gnome frowned at Cooper. “Yes, that is correct.” He smiled warmly at Stacy. “For you to contract the curse from sitting in a lavatory, you would need to have an entry point, such as a laceration on your backside. And even then it would require the previous occupant to have left their own blood on the seat.”

“Or semen,” said Cooper.

“Yes,” said the gnome curtly. “We mustn't forget that.”

“What? People do a lot of fucked-up shit in bathrooms.”

“Please,” Stacy pleaded. “My parents were killed by werewolves!”

“Shit,” said Cooper. “I didn't know that. I'm really sorry.”

Nabi sighed in Cooper's head. I don't believe this story for a second. Her lies are growing tiresome and desperate.

“I grieve for your loss, miss,” said the shopkeeper. “But you must understand. Belladonna, also known as Deadly Nightshade, is a highly-toxic plant. It must be prepared just right, and even then you run the risk of doing yourself harm. To put yourself at such a risk, in light of the infinitesimally small chance you might have contracted lycanthropy... I simply do not see the sense in it.”

“I appreciate your opinion,” said Stacy. “But I'm not here for medical advice. I'm here, as a customer, looking to buy some peace of mind. However irrational my concerns are, I will sleep better between now and the next full moon knowing I've done everything I could possibly do to prevent myself from turning into a ravenous bloodthirsty monster. Now do you have a fresh sprig, or don't you?”

The gnome retreated to the darkest corner of the rear of the booth, then returned with a small shrub with bright green leaves and dark purple berries in a clay flower pot.

“Is this fresh enough for you?”

Stacy nodded. “That'll do. How much.”

“Fifty gold pieces.”

“For a plant?”

“If I knowingly sell you something with which I believe you will do yourself unnecessary harm, I must do so at a price which will alleviate my guilt.”

“You'll feel better about letting me hurt myself if you rip me off as well?”

The old gnome shrugged. “There's also the matter of wastefulness. Suppose another customer comes here later today who actually needs this plant because they've been bitten. I shall then have to live with the fact that I sold my only one to give a foolish human woman peace of mind against a curse she almost certainly doesn't have.”

“I'm sorry,” Stacy said after a long pause. “I made that story up about the werewolf in the bathroom.”

If that was a lie, then might it also be possible that...

“What about your parents getting killed by werewolves?”

“No, Cooper,” said Stacy. “My parents, in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, were not killed by werewolves.”

Cooper sighed. “You had me going there for a minute.”

“The belladonna is for my friend here,” Stacy explained to the shopkeeper. “He was bitten on the ass yesterday by a wererat.”

“Look,” said Cooper, turning around and lifting his loincloth. “It's true.”

“Please, sir,” said the gnome. “That is not necess– Mercy of the gods! Please lower that at once!”

Stacy smiled apologetically at the shopkeeper. “There, you see? He really was bitten.”

“Who's to say that's from a wererat? Perhaps it was one of your gophers.”

“I deserved that,” said Stacy. “I didn't know if getting bitten would get us ostracized or quarantined or whatever. We need this plant, and I think you know I'm telling the truth now. So can you please give us the price you give for people who really need it?”

The gnome nodded. “Very well.”

“Thank you so much! What's the damage?”

“Fifty gold pieces.”

“But that's the same price you gave us last time.”

“Correct.”

“Then where's the margin for alleviating your guilt?”

“That is replaced with higher demand. Anyone who is genuinely afflicted will happily pay that price for the chance to rid themselves of such a curse.”

“And you feel less guilty charging extortionate prices for life-saving medicine?”

“This plant can be found in the wild.” The old gnome was getting testy now. “If you would rather spend your time foraging for it, I have every confidence that you can find an adequate supply well before the next full moon. If you want this particular specimen, which I hired goblins to forage for me, then it will cost you fifty gold pieces. If you would like to continue bickering, I'm afraid I shall have to start charging by the hour.”

Stacy took out her actual coin purse, which she kept hidden beneath her Cloak of Elvenkind, then counted out all the coins she had.

“I've only got thirty-six gold pieces.”

“We've got this,” said Cooper, placing his thief-bait sack of copper coins on the counter next to Stacy's money. She put hers on there too, happy to be rid of the extra weight. “That comes to thirty-eight. It's all we've got.”

Cooper let out a long trumpeting fart. “Sorry. It's probably my rat bite giving me gas.”

“Very well!” said the gnome, waving his hand furiously in front of his face. “Take it and go!”

Stacy took the plant and hugged the pot, lest the shopkeeper have second thoughts on the matter after Cooper's fart dissipated.

“We still need to know how to use it.”

“Chop up the leaves as finely as you can, then put them in a small pot of boiling water. Squeeze in as much juice from the berries as you can. You may even want to chop up the berry husks and throw them in there as well. Keep stirring as the water boils, until enough water has evaporated so that you're left with a thick paste. Spread the paste over a crust of bread and consume it.” He sneered at Cooper. “Try not to shit yourself for as long as you can hold it. The longer the toxin remains in your system, the more effective it will be.”

“And what about the toxic effects?” asked Stacy.

The gnome shrugged. “Try not to die.”

“I don't carry around a whole lot of cooking equipment,” said Cooper when they stepped away from the booth. “You think they got all the stuff we need back at the Whore's Head?”

Stacy looked over at the Holy Biscuits booth. “Maybe, but considering what's at stake, I think we'd be better off using some more modern equipment. Hang back a few seconds, then join me at that bagel booth but pretend you don't know me.”

“Okay.”

Your friend relies too heavily on deception.

Cooper shrugged. “She's a rogue. That's their thing.”

She doesn't seem to be very good at it.

“Did she say how long we're supposed to wait before we join her?”

Of course not. That's what I'm talking about. How can we play our part in her ruse when we don't even know what that part is?

“I think it's been long enough. Let's go see what happens.”

The behavior of city folk is so frustrating. In the forest, we protect what is good and destroy what is evil. Very simple. We do not play these cowardly mind games.

“This isn't the forest,” Cooper explained as he approached the bagel booth. “I can't go around chopping up every person you don't like in broad daylight. There are laws and shit. I could get –”

“Excuse me, sir,” said the bagel monger. “May I help you?” His tone pretty clearly suggested that he was less interested in helping Cooper, and more interested in getting rid of him.

“What are these?” asked Cooper, reaching for a bagel as he assumed Stacy wanted him to pretend to be a customer.

The shopkeeper actually slapped his hand away. “Can you not read the sign?”

Cooper glanced up at the sign, then glared at the shopkeeper. “No, I fucking can't, ass face.”

“How dare you use such disgusting language with me. This is a place of reverence!”

“The fuck it is.” Cooper took a second to scan the entirety of the booth, searching for something someone might revere. “This is a poor man's Dunkin' Donuts.”

The shopkeeper gasped. He may not have understood exactly what Cooper was talking about, but he knew a belittling insult when he heard one.

“I am afraid I must ask you to leave,” said the shopkeeper. He didn't even bother to follow it up with an insincere “sir” this time.

“Why?” demanded Stacy. “Because he's a half-orc?”

The shopkeeper turned to her, gawking like she'd just sprouted a dick out of her forehead. “No! I mean, not only that. You heard how he spoke to me.”

“I am appalled that, in this day and age, small-minded people like you are so quick to judge others by their race.” She shook her head at him like a dad who wasn't 'angry,' just 'disappointed.' “And you call yourself a follower of the New God!”

“But I –”

“Did you not see with your own two eyes how He came to deliver this city from the siege of the Phantom Pinas?”

“I saw it!” cried a woman from the crowd gathering around them. “I was there!”

What is she doing?

Cooper shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“He spilt His blood over human and orc alike,” Stacy continued to the gathering crowd. “So that we all might live peacefully together!”

“And dwarf!” shouted a teary-eyed dwarf. “I was dead, and yet I live again!”

“And dwarf!” Stacy agreed. “And elf! And gnome! And hobbit!”

Cooper cleared his throat. “Halfling.”

“I mean halfling! For we are all equals in the eyes of the New God.” Stacy shot a quick scowl at the bagel vendor, then turned back to her audience. “Eat not the foul crust of false prophets who seek to divide us!”

The small gathering cheered, drawing the attention of additional passersby.

“Yeah!”

“Fuck that guy!”

“Praise be to the New God!”

Cooper ripped out a thunderous fart which quieted the crowd.

The shopkeeper choked on the divine aroma of Cooper's Holy Biscuits. “Please,” he pleaded. “Go away and leave me be.”

The crowd was already beginning to disperse, the power of Cooper's fart apparently greater than that of Stacy's improvised evangelism.

“Go forth and spread His Good Word!” she said in an effort to appear still in control of the situation. Those few who had hung around to listen seemed more than happy to be dismissed.

Stacy grabbed her pot and Cooper's arm, then followed after them.

“That was some good preaching,” said Cooper.

“Thanks,” said Stacy when her breathing got a little easier. “But we're going to have to find a way to make some more cash. That was a hell of a lot of work just to steal a bagel.”

A wererat lair would have plenty of coin. Surely there is a secret door in that alley.

“Nabi says that if we go back to that alley, we might be able to find a secret door leading down to their lair, and that they probably have some money stashed away.”

“Tell your psycho axe that we're not going on any murder sprees.”

“Dude, she can totally hear you.”

Stacy stopped walking and addressed the axe directly. “I'm very sorry, Nabi. But I have a lot on my mind right now. We have no idea where Tim is, and no leads on where to look next. Meanwhile, Cooper is in danger of turning into one of those things, which will probably make you try to force him to chop his own head off. So excuse me if I don't want to haul our precious plant through a wererat infested sewer in the hopes of scoring a couple of coins. Right now, I just want to get to Arby's and get this antidote made.”

I understand. Tell your friend I am sorry too. My thirst for the blood of the wicked sometimes clouds my judgment.

“Nabi says she's sorry too,” said Cooper, opting to omit the thirst for the blood of the wicked part.

“Apology accepted. Now let's find out where that Arby's is.”

Chapter 27

Dave turned to look at the little shop where they used to buy beer for their gaming sessions. The large black letters spelled GARDNER'S against the yellowed background of the sign. “It's open.”

“Would you mind accompanying the good officer there and picking us up a pack of toilet paper?” asked Tim from around the side of the Chicken Hut.

Dave raised a brow at Officer Williams, who shrugged. “Okay. Anything else?” He only then remembered that Officer Williams was the only one who had any real-world money, and felt rude for making the offer on his behalf, but Officer Williams nodded reassuringly.

“Grab me a pack of smokes and a case of beer. We don't know how long we're going to have to wait around for your stupid boots to recharge.”

As they walked to the shop, Dave considered turning invisible and stealing what they needed, but decided against it. He wanted to believe that it was because he wasn't truly evil, but he knew in his heart that it was more a matter of convenience. Invisible or not, trying to climb up on the counter to grab a pack of cigarettes while an elderly woman was standing right there was more trouble than it was worth. And besides, forcing a cop that he was essentially holding hostage to pay for their shit wasn't exactly the definitive lesser of two evils.

“What's a wererat?” asked Officer Williams, snapping Dave out of his crisis of alignment.

“It's like a werewolf. But, you know, a rat.”

“So you're saying that you can turn into a rat?”

“A dire rat,” said Dave. “About as big as a medium-sized dog. Or I can take a hybrid form.”

Officer Williams nodded. “I don't guess you'd be willing to demonstrate, would you?” Dave could practically read his thoughts. It was like when Sarah Connor was being evaluated at the nuthouse. Even after the Ring of Invisibility demonstration, this guy thought Dave was just some random nutcase.

I'll give you a demonstration, you condescending fuck. I'll bite your head off and fuck your neck hole. Jesus, Dave. Cut that shit out. You're a good person. The rules of some stupid game can't make you evil. Keep your shit together.

Still, it might not be a bad thing to demonstrate, solely for the sake of keeping Officer Williams in line.

“Sure,” said Dave. He didn't want to strip down to just a pair of boots in front of a police officer, and he wasn't sure how his new robe would handle the transformation into hybrid form, so he opted for dire rat form instead.

“JESUS CHRIST!” cried Officer Williams when Dave peeked his rat head out from under his robe.

Now that Dave thought about it, they'd kind of overloaded this poor guy today. Turning into a rat might have been a better Day 2 demonstration.

Officer Williams started sprinting toward the store. “Help!” he shouted. “HELP!”

Fuck!

The last thing they needed was more attention, and Dave was the last person who had any business trying to chase down a cop. At least, not in his dwarf form. He took his hybrid form instead, snatched up his robe and boots, and found that he was easily able to catch up to Officer Williams. He grabbed him by the shoulder about fifty feet from the entrance to the shop and turned him around.

“Calm down!” Dave tried to say. “It's just me.” But he soon realized he was speaking solely in growls, snarls, and drool.

“Please!” cried Officer Williams, looking even more terrified than he was before. “Don't eat me!”

Dave was a little disturbed to find that he was enjoying the terror on the officer's face and in his voice. He morphed back into his dwarf form and covered his junk with his hands. “I'm not going to eat you. Please calm down.”

“How do you expect me to calm down after that? I almost shit myself!”

“You asked me to show you.” Realizing that he was now showing the officer more than he'd asked for, Dave put his robe and boots back on.

“I didn't expect you to really do it.”

“Well, now you know. So can we just go get the shit we need to get? Once we use the boots to get back to the world we came from, I promise you'll never see us again.”

Officer Williams nodded. “You got yourself a deal.”

Dave followed him into the shop, grabbed a case of Bud Lite and the smallest pack of toilet paper he could find, which was still twenty-four rolls, and brought them up to the counter.

“Hey, Mrs. Gardner. Can I get a pack of Marlboro Lights as well.”

Mrs. Gardner, who'd been staring at Officer Williams, looked sharply at Dave. Exhaustion was getting the better of him. Of course she didn't recognize him. He was a goddamn dwarf.

“I saw the sign outside. I just assumed...”

Without a word, she took a pack of cigarettes from the dispenser above, then set it down on the counter next to the beer and toilet paper. Her old eyes darted back and forth between Dave and Officer Williams.

“Here you are, ma'am,” said Officer Williams, handing her his credit card. “Would you like to see some ID?”

Dave laughed, thinking it was a joke. Neither of them looked like they could possibly be anywhere close to twenty-one. Dave's beard was down past his chest, and Officer Williams's, aside from being a uniformed police officer, had to be pushing sixty.

Mrs. Gardner nodded with no trace of mirth, seeming to regard it as a test rather than a joke. Maybe Mississippi had recently passed some strict new zero-tolerance law on carding people for tobacco and alcohol.

She took a good long look at his driver's license, ran his credit card, then handed both cards back to him along with the receipt.

“Thank you,” he said as he grabbed the toilet paper, leaving Dave to carry the beer and cigarettes.

“That was weird,” said Dave as they walked back to the Chicken Hut.

“How's that?” asked Officer Williams.

“She's usually a lot friendlier. At least, she was always friendly with us. Maybe she's uncomfortable around strangers.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Dave thought she might be nervous around cops, but he kept that to himself. It seemed silly to think that a woman as old as her would be suspicious of the police, but what did Dave know? Maybe she had a checkered past.

“Stop bitching about it and hold your squat,” Tim shouted from his side of the Chicken Hut. “They'll be back any minute. Believe me, you've never had a wipe like this before.”

“Fire in the hole!” Officer Williams called out before lobbing a roll toward Vaeryn's side of the building. He tossed a second one over the building to Tim's side. It unraveled, leaving a long section clinging from the roof.

Dave smiled to himself, remembering the time Tim and Cooper had rolled his house in high school. It wasn't a particularly happy memory, considering that Dave's dad had gotten pissed at him for hanging out with those two delinquents and made him clean up the mess. But those were simpler times, before those same delinquent friends pissed off a magic-wielding psychopath, before he turned into a dwarf, before he turned into an evil rat-monster, before he assisted in taking a cop hostage.

“My word!” said Vaeryn, stepping out from her side of the building with her gun in her hand and a smile on her face. “That was a good wipe.”

“Didn't I tell you?” said Tim, equally armed and satisfied-looking. “I swear, you don't know what you miss until it's gone.” He spotted the rest of the pack in Officer Williams's hands and his lip quivered like he might cry tears of joy. “Make sure you hold on to that, Officer. We're totally bringing that back with us.”

“We?” said Dave and Officer Williams simultaneously.

Tim sighed. “I gave it some thought while I was taking a shit. We can't leave him behind. He knows too much.” He raised his hands defensively at Officer Williams. “Now, I know that's partially my fault. I kind of spilled the beans about the Chicken Hut. So I'm really sorry to have to inconvenience you, but... Well honestly, I don't give a shit. You're coming along.”

“What are you talking about?” said Dave. “What could he possibly do to us when we're about to skip town to another fucking dimension?”

“It's not about what he can do to us there. Think of the bigger picture, Dave. We're trying to get back in our real bodies, right? Back to our real lives. What's the point if we're going to spend the rest of it in the slammer?”

“Based on what evidence?” said Dave. “None of what's going on right now is admissible. You think he's going to stand before a judge and testify that he got kidnapped by an elf, a dwarf, and a halfling?” He turned to Officer Williams. “You understand we're in an extremely unusual situation, right? You're not going to try and pursue this after we're gone, right?”

Officer Williams opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound Dave heard was police sirens. Lots of them.

“Jesus, Dave!” said Tim. “You were supposed to be watching him!”

“I was!”

“Did you let him stop and make a phone call?”

“No, I just... Mrs. Gardner!”

“What about her?”

“She must have gotten spooked by all the blood on Officer Williams's clothes. That's why she was acting all weird and staring at his ID so long. She was committing his name to memory so she could report it to the cops.”

“Shit,” said Tim. “We're losing track of what's normal. You walk around in a fantasy game world or pull up in a Taco Bell drive-thru covered in blood, and nobody bats an eye. But yeah, I can see how that would raise a red flag at Gardner's. What time is it?”

Officer Williams checked his watch. “Twelve fifteen.”

Tim cracked open a beer. “Good. Let's hope those boots have reset themselves. Otherwise, we're going to have to hole up inside and take Officer Williams hostage for realsies.” He chugged back his first beer as fast as he could, then tossed the can and grabbed a second one. “You guys drink up. I thought we'd have more time, but Dave won't be able to carry all three of us and the beer too.”

“I can't carry all three of you,” said Dave. “I could barely carry two!”

“Come on, Dave. You just need to not be a pussy long enough to use the boots.”

“I'm telling you I can't do it.” Dave grabbed two beers and offered one to Vaeryn, who turned her nose up and accepted one from Officer Williams instead. “It's physically impossible. We're just going to have to leave Officer Williams behind.”

Tim gulped back the rest of his second beer. “And I'm telling you the only way I'm leaving him behind is with a fucking bullet in his head.”

The sirens were blaring now. Blue lights swarmed toward them like a horde of angry bees. They'd be surrounded by cops in a matter of seconds. Tim looked like he was itching for Dave to treat his threat like a bluff, just so he'd have an excuse to shoot someone again, prove himself as someone who is not to be challenged.

“Turn into rats,” said Officer Williams.

Tim squinted at him. “What?”

“All three of you are these wererats, aren't you?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So if you and the lady turn yourselves into rats, this one should be able to carry all three of us with no problem, for whatever reason it is that you want him to carry us.”

Dave sighed with relief. “There you go. Problem solved.” He wasn't thrilled about having to hold two giant rats up by their tails, but it was a great alternative to watching Tim murder a cop in cold blood.

“No good,” said Tim. “To take our rat forms, we'd have to let go of our guns.”

“Maybe that's better, considering you keep threatening to shoot each other with them anyway.” Dave turned to Vaeryn.

She sneered at him, then shrugged. “I am willing to put down my weapon if Tim puts down his.”

Tim held up his gun. “This is the only thing keeping Officer Williams in line, Dave. Of course he wants me to put it down.”

“Listen to me, little man,” said Officer Williams. “I saw your friend turn into some kind of giant rat monster, and it scared the shit out of me. With all these cops about to swarm the place to rescue me, it wouldn't make sense for me to risk getting torn apart by the three of you.”

“You make a good point.”

Dave sighed again. “Phew. For a second there, I thought –”

“Unfortunately,” Tim continued. “I don't give a shit. I'm the one with the gun, so I make the rules. That's how this works. So either Dave carries us all as we are, or I tie up this loose end before we leave.” He smiled at Dave. “What's it going to be, buddy?”

The little prick was actually enjoying this. Killing Officer Williams was just the icing on the cake. The real game was forcing Dave into an impossible spot and watching him squirm. Maybe he needed a reminder that he wasn't the only one packing leverage.

“If you shoot Officer Williams, I'm going to leave you here.” Dave's voice quivered when he spoke the words, and he almost felt like he was vomiting them out instead of speaking them. It was like when he'd quit his job at the golf course. He'd gone into work full of piss and vinegar, ready to lay into his boss with a kiss-my-ass speech he'd rehearsed a thousand times in his head. But when it came time to deliver, he barely managed to resign as politely as possible without throwing up, and even agreed to stay on three more weeks to train his replacement.

But that was his boss. They had an established hierarchical relationship. Tim wasn't in any position of authority over Dave. They were equals. Hell, the way Tim ran his life, even calling them equals was generous. So why was he having such a hard time standing up to him?

“You're a pussy, Dave,” said Tim, as if reading his mind. “You think you're being brave, but you're really just showing how much of a coward you are. When the shit hits the fan, you can't make the hard decisions.”

“Fuck you and your fucked-up armchair psychiatry bullshit. I've made my decision.”

“And because you're such a pussy, I believe you.” Tim slowly lowered his gun to the ground, prompting Vaeryn to follow his example. “I have every confidence that you would ditch me here with the cops to save your own fat ass, just like you tried to ditch us at Denny's.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Dave.

“On our way back from dropping the Horsemen off in Atlanta. The rest of us wanted to go back for Stacy, but you decided you'd had enough. You couldn't roll that die fast enough.”

Dave couldn't believe he had the nerve to bring that up, considering all the shit Tim had done since then.

“I'm not having this argument with you right now. Officer Williams, get on my back, please.”

Officer Williams nodded, then hugged Dave from behind and picked his feet up. “So what, exactly, are we doing right now?”

“Hopefully, teleporting our asses out of here,” said Dave. He looked at Tim and Vaeryn, both unarmed but eyeing each other warily. “If you two want to come along, I recommend you turn into rats.

Officer Williams's hug tightened around Dave's neck when Tim and Varyn shrunk down to giant rats, then even tighter still when they squealed and shrieked at being picked up by the tails.

As police cars screeched to a halt in front of him, it occurred to Dave that they hadn't discussed a destination. Was he supposed to take them back to the other world? Or somewhere safer in this one? Officer Williams would be much more of a liability here, but probably wouldn't cause them too much trouble over there.

But where specifically? The Whore's Head was definitely out of the question. They'd worn out their welcome at the sewer base as well. There was only one other place Dave could think of that he knew well enough to confidently teleport to, but he didn't expect too warm a reception there either.

“Get on the ground and let go of the dogs!” shouted a young cop as he got out of his car.

Five police cars were in the Chicken Hut parking lot now. Dave couldn't remember ever seeing that many cars here when it was open for business.

“Doug! Are you okay?” asked another cop, this one a burly woman whom Dave would fantasize about later when he got a moment of privacy. She had her gun aimed right at Dave's heart. They all did.

But they wouldn't shoot. Not at the risk of hitting one of their own.

Tim clearly didn't share his confidence. He shrieked even louder now, and Dave enjoyed watching him squirm for a change.

When he felt he'd hesitated long enough, he closed his eyes and focused on his destination. “I teleport we!”

The next thing he knew, he was breathing in the delicious smell of curly fries.

Chapter 28

Katherine woke from a fitful sleep on the beach, gurgling howls still ringing in her ears. It was dark out. Even the light of the waxing moon and a gazillion stars weren't enough for her to be able to see Nightwind. It looked like most of the crew had made it to the beach while she slept, including Mordred, who was easily identifiable as the only one on the beach who was tied to a chair. Most of the others were sleeping.

“Are you okay?” asked Tony the Elf from behind her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, then turned around to see if he looked like he'd been staring at her while she slept. That wasn't the impression she got when she saw him, though. He was scratching the back of his sheepdog's neck and idly poking a fire with the tip of his machete. It must be so boring being an elf at night.

“I was just having a bad dream.” Katherine didn't elaborate about her dream being filled with people drowning in mines.

“It wasn't your fault,” said Tony the Elf. Either he was making a confident guess at what she'd been dreaming, or she'd been talking in her sleep. “You didn't know.”

“I might have guessed if I'd given it any thought. I was so focused on getting my shitty little brother resurrected that I didn't even consider how many innocent people might die because of my efforts.”

“Their lives were forfeit anyway. They were slaves, and brainwashed into thinking that was a good thing.”

“That doesn't make me feel any better about killing them.”

“Then don't think about it like that. It's not like she was going to stop recruiting. Think instead about how many more lives you saved from getting pulled into her web.”

After a good long yawn and stretch, Katherine forced a smile. “You sure know how to make a girl feel justified for mass murder.” She crawled closer to the fire, preferring the smell of smoke to rotting fish.

Tony the Elf returned her forced smile with a genuine one. “Pity I don't get to use that talent very often.”

“Did we get everyone off the ship?”

“We left a skeleton crew, just in case... Well, we really didn't know. Just in case.”

“Sounds good.” Katherine tried to think of a segue into her next question, then decided to just cut to the chase. “Do they know about …”

Tony the Elf nodded. “They've been informed. Most of them didn't seem to give a shit.”

“That seems kind of callous.”

“They're tired, Katherine. Tired of being homeless in a world they don't belong in. Tired of living in fear and waiting for rescue. Since we arrived here, most of us have just hung out at the Whore's Head, keeping our heads down and hoping that Mordred would get bored with us and send us back home. This is the first time we've had any real hope of forcing that to happen.” Tony the Elf frowned. “I mean, aside from when your brother killed the Mordred we had at the Whore's Head. But still, I think they're happy to see someone being a little more proactive, even if it means killing a bunch of questionably innocent mine workers.”

Katherine peered into the darkness beyond the sandy beach. “They'll be thirsty when they wake up. We don't know how long we're going to be here, and I'd rather save the rest of Captain Logan's booze until we have something to celebrate. Do you want to come with me to look for a source of fresh water while everyone's still asleep?”

Tony the Elf gawked at her like she'd just asked him to the junior prom. “You and... I mean, sure.”

Shit.

Katherine didn't want him thinking that she was inviting him on some romantic moonlit stroll, or even worse, to sneak away from the others for a quickie, or anything beyond what she'd explicitly said her objective was. She didn't expect he'd try anything, and she was confident that she and Butterbean could take him and his sheepdog if they had to, but she wished there were some way to take her inkling of doubt out of the equation.

“Where are you two going?” asked Tanner, stepping out from the shadow of a still-standing tree, almost completely invisible in the darkness.

“You are so black!” said Katherine before she could stop herself. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean that in a racist way.”

Tanner eyed her curiously. “You have used that word before. I am still unclear as to its meaning.”

“You just surprised me. I didn't see you until you were right in front of me.”

“He's a rogue,” said Tony the Elf with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Sneaking around unseen is what they do best.”

Katherine was relieved to see him. “Tony the Elf and I were going to search for a source of fresh water. Do you want to join us?”

Tanner squinted doubtfully into the dark interior of the island. “In the middle of the night?”

“Get some rest,” suggested Tony the Elf. “You must be exhausted after all that rowing.”

“Not at all.” Tanner wagged his arms up and down like a chicken. “There is a bit of soreness in the shoulders, but I only made one trip. After we took Mordred ashore, one of the half-orcs volunteered to take over ferrying duty, so I turned in early. I've gotten all the sleep I'm going to get tonight.”

“But shouldn't someone stay behind to watch over the others on the beach while they sleep?”

Tanner looked back toward the crew. “There are a few more of you elves about, plus one or two nocturnal familiars. I believe some of the wizards may have also set up Alarm spells. They'll be much safer here than the two of you will be roaming this cannibal-infested island alone.”

“We're not –”

“That's an excellent point,” said Katherine before Tony the Elf could bring up Butterbean and whatever the hell his dog's name was. “Better safe than sorry.” She felt lame for dropping that tired cliché, but she hoped it would put a pin in the argument.

“Great,” said Tony the Elf. “Let's get moving then.”

As they headed inland, Katherine found herself able to walk briskly without stepping on a single sprout. Tony the Elf hurried to keep up, managing to only step on a few. Tanner almost seemed to be intentionally stomping on them like they'd killed his mother.

When she finally couldn't take it anymore, she whirled around and glowered at him. “This island is recovering from total devastation!”

Tanner stopped in his tracks, bewildered. “Yes?”

Katherine took a deep breath to calm herself. “Must you trample every fucking sprout you see?”

Tanner looked down at his feet, then quickly moved one from a sprout he was standing on. “I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention.”

“Don't be so hard on him,” said Tony the Elf, his uncharacteristically sympathetic tone arousing suspicion in Katherine. “You're a druid. I'm a ranger. It's in our nature to care for our natural surroundings. Tanner is a fish out of water here. His natural habitats are the back alleys and gutters of the city.”

Suspicions confirmed. He was intentionally being a dick.

Katherine remembered that as a druid she possessed an almost supernatural ability to move through nature without disturbing it, and considered that she might have been overreacting to Tanner's disregard for the young plants.

“I'm sorry, Tanner. Being a druid kind of fucks with my head sometimes. I shouldn't have snapped at you.”

“That is quite all right,” said Tanner. “I'm sure I understand.”

“But try to watch where you're stepping.”

As they continued, Katherine found herself having to stop and wait every fifty yards or so as both Tanner and Tony the Elf were extremely mindful of each step. She was torn between running ahead without them and telling them to just step on the goddamn sprouts when she spotted something strange ahead. Moving a bit closer, she saw it was a man-made structure, like the framework for what would be an extremely sturdy gazebo. Thick tree-trunk columns were secured together at the top by a ring of beams and braces, forming a large circle. It struck her as strange because every other structure she'd previously seen on this island, aside from the ruins of buildings from before the Ice Queen's reign, were made entirely of ice. Whatever this thing was didn't appear to be in a state of ruin. But even from where she stood, she could see the sawed-off edges of the wood were weathered and worn down, suggesting that this hadn't been an under-construction project when she brought down the Ice Queen.

She looked back to check on Tanner and Tony the Elf's progress. Fortunately, they were catching up to her.

“Look what I found,” she said.

Tony the Elf squinted past her. “What is that?”

“Looks like an entrance to a mine shaft,” said Tanner.

“Oh?” Katherine moved closer and caught a whiff of something foul in the air. The bloated human body floating face down in the pool of water inside the columns provided evidence both to support Tanner's theory and corroborate the story the dwarf on the beach had told her about what happened here.

“Look on the bright side,” said Tony the Elf, joining Katherine as she stared at the floating corpse. “We've found a mine. That's one item we can cross off the list.”

“Maybe more than one,” said Tanner. “If this flooding was caused by snow and ice from the melted palace, it's probably fresh water.”

Tony the Elf grimaced. “There's a fucking dead body in it!”

“That's not necessarily a deal-breaker,” said Katherine. She ignored Tony the Elf's even more horrified grimace as she elaborated. “I might be able to use my Bag of Holding to separate contamination from –  Holy shit! I've got an idea!” She pulled out the Bag of Holding as she ran toward the mine shaft, then held it upside down over the pool and reached inside. “Dead bodies!”

She quickly pulled her hand away as all the dead bodies they'd collected on the beach spilled out, making the nasty, putrid-smelling water splash and flow over the sides.

“I'm just playing Devil's Advocate here,” said Tony the Elf. “But I feel that you might only be exacerbating the problem now.”

When the bag was all cleared of corpses, Katherine rejoined Tanner and Tony the Elf. “We'll come back for them.” She spread the Bag of Holding open on the ground between them. “I need you two in the bag, pronto.”

“Oh come on. That was just full of dead bodies.”

“And you just saw me dump out all of the dead bodies, which I did specifically so you wouldn't have to float around in there with them.”

“That was very thoughtful of you,” said Tanner. He stepped into the bag and appeared to fall into the earth beneath it.

Katherine gave Tony the Elf an impatient look. “Time's ticking away. You can get in the bag, or you can walk back to the beach by yourself.”

Tony the Elf sighed. “Just don't forget to pull us out.”

After he stepped into the bag, Katherine rolled it up and turned into a wolf. The bag, her clothes, and all of her other belongings melded into her wolf form with her. Butterbean stared at her in a similar manner that Tony the Elf had when she'd asked him to come look for fresh water with her. She gave Butterbean a warning growl, then started running back toward the beach. Butterbean and Tony the Elf's dog followed.

Whether it was the rush of wind in her face as she ran, or the fact that she wasn't semi-tethered to a boat, Katherine found her wolf form the most satisfying of all the animal forms she'd tried so far. She almost regretted blowing her daily usage of this ability on such a short run, but she was more excited to test her new theory. Maybe tomorrow, after they'd done as much work as they were going to do toward getting situated on the island, she would devote a few hours to running up and down the beach and howling at the moon with Butterbean.

She arrived back at the beach to find a few more of her crew awake and groggily walking around. They became instantly alert at the sight of two wolves and a sheepdog running at them, but relaxed again when Katherine returned to her normal form.

“Tony the Elf,” she said after shoving her hand into the Bag of Holding.

Tony the Elf spilled out onto the sand gasping for air.

Katherine hurriedly reached in again. “Tanner!”

Tanner fell out next to Tony the Elf, breathing heavily but not quite so dramatically.

“That was quite a ride,” he said when he caught his breath. “So what is this big idea of yours?”

Katherine grinned. “Check this out.” She kicked off her boots, then ran into the water. Being cooler than she'd expected, it gave her a slight chill. Nevertheless, she dunked the Bag of Holding under the surface and held it down against the sandy sea bottom for about a minute, letting water flow into it.

When she was satisfied she had enough water for a properly impressive demonstration, she pulled it up and returned to her companions. “Water is no longer an issue. We're fucking surrounded by it!”

Tony the Elf frowned as the familiar glint of condescension returned to his eyes. “We're on an island.”

Tanner stood up and brushed the sand off his ass. “Perhaps you should allow her to –”

“We almost suffocated in that bag because it just occurred to her that the ocean is full of water.” He turned sharply to Katherine. “Saltwater, which will only hasten our dehydration.”

Katherine glared back at him as she reached into the bag. “Salt.”

As coarse white crystals poured out of the bag into a pile on the beach, nearly indistinguishable from the sand, she watched with extreme satisfaction as Tony the Elf's expression softened, then turn panicky, like a rotting peach.

He looked up at her with remorseful eyes. “I'm such an asshole. I didn't mean... I didn't think... I –”

“Fish shit,” said Katherine, prompting a small brown blob to drop down onto the pile of salt. “Let's take a walk to the dinghy, shall we?”

Tanner and Tony the Elf followed her to the small vessel. She could practically feel the former's smugness and the latter's embarrassment like heat lamps on her back.

She turned the bag upside down over the dinghy. “Water.” Water flowed out of the bag until the little boat was overflowing. “Any volunteers to try it?”

Tanner cupped his hands in the water, then brought them to his mouth to drink. When his hands were empty, he shrugged. “It is unpleasant, but not salty. I believe it will keep us alive.”

Katherine beamed at him. She was almost able to fool herself into believing she knew what she was doing.

“That's water solved. That should buy us a couple of days to get food sorted out.”

“We could ferry a boatload of these rotting fish out to the ship,” suggested Tony the Elf enthusiastically, no doubt trying to make up for being a douche a few minutes ago. “If we chum the water with them, maybe we could lure in some fresh fish, or a shark, or something.”

Katherine grimaced at the thought of eating shark again. Of course it was preferable to starving to death or eating dead people, but Tony the Elf's idea would involve using a lot of the rotted fish that had washed up on the beach, which she already had earmarked for fertilizing the interior of the island with. Plus, there was no guarantee it would work.

“Why go to all the effort of making so many small trips to the ship and back?” said Fritz. “Would it not be easier to have the fish come to us?”

“Do you have a fish-summoning flute or something?” Katherine asked him.

Fritz smiled. “I do not, in fact. But I do have a knack for basic engineering, and what I'm proposing is a relatively simple, if not labor-intensive endeavor.”

“What is it?”

“While the tide is high like it is now, all manner of fish will be swimming about freely in the same places we'll be able to walk when the tide lowers in the morning. If we were to dig a large trench, we may be able to trap some.”

Katherine nodded. “That sounds like an interesting idea, but also like a lot of time and effort. We'll have to wait at least another full day to see how well it works. If it only nabs us a couple of fish, our time might have been better spent trying something different.”

“We could use Tony the Elf's idea of chumming the water with rotten fish to entice more fish to swim into our trap,” said Fritz. “The best part is, though, that if it works too well, and we find ourselves with more fish than we can eat, they'll still be swimming in sea water. So we needn't fear them spoiling.”

“That's true,” said Katherine. “But even if they started to spoil, I could always cast a – Holy shit! I've got an idea!”

Tony the Elf stood straight like a soldier at attention. “I have every confidence that it's a brilliant one.”

“We're surrounded by dead fish! To think that we've just been talking about using them as bait this whole time, while we should have been talking about using them as food.”

Tony the Elf frowned as his gaze fell to the putrid decaying fish on the beach. “I still believe in you.”

Katherine removed her cloak, which was much too hot to be wearing in this climate anyway, and spread it out on the sand.

“Pile as many fish on here as you can,” she said.

“Just to be clear,” said Fritz. “You want us to dump a bunch of dead fish on your cloak?”

Katherine nodded. “That is correct.”

“Which you are proposing we will use as food?”

“We'll all have more than we could possibly eat, and there will still be plenty left over to use as fertilizer.”

Fritz frowned. “Neither of those are my primary concerns.”

Tony the Elf dumped an armload of dead fish into the dinghy, then dropped to his knees to throw up. When he regained his composure, he stood up. “Just let her do her thing.”

By the time others had hauled armfuls of dead fish onto her cloak, dawn was beginning to break, and even more people were waking up.

Katherine placed one hand on the pile. “Purify!”

The fish didn't regrow any flesh that they'd lost in the decomposition process, but what blackened flesh they had turned white or pink, depending upon the fish, and the foul smell instantly disappeared.

“Any volunteers to try it?” Katherine directed the question specifically toward Tony the Elf.

Tony the Elf looked at the fish doubtfully at first, then shifted his gaze toward his fire that was still barely burning. “Would you mind if I cooked it a bit first?”

“Not at all.”

While Tony the Elf carried a few purified fish to his fire, Katherine turned her attention to Mordred, still tied to his chair.

“He's probably about due for a feeding.”

“We can ground up some fish,” said Fritz. “That should be enough to keep him going.”

“I'm not comfortable with the way we've been treating him,” said Katherine. “We've been letting him shit himself since we've captured him, and he's had a shit bag on his head this whole time. However bad a person he is, I think we should treat him with a little more humanity.”

“I understand where you're coming from,” said Frank, rubbing his eyes as he waddled her way. “You're the captain, of course, and I gladly relinquish all leadership responsibilities to you. But if you would hear my thoughts on the matter...”

“I would.”

“Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you that this is a cruel and unusual way to treat a prisoner. And I understand that you're going through some feelings about certain things that have happened on this island.”

“I ordered that you be informed,” said Katherine. “Say what you have to say.”

“First and foremost, Mordred is extremely dangerous. If we give him an inch, there's no telling how many miles he might take from it.”

“I understand.”

“Secondly, this isn't as inhumane a punishment as you think it is.”

“Would you feel that way if I kept you tied to a chair, stewing in your own shit while I kept a bag of someone else's shit over your head?”

“No, I would not,” said Frank. “But Mordred isn't like the rest of us.”

“Because he's the bad guy?' asked Katherine. “If the tables ever turn, aren't we just giving him more justification to treat us even worse?”

“I agree with you that, on the surface, it seems like a horrible way to treat someone. But this is different. Mordred has multiple bodies to inhabit. Making this one as unpleasant as possible merely forces him to choose between this existence and several more comfortable ones. It may be one of the only things keeping us alive at present. But as long as he stays in another one of his avatars, he isn't suffering any of the stench or butt rash that this particular avatar is going through. We need to keep him as uncomfortable as possible in this body so that he wants to stay out of it. And if we need any information from him, we need him to want to be so riddled with butt rash that he'll do anything to be able to jump into a new body at the nearest opportunity.”

“So you're saying it's like an electric fence?”

Frank frowned. “Am I?”

“An electric fence isn't a cruel means of keeping someone out of a place as long as you're not forcing that person up against it.”

“Yeah. That analogy works.”

Katherine thought about it, then nodded. “It works for now. I'll give it more consideration after we get the mine cleared.” She glanced at Mordred, then back in the direction of the mine where she'd dumped all the dead bodies. “Speaking of unpleasant, that job's only going to get worse and worse the longer I put it off.”

“Do you need some help?” asked Frank.

“I'll take Tanner and Tony the Elf with me.” It was enough for them to know what had happened in the mines and on the beach. Katherine didn't think it would benefit anyone who hadn't already seen all the gory details to do so. “The rest of you can stay here and get things organized on the beach.”

“You guys aren't going to believe this,” said Tony the Elf as he returned from his fire with a crispy dead fish on piece of bark.

Katherine eyed the fish warily. “Is it edible?”

“It's freaking delicious!”

Picking off a tiny piece of white meat, Katherine nibbled it cautiously while the others watched with morbid curiosity. Except for Tony the Elf, who was watching with eager anticipation.

He was right. It was delicious. In fact, it was some of the best grilled fish Katherine had ever tasted. She could only dream of what it would taste like battered and fried.

“Fritz,” she said. “Do you think you can expand that fire and whip up a grill to go over the top of it?”

“Not a problem,” said Fritz. “I'll dig a trench for the fire.”

“What is it with you and trenches?” asked Tony the Elf. “Do you feel like you missed out on World War I or something?”

Fritz frowned up at him with annoyance. “The trench serves a multitude of purposes. It protects the fire from the wind, makes it easy to conceal at night, easy to put out in case the need should arise, and obviates the need for a raised grill.”

“Okay okay, I was just busting your balls. Dig your trench with my full blessings. I'll even get Dave to help out if you want.”

“Dave?” said Katherine, confused. Tony the Elf had been at the Whore's Head when Dave went berserk and ripped that old wizard's throat out.

“That's what I named my dog after your friend turned it into my Animal Companion.”

“Oh, that's nice.” Now that she remembered what he was talking about, Katherine didn't give a shit. “I need you and Tanner to accompany me back to the mine. I'd like to clear it out as much as we can while we've got daylight.”

“Oh,” said Tony the Elf. “Sure.”

Katherine could see the apprehension in his face and hear it in his voice. Scooping dead bodies out of a pool of rancid water wasn't his assignment of choice.

“Don't worry. My Bag of Holding is going to do most of the heavy lifting. I just don't want to be alone out there. It's kind of creepy, you know?”

“We would be delighted to accompany you,” said Tanner. Katherine believed him. He didn't know the others that well, and he had a particularly prickly relationship with Frank.

Katherine nodded, then addressed Frank. “We'll be back before sundown. Do what you can to make this place more habitable.” She, Tony the Elf, and Tanner filled their wineskins from the dinghy, then headed back toward the mine.

Chapter 29

Happy Cock was a dingy looking place for sure, but not necessarily in a bad way. The tables and chairs were made of simple unfinished wood, and the pale blue paint on the walls was peeling. But Randy was willing to give the place the benefit of the doubt. He figured they didn't bother sprucing it up on account of they didn't need to impress anyone with fancy adornments. Instead, they drew in customers with the quality of the product they served. This theory was supported by the amount of customers they had and the smell of the chicken they were all thoroughly enjoying. He'd seen places like this back in Mississippi. They looked like shitholes, but that was because they'd been operating for close to a hundred years and had earned reputations that would be corrupted by trying to modernize.

The rear door swung open, and a large sweaty man in a blood-smeared apron rushed through with a tray holding four whole fried chickens, which he set down on a table in front of greedy-eyed dwarves and gnomes. When they happily began tearing into their birds with forks and daggers, the big man turned to Randy.

“Please, good folk. Seat yourselves at any available table.” He indicated such a table next to the wall, and Randy, Denise, and Jay took their seats. “What will you have?”

“The sign outside says cock,” said Denise with a wink. Her gaze fell to the crotch area of the man's apron. “I reckon my friend Randy and I would like two of the biggest cocks you got.”

“I apologize if you feel you've been misled, good lady. But we actually only serve hens here.”

Denise grinned at Randy. “Tough luck, big guy. Looks like only ladies are served the Happy Cock.”

“Hens are typically larger,” the man explained. “There is more meat on them.”

Denise's grin vanished as she glowered up at him. “How dare you talk about me like that like I ain't even here. I'll have you know I'm pregnant.”

“I apologize. I meant no offense.”

“It's alright,” said Randy. He glared at Denise as hunger challenged his patience. “He weren't talkin' about you. He was talkin' about the –”

“No, he's right,” cried Denise. She snorted back what sounded like an entire sinus cavity full of snot as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Look at me! I look like a goddamn sow.”

Randy patted her on the back. “You stop that right now. You're making a scene.” He smiled apologetically at the baffled server. “We'll take three fried chickens please.”

“Make it four,” bawled Denise. “It ain't like I got a figure to worry about no more.”

“That ain't true, Denise. I'll tell you what. After them babies is born, I'll start you on a workout. I'll do it with you. You'll be back to your old self in no time.”

Denise pushed Randy's hand away and scowled at him through teary eyes. “Oh really? How many sit-ups do I gotta do before I grow my dick back, Randy?”

Jay, who had been enjoying the spectacle up to now, exchanged a confused glance with the server.

The server gulped. “Would you care for anything to drink with that?”

“You got beer?” asked Randy, figuring everyone could use one right about now. When the server nodded, Randy turned to Jay. “Beer okay with you?”

Jay nodded. “You're goddamn right it is.”

Randy looked up at the server. “Three beers please.”

The server left their table looking like he was being airlifted out of a war zone. When he opened the door, Randy caught sight of the halfling they'd met on the street talking with another one of the restaurant workers. A cook, judging by the band holding his hair back. The halfling smiled meekly at Randy, then nodded at the cook, who produced a coin from his pocket and placed it in the halfling's palm.

The server exchanged a few words with them, then the halfling and cook nodded and laughed.

When the door closed, Jay leaned over to Randy and whispered, “What do you think that was all about?”

Randy shrugged. “I don't think it were nothing.”

“You don't think that little guy could be a spy for Mordred? He's the one who sent us here. What's he doing sneaking around the back of the place?”

“I wouldn't call that sneaking,” said Randy. “He saw us lookin' at him and didn't try to hide or nothing. I reckon he works for the restaurant, trying to drag in new customers off the street. Besides, it ain't like we gave him any valuable information. He didn't ask where we was going. He was probably just telling those guys about Denise's unusual proposal in the alley.”

Jay laughed. “I guess I could see that.”

“Oh sure, laugh it up,” said Denise between sobs. “We'll see how funny it is when you offer up your body for a man to jizz on, and he rejects you. Maybe I ain't as hot as I once was, but I still got feelings, goddammit!”

“I'm sorry,” said Jay, glancing around to see how much attention Denise was continuing to draw their way. “That was insensitive of me.” When Denise got her crying under control, Jay leaned toward Randy. “We should still stay alert in case these guys do start asking suspicious questions.”

Randy nodded. “Ain't nothin' wrong with being careful.”

The server returned with three tall glasses of beer and placed them on the table, then reached into his apron pocket.

“Please forgive me if this is too intrusive,” he said to Randy. “My wife is also expecting, and the past few months have been... turbulent.” He produced a small vial of red liquid out of his apron pocket and placed it on the table next to Denise's beer. “This may help take the edge off your sudden changes of temperament.”

Denise eyed the vial warily. “That ain't coochie blood, is it?”

“No, of course not. It is a sedative derived from moonflower seed oil. It will cause no harm to your unborn children.”

“I ain't worried about those little freaks. They's being protected by the gods or some shit.”

The server backed away with a polite fake smile. “Your faith is inspiring. I shall return soon with your chickens.”

Randy was starving now, and wondered if one chicken would be enough to sate his hunger. Who knew when they were going to have another satisfying meal?

“What do you think?” Jay asked as soon as the door closed behind the server.

“I'll see how it goes with the first one,” said Randy. “If I'm still hungry halfway through, I'll order another one.”

Jay's lips tightened. “I was talking about the drug that dude just gave Denise. That doesn't seem suspicious to you?”

Randy shrugged. “Not really. I mean, what's the point of only drugging one of us?”

Jay thought about it for a moment. “I guess that's true. And if they were going to drug us, they would just put it in our food. They wouldn't give us the drugs and trust us to take it our–”

“Denise!” cried Randy when he spotted her empty vial.

“What?” said Denise. “Jesus, Randy. Hush down a little. You're makin' a scene.”

“Did you take that medicine?”

“Fuck yeah, I did. You said yourself there weren't no harm in it.”

“I said I didn't think there would be any harm. Now I ain't so sure. Maybe it ain't poison or nothin', but now that I think about what they used to use in medicine back in the day, what if it's got cocaine in it or something?”

Denise snorted. “Please. It ain't fuckin' cocaine. If it was, they wouldn't be giving that shit out to strangers, would they?” He raised a fist to Jay. “Ain't that right, brother?”

Jay smiled, but did not return Denise's fist. “I'm not sure why you'd look to me as an authority on the matter.”

“It's just like the man said. A mild sedative to help with my mood swings. And I'll tell you what, I got to admit to feelin' pretty goddamn good right now.” She let out a loud belch, then covered her mouth. “I beg your pardon.” She held her arms out wide, then looked at Randy and Jay with fresh tears in her eyes. “Come on. Bring it in. I love you motherfuckers.”

Randy and Jay exchanged a glance, then leaned in to accept Denise's hug.

They practically had to pry themselves away from her when the server returned with their food. He placed a whole fried chicken in front of Randy and Jay, and two in front of Denise. Her wide eyes and open mouth suggested that she'd abandoned any concerns she had about her figure.

The server didn't stop with the chicken, though. He also set down a bunch of smaller dishes. Some had colorful dipping sauces, others had chopped onions, cloves of raw garlic, cloves of pickled garlic, chopped cabbage, and other vegetables that Randy couldn't identify. The last dish he set down was a little larger and rectangular. It had a bunch of skinny bright yellow peppers on it, each about as long as Randy's middle finger but only as wide around as a pencil. Jay picked one up, idly examined it, then nibbled the tip.

“How is it?” asked Randy. “Is it spicy? I can't handle a whole lot of spice, else I'll spend the whole next day on the shitter.”

Jay shook his head. “It's not so bad. Got a little kick to it, but I've had –” His eyes widened and started to water. “Son of a bitch.” He dropped the pepper and grabbed his beer with both hands, then gulped it back like he was trying to put out a fire.

The server laughed heartily, and Randy wondered if Jay had been right in his suspicions about this place.

“What is it?” Randy asked the server. “What's wrong with him?”

“Nothing a little more time and beer won't fix. I take it that was his first experience with salamander tongues.”

Jay spat out his beer, and Randy took a closer look at the peppers. They had stems and leaves sure enough.

“Did you say salamander tongues?”

The server laughed. “The colloquial name for Maldivian peppers, because of their shape and intensity of flavor. They're quite popular among seafaring folk, who claim it wards off scurvy.” He leaned in a little closer. “But between you and me, I think they just enjoy showing off their tolerance for pain. May I bring you another glass of beer?”

“Yes, please.” Jay's voice sounded like he'd aged sixty years.

By the time they were all satisfied, they'd drunk at least twenty beers between them, and finished off an additional three chickens.

“That was an excellent meal,” said Denise as Randy paid the server.

“Why thank you, good lady. You are most kind. I shall pass your compliment on to the cook.”

Denise had been uncharacteristically pleasant throughout the entire meal, not once making a racial slur or pulling her titties out. Randy wondered if it was because she was too engrossed in her food, but now he strongly suspected it had more to do with whatever was in that vial. When the server left, Randy got up and followed him.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I wonder if you got any more of them sedatives?”

The server smiled. “I thought you might ask.”

“It's just that we got a journey ahead of us, and Denise can test the limits of a man's patience at the best of times. I'll gladly pay you for however many you got left.”

“Save your coin, friend. My brother is an alchemist, and moonflowers are abundant. I ask only that, wherever the winds take you, you tell others how much you enjoyed the food here.” From his apron pocket, he produced three more red vials and offered them to Randy.

“You can be sure about that, but I insist that you take at least a little something.” Randy pulled a gold coin out of his coin pouch and swapped it for the three vials, hoping it wasn't an insulting amount. He'd made a habit of equating a gold piece to a US dollar for the ease of comparatively valuing silver pieces and copper pieces, but he suspected it was worth more than that. Their whole meal had cost just under three gold pieces, after all, and they hadn't exactly been showing a whole lot of restraint.

The server took Randy's hand in both of his and bent over to kiss it. “May the gods guide you safely to your destination.”

Randy took that to mean the gold piece was an adequate offering.

When another group of hungry customers came through the door, Randy saw that the sky was turning pink. They'd spent more time in here than he thought.

“Thank you kindly,” he said to the server. “We best be on our way now. We got a boat to catch.”

“Fare thee well, friends.”

Randy returned to their table to find Jay leaning back in his chair like he was in a post-Thanksgiving-dinner coma, and Denise trying to suck the last remnants of meat from one of the chicken carcass's ribs.

“Pack it up, guys. We gotta get to the ship before sundown.”

The sun was touching the western horizon when Randy finally herded his two sluggish companions out into the street, and he feared they might be too late.

“Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies!” Jay and Denise belted out from behind him. “Farewell and adieu, you ladies of Spain!”

Randy turned around. “Are you drunk?” He felt a little tipsy himself, but Jay and Denise were holding each other up as they stumbled after Randy.

“For we've received orders for to sail back to Boston, and so nevermore shall we see you again!”

It made sense that Jay would be drunk, considering how empty his stomach must have been when he started drinking, and how fast he was sucking down beers after that nibble of salamander tongue. And now that he thought about it, Randy supposed that Denise might be less intoxicated from the alcohol, and more intoxicated by the happy sauce their server had given her.

“Come on, you two. Y'all can sing your hearts out once we get to the ship, but we gotta move a little faster.”

Jay and Denise glanced at each other, then back at Randy. “Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies!”

Randy sighed. A third of the sun had disappeared behind the spires of the king's palace. They weren't going to make it at this pace. He didn't like the thought of having to break out the nuclear option inside the city, but he didn't see any other choice.

“Basil!”

Chapter 30

“What do we do now?” asked Chaz as he and Julian entered the lobby of the Ivory Palace. “Maybe we could tell the concierge we're holding open auditions for fat men to be part of our act?”

Julian pretended to consider it for a moment. “I think maybe we should start with the least-stupid ideas, and work our way up from there.”

“I'm not hearing anything from you.”

“It's probably around lunchtime,” said Julian.

“Good,” said Chaz. “I'm fucking starving.”

“Me too, but that's not what I meant. It stands to reason that we might have a good chance of spotting the man we're looking for in the hotel restaurant.”

Chaz frowned. “Because he's fat?”

“No!” Julian whispered. “Because it's fucking lunchtime.”

Trying to lead by example, Julian strolled across the lobby toward the restaurant where he'd witnessed Darton – AKA Tim – get arrested... or more probably rescued. Once Tim had swapped out the real die for the phony one, he must have flashed a signal to his goons to haul him out of there. The perfect excuse to ditch Julian and Stacy.

Two hulking half-orcish guards wearing ivory togas to match the hotel's décor stood outside the restaurant entrance, each holding a long spear. Julian had nagging feeling that they were eyeing him suspiciously as he approached, but he told himself that was just his apprehension feeding his imagination, exacerbated by his hyper-self-awareness that he was dressed like a sultan's concubine. His suspicion was confirmed, however, when they crossed their spears to block him and Chaz from entering.

Shit! My cover is blown. I need to get out of –

“Only guests of the Ivory Palace may enter the dining area,” said the guard to the left of the entrance.

“Oh,” said Julian, relieved that he wasn't being arrested. “We're terribly sorry.” He turned around to leave, thinking they might be better off staking the place out and confronting the fat wizard when he exited the hotel, but Chaz stood his ground.

“Do you have any idea who you're talking to?” Chaz challenged the stone-faced spear-wielding hotel staff.

Julian grabbed Chaz by the sleeve. “Come on. We'll eat somewhere else.”

Chaz shook his arm free of Julian's grasp and got up in the face of the half-orc who'd spoken. “I'm a fucking celebrity, that's who. I'm the hottest ticket in town, so how about showing me and my friend a little respect?”

The half-orc's expression betrayed no emotion as they both continued to stare straight ahead. “Only guests of the Ivory Palace may enter the dining area.” His repetition was so identical to the first time he'd said it that Julian wondered if the guards might be illusory, magically triggered to say that whenever a predetermined set of conditions were met. It was possible, then, that he and Chaz might be able to simply walk straight through them if nobody else was watching. He was about to suggest it when Chaz started mouthing off some more.

“I hope you've enjoyed working here, because I'm going to come back in a couple of days when I've got this whole goddamn island eating out the palm of my hand, and you'll be kissing your jobs goodbye. Do you have families? I'm going to make them watch while you lick my balls.”

The two guards' professional stares faltered for a moment as they glanced bewildered down at Chaz.

Julian supposed they were just very well trained and was grateful he hadn't tried to walk through them.

“It's YOU!” cried a throaty voice from behind them.

Shit! My cover is blown. I need to get out of –

“YEEEOOOOW!” cried Julian as Ravenus's talons dug deep into his shoulder. “What was that for?”

“My humble apologies, sir. You told me to give your shoulder a squeeze when I identified the man you were looking for.”

There was indeed a fat man rushing toward them. His pearly white teeth gleamed through his bushy black beard as he waddled across the lobby, right past Julian, and stopped in front of Chaz.

“You are the singer I saw this morning, aren't you?”

Chaz winked up at the guard. “Now that's how you show someone their due respect.” He turned to the fat wizard and tossed his hair. “Why yes. Yes I am.”

“Your show was amazing. Unlike anything I've ever heard before. I will admit there were a number of references I did not understand, but I was moved by the melody and your smooth, rich voice.”

“Thank you,” said Chaz. “I really appreciate that. I hope you'll come see me again tonight.”

“Name the place, and I shall be there!”

“I'll be at the Mortar & Pestle again. Hopefully, my manager can book me bigger venues in the future.”

“Dude,” said Julian, taken aback by Chaz's accusatory tone. “I've been your manager for, like, fifteen minutes.”

The fat wizard wiped sweat from his brow with a pink handkerchief. “Might I be so bold as to invite you to join me in a midday meal? That is, of course, presuming you have not already dined.”

“Fuckin' A, you can be so bold!” said Chaz. “Let's dine, baby.”

When the wizard took a step toward them, the two guards uncrossed their spears, allowing him to pass through with Julian and Chaz.

Chaz paused in the entrance to grab his crotch and address the half-orc he'd been verbally harassing earlier. “You better bring some honey, son. You're gonna lick these balls.”

Julian immediately recognized the table he and Stacy had sat at, but the hostess led them to a table on the other side of the room, nearer where Aleric of Whitewood's table had been. The place was crowded with wizards, some of whom nudged each other and pointed out Chaz as he strutted between their tables.

“Today's options are the cockatrice filet and the kraken calamari,” said the hostess as she passed them menus which pictured what looked like a giant squid and a deformed chicken. “Take your time in deciding. Your server will be along shortly.”

“Excuse me, miss,” said the fat wizard as she turned to leave. “May I bother you to fetch a quill and ink?”

The hostess smiled. “Of course, Master Fazul. I shall have it sent with your server.”

Julian stared doubtfully at his menu. He wasn't much of a seafood lover, but the squid creature looked a lot more appetizing – or at least a lot less unappetizing – than the fucked-up chicken monster. He'd also feel weird about eating bird meat in front of Ravenus.

“That's your name?” said Chaz. “Fazul?”

“Indeed it is. Fazul of Sunny Meadows. Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner. I was overcome with excitement at meeting you, Mr... Now that I think about it, I don't actually recall learning your name.”

“RazzmaChaz,” said Chaz.

Julian snorted, then looked over his menu at Chaz. “That sounds like a name you might want to consult with a manager before publicly announcing.”

“Now to find something for you to sign, if I may be so presumptuous.” Fazul patted down his robes, then reached into a pocket and pulled out a green silk drawstring bag, just a shade darker than Julian's veil. “This should do.”

Julian tried not to stare too hard, but even Chaz seemed to be temporarily distracted from his celebrity douche persona as he gawked at the bag, as if finally understanding the significance of what might be inside.

“I believe someone requested a quill?” said a waitress as she appeared at their table with a long peacock feather and a bottle of black ink. Julian recognized her as the same one who'd waited on him and Stacy, but she showed no sign of recognizing him.

Fazul raised his hands to accept the quill and ink. “That was me, thank you.”

The waitress leaned down to smile at Ravenus, who was perched on the edge of the table. Whether or not she meant to give them a peek down her shirt, Julian could only speculate as he averted his eyes. Neither Chaz nor Fazul made any such aversion.

“Hello there,” she said to Ravenus. “And what is your name?”

Julian made a token effort to disguise his voice. “His name is Ravenus. He only speaks the elven tongue.”

“Is that right?” The waitress now spoke in a polished British accent. “Well, how do you do, Ravenus?”

“I'm a bit peckish, to be honest,” said Ravenus. “Thank you for asking.”

“Ruffle not your feathers over that. I'll be back with a special treat for you.” She gave him a wink.

“That is very kind of you.”

The waitress stood up straight. “And the rest of you?”

“I'll have the kraken calamari,” said Julian.

Fazul frowned doubtfully at his menu. “The cockatrice filet. Is that genuine cockatrice? I ordered some at Magic Wanda's the other day that tasted like a common chicken.”

The waitress cupped her hand around the side of her mouth. “I've heard stories about Magic Wanda's from people who worked in the kitchen. I'd steer clear.” She lowered her hand. “But I can assure you that here at the Ivory Palace, we use only the finest ingredients. I can even bring you the head if you like.”

Fazul smiled broadly. “That shan't be necessary, Zanni. You have never steered me wrong before. And would you please bring my special bottle of wine?”

“Of course.” The waitress, Zanni, turned to Chaz. “And for you, sir?”

Chaz tossed his menu aside. “I don't want any of that shit. Here's what I want, darlin'. I want you to bring me a peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwich.”

“Please accept my apologies, sir. But I do not know what that is.”

“Don't be cruel, baby. This ain't rocket science.”

“I do not know what that is either.”

Chaz held his hands out flat. “You take two slices of bread. You spread some peanut butter on them. Add some banana slices and a few strips of bacon, then put them together.” He demonstrated by bringing his hands together.

Zanni nodded. “I shall relay your request to the chef and do my utmost to accommodate you.”

“Thank you very much.” Chaz leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. “If you want to accommodate me later, swing on by the Mortar & Pestle after your shift. You won't have trouble finding me. I'll be the one on the stage.”

“Thank you. I shall certainly keep that in mind.” Zanni bowed slightly to Fazul, then headed for the kitchen.

Fazul grinned at Chaz. “You have quite a way with the ladies, it seems.” He picked up his bag and dumped the contents unceremoniously onto the table.

Julian's heart skipped a beat when he saw the black die with the tiny red glow in the center. It was lying there, easily within Julian's grasp, among an assortment of what appeared to be random junk. There was a steel arrowhead, a pearl earring, a couple of brightly colored stones, an iron ring in the shape of a ram's head, and other trinkets which Julian couldn't identify.

His purpose for emptying the bag became clear when he flattened it out in front of Chaz.

“Would you mind signing this?”

“Huh?” said Chaz, suddenly shifting his gaze from the die to Fazul.

“Truly, it would mean the world to me.” Fazul slid the quill and ink over to Chaz.

Chaz looked down and saw the flattened bag in front of him. “Oh, sure.” He dipped the tip of the quill in the ink, tapped away some drops, and began the slow and painstaking task of writing the letter R. Julian had a little practice under his belt from writing scrolls, but he knew what Chaz was going through trying to write with a quill pen for the first time. By the time he'd scrawled his way to the first z, Zanni returned with a large and ornately decorated glass bottle half-full of green liquid, and a small tin bucket of what looked like animal entrails. Maybe it was some kind of exotic dipping sauce?

“What is that?”

“Animal entrails,” said Zanni.

“Oh.” Julian supposed he should at least feel good about nailing his initial Perception check.

“It's for your little friend.”

Chaz looked up from his slow-going signature. “What? How the hell is that the best interpretation you could come up with of the sandwich I described?”

Zanni leaned over and placed the bucket in front of Ravenus. “Here you are, Ravenus,” she said in the elven tongue. “Try to gobble it back quick as you can, before it starts to smell.”

Ravenus stared down into the bucket. “But I like it when it starts to smell.”

“Eat it while you can,” said Julian. “When our food gets here, that's leaving the table.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Your food should be ready in a few minutes,” said Zanni before heading back to the kitchen.

Fazul poured drinks for Julian, Chaz, and himself while Chaz finished his signature. The latter part of it was decisively more legible than the first few letters. He was getting the hang of it pretty quickly. It might have been a good idea to practice a few times on a scrap of paper or a napkin or something, rather than do such a sloppy autograph for his first fan. Then again, Julian supposed that was a microcosm of the birth of their show business career on the whole. The mistakes they were making now were lessons they could –

CLANG!

“WHA–!” cried a passing waiter as his foot slipped out from under him.

CRASH!

The entire tray of food he'd been carrying spilled all over the floor when he went down. A red smear on the floor near his foot showed exactly where he'd stepped in Ravenus's dinner. The overturned tin bucket lay next to his ass.

“Mercy of the gods!” said Fazul, standing up to assist the waiter. He and Julian pulled him up by his arms while Chaz continued working on his signature.

Julian glared at Ravenus, more for show than from actual anger. “Ravenus, is there anything you'd like to say to this man?”

Ravenus staggered back, spread his wings, and fell on his ass. “I'm so terribly sorry! I don't know what happened. Stupid, clumsy me!”

Strangely, Julian didn't feel any sense of remorse from his familiar. The feeling he was picking up through their Empathic Link was more like smug satisfaction. Had he done that on purpose? Did he have a score to settle with that waiter? Was he lashing out at Julian for not allowing him to give his animal guts time to fester?

A team of goblins armed with mops, brooms, towels, and buckets swarmed the area and had the spilled food and entrails cleaned up in less time than it took for the waiter to rub the soreness out of the back of his head.

After the goblins left the floor even cleaner than it had been before the food was spilled, the waiter mumbled some hurried apologies in return, then scurried as fast as he could toward the bathroom, presumably to wash off his viscera-stained pants.

“What's gotten into you, Ravenus?” said Julian as he sat back down.

Ravenus lowered his head. “I'm so very sorry, sir. It was an accident.”

“Do not be so hard on your familiar,” said Fazul. “Everybody makes mistakes. The waiter suffered no more than a small moment of embarrassment. You will look back on this moment and laugh.”

“Here's your bag,” said Chaz. “Sorry the first part's a little sloppy.”

“Nonsense!” Fazul took the bag and admired it. “I shall treasure it always. Thank you so much!”

“And here comes our food,” said Julian when he spotted Zanni headed toward him with a tray in hand. He was actually looking forward to his kraken calamari. He was so hungry now that he was tempted to start chewing on his veil.

Ravenus got back on his feet and hopped out of the way as Fazul swept his random treasures back into his newly-autographed bag, and Julian started thinking about how he might get that bag away from him.

Fazul and Chaz stared with hungry eyes as Zanni set down their dishes. Fazul's cockatrice filet looked like a large chicken breasts, dribbled with some kind of reddish-brown sauce. The chef had made an admirable attempt at Chaz's peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwich, which was easily big enough to feed all three of them. No doubt being unfamiliar with their concept of sliced bread, the chef had simply cut an entire loaf in half, then stuffed the middle with peanut butter, bananas, and bacon.

“Is this what you wanted?” Zanni asked Chaz.

Chaz nodded. “It's... beautiful.”

Zanni placed Julian's dish in front of him. But even as hungry as he was, he kept his eyes locked on Fazul, paying careful attention to precisely where he put his pouch. Inside pocket right under his left tit. With that information committed to memory, Julian looked down at his food. A single rubbery-looking ring rising up like a volcano from a forest of broccoli. Rivers of red sauce ran down the side like lava.

He cut off a piece of the ring, dipped it in the sauce, and pulled his veil away from his face just far enough to take a bite. It had a chewy texture, and the sauce was sweet and just a little spicy. Delicious.

He'd devoured almost all of the broccoli and half the kraken ring when he spotted Ravenus staring longingly at his food. He could feel his familiar's hunger.

“Do you want some?”

Ravenus's gaze jerked up to meet Julian's. “No, sir. I'm not very hungry at present.”

“You must be. When's the last time you ate anything?” He cut off a small piece of kraken, then held his fork to Ravenus. “Here. Try one little bite. You might like it.”

“Thank you, sir. But I'm afraid my stomach feels a bit out of sorts.”

Julian laughed. “Come on. You eat rotting animal carcasses. A little bit of fresh meat isn't going to kill you. Just give it a try.”

“I don't want it!” snapped Ravenus.

Julian put down his fork, his own appetite suddenly gone. Ravenus had never taken that tone with him before. Even Chaz and Fazul paused in their eating.

“It's okay, buddy,” said Julian. “You don't have to eat it. I'm sorry.”

Ravenus bowed to him. “No, sir. It is I who must apologize. That was terribly rude of me. If you will excuse me, I would prefer to wait outside.”

“Sure, Ravenus. Go ahead. We'll be out soon.”

Instead of flying, Ravenus walked to the edge of the table, hopped down onto an empty chair, then onto the floor, then walked out of the restaurant and disappeared into the lobby.

“What crawled up his ass?” asked Chaz through a mouthful of sandwich.

“I don't know,” said Julian. “He's been acting weird. Maybe he's going through adolescence or something? He's talking back to me, asking you questions about sex. Is there such a thing as bird puberty?” He turned to Fazul. “Do you have a familiar?”

“My cat, Wugsley. He is old and prefers to spend most of his time asleep in my room.”

“Has he ever talked to you the way Ravenus just talked to me?”

Fazul smiled warmly at Julian. “The bond between familiar and master is as strong as the closest friendship you'll ever have. But as with any relationship, the road is bound to have some bumps here and there. Whatever issues you two may be having, I can assure you they will smooth over with time. Next time you are alone with him, you should be open with your concerns, and encourage him to open up about what feelings he may be harboring. My guess is that you'll be thick as thieves again in no time.”

“Thanks,” said Julian. “You're probably right.” Fazul seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and Julian felt bad about having to steal from him. Maybe there was another way. Maybe if he got him drunk enough during the show tonight, Chaz could persuade Fazul into giving him the die. Now that he thought about it, considering how hard Fazul was fanboying over Chaz, that was a way more feasible and less dangerous line of thinking than trying to steal from a high-level wizard anyway.

“I hope you gentlemen have left room for dessert,” said Zanni from behind Julian. “We have a delicious pineapple cobbler.”

Chaz gave her a double thumbs up. “Fuckin' A, mama! Bring that shit on.”

“I don't think so, RazzmaChaz,” said Julian. “We have to go over your set list before tonight's show, and I have to check on my familiar.”

“Speaking of familiar,” said Zanni, squinting and smiling at Julian. “I am almost certain I've heard your voice before. Have you dined with us in the past?”

“Me? No, never. First time on the island, actually. I guess I've just got one of those voices, you know?”

“Well, I know I'll stay for a bowl of pineapple crumble,” said Fazul.

Bless your heart, Fazul. Julian was so grateful for someone taking the spotlight off him.

He stood up and bowed slightly to Fazul. “Thank you for lunch. It was delicious.”

“Truly, it was my pleasure. I look forward to seeing you both tonight.”

Julian slapped Chaz on the shoulder. “Let's go and get ready for your big show.”

Chaz stood up to follow him, then turned around and addressed the entire restaurant. “Come see me, RazzmaChaz, tonight at the Mortar & Pestle. That place is gonna be all shook up.”

Amazed that it was possible to feel more self-conscious than he already had, Julian walked as briskly as he could out to the lobby.

“I was thinking,” said Chaz once they were safely out of the restaurant. “I'll open with something upbeat this time, then take it down to the slow stuff for a while, and kick it back up toward the end.”

“I don't give a shit about your playlist,” said Julian. “We need to talk about how we're going to get that die off him. I was thinking I'll ply him with drinks while you perform.”

Chaz clapped his hands together. “Great plan, love it! Now, which do you think would be better to open with? You Got to Me or Thank the Lord for the Nighttime?”

“That wasn't a plan!” snapped Julian. “That was just a first step. We need to get more specific about what we're going to do after the show. You'll need to convince him that he wants to give you that die. Also, You Got to Me. Save Thank the Lord for the Nighttime until it actually gets a little darker out.”

“Good idea. Noted.”

Julian stopped at the front doors of the Ivory Palace. “Hang back here for a second. I want a minute alone with Ravenus.”

“Sure thing.”

Stepping out onto the street, now bustling with wizards and flying drink trays, Julian saw no sign of Ravenus. He knew he couldn't be too far off because he could still sense his emotions through their Empathic Link. Ravenus was nervous about something.

“Sir!” the bird cawed less loudly than normal, drawing Julian's attention to his right. “Master Julian, down here.”

Julian looked down to find Ravenus peeking his head out from the small alley between the Ivory Palace and the building next to it. He walked over as casually as he could, then slipped into the alley after Ravenus.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You were acting awfully strange in there.”

“I apologize for snapping at you as I did, sir. I was suffering some discomfort in my cloaca, and I was terribly hungry. I still am.”

“You snapped at me for trying to feed you!”

“And I would have happily eaten it, but I couldn't risk eating anything that might cause me to shit myself. My dietary needs, as I'm sure you're aware by now, are different than yours.”

“You had a nice bucket of festering animal guts to eat, and you dumped it over the side of the table. And don't even try to tell me that was an accident. I sensed you were very proud of yourself for that.”

Ravenus puffed out his chest. “I don't mean to boast, sir. But I couldn't believe I actually pulled it off.”

“Pulled what off?” said Julian. “Humiliating that poor waiter?”

“He took quite a spill, didn't he?”

“What did that guy ever do to you?”

“Not a thing, sir. He was merely a distraction.”

Julian wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. “What did you do, Ravenus? What did I miss?”

Ravenus shut his eyes tight and began to ruffle his feathers and groan. He'd mentioned something about his insides being out of sorts. Could he be suffering from something more serious than having eaten a bit of viscera that wasn't quite off enough?

“Ravenus? Are you okay? What's wrong?”

Ravenus's groaning came to a crescendo, then abruptly stopped with an unexpected clattering sound.

“Oh, my poor cloaca,” he said. “I can't tell you how relieved I am to be rid of that.”

“Be rid of what?” asked Julian.

Ravenus stepped aside to reveal a white, twenty-sided turd.

Julian glanced back at the street before removing his veil, then he used it to pick up the die and wipe the bird shit off. “Jesus, Ravenus! You ate it?”

“Of course not, sir. While everyone was distracted by the waiter, I fell back and sat on it. I relaxed my cloaca muscles and let it slide up inside me.” He ruffled his feathers again. “It felt slightly pleasurable at first, but soon became very uncomfortable.”

“I don't know what to say.” Julian really didn't. He was torn between reprimanding Ravenus for taking such a dangerous risk and praising him for accomplishing their objective. After their spat in the restaurant, he opted to err on the side of praise. “Great job, buddy!”

“Thank you, sir!”

When he had the die wiped clean enough, Julian tucked it into the folds of his turban. The cape had too much shit on it to complement the rest of his outfit, and he certainly wasn't going to use it as a veil anymore. He tossed it in the alley, but held on to the clasp. It was nice-looking enough, and might be worth a couple of coins.

“Come on,” he said to Ravenus. “Let's go get Chaz.”

Chapter 31

The walk back to the mine felt quicker than it had the first time, even with Tanner and Tony the Elf taking care not to step on sprouts along the way. Katherine supposed any length of travel would seem too quick, considering the task that lay ahead of them when they reached their destination.

In the morning light, the scene was even grislier than Katherine remembered. The body that had been floating there when she first found it was bloated and discolored, and the bodies she'd dumped in there had turned the water reddish-brown with blood. The smell ranked up there with the dead fish on the beach for the worst smells she'd ever breathed in. She hated to have to dunk her Bag of Holding in there, but it was overdue for a wash anyway. She made a mental note to ask a wizard, next time they encountered one, if boiling it would have any adverse effect on its magical properties.

Tanner frowned at the pool. “Should we start pulling out bodies?”

Katherine shook her head. “There will probably be different tunnels and chambers down there. I was thinking we could designate one chamber as a burial site once we clear the water out.”

“Nothing says respect for the dead like a mass grave,” said Tony the Elf.

Katherine could tell by the way his eyes widened and his lips shut tight that it had slipped out before he thought it through, but Katherine had already considered the matter and felt like this was a good opportunity to defend her decision.

“I'm being practical. We don't know these people's names, the ones who've been dead for weeks are beyond identification, and they're fucking gross. If you want to go dig individual holes, be my guest. But I've got a responsibility to the living right now, and I'm doing my best.”

“I'm sorry,” said Tony the Elf. “I spoke without thinking.”

Katherine sighed. “I know you did. It happens to the best of us. Don't beat yourself up over it. Let's just get through this.” She held her breath, knelt at the side of the hole, and dunked the Bag of Holding into the water, which immediately began to recede. It probably could have held a lot more, but Katherine pulled it out when she couldn't hold her breath any longer.

She backed away from the hole and exhaled as she sat on a boulder. Reaching into the bag, she said, “Water.”

As the putrid water flowed out onto the soil, hot tears streamed down her cheeks. All the grossness of death, all the weight of her responsibility, all the doubt that anyone would ever show up with one of those stupid dice fell on her at once. Before she knew it, she was sobbing uncontrollably.

“Katherine!” said Tony the Elf. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“What the fuck do you think?” she snapped between sobs. “I hate this place. I want to go home.”

Tanner placed his hand on the Bag of Holding, and Katherine let him take it.

“She carries a heavy burden,” he said to Tony the Elf. “Stay with her. I will take over for a time.”

Tony the Elf sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. Katherine accepted his clumsy attempt at comforting her, but was ready to elbow the fuck out of him if he tried to make a move on her.

Katherine let herself cry for a while. She needed it. But just like the pile of dead bodies in the mine, she wanted to limit her display of vulnerability to those few who had already seen it.

When she was satisfied that she'd let out enough tears, she brushed off Tony the Elf's arm and composed herself.

“Feeling better now?” asked Tony the Elf.

Katherine nodded. “Let's go see how Tanner's doing.”

Walking back to the mine entrance, she felt confident again. The cry had done her good. It was as if all of her fears and insecurities had flowed out through her eyes. She felt even better when she saw how much water Tanner had managed to clear out.

As Katherine and Tony the Elf approached, Tanner was climbing up a rope that hung from a cylindrical beam running across the top of the wooden framework. With a couple of swings, he landed gracefully on the edge. He removed the Bag of Holding from inside his cloak, and dumped another bagful of water onto the already soggy ground. The hole went about twenty feet straight down, with tunnels leading in opposite directions at the bottom.

“Impressive work,” admitted Tony the Elf.

“It is not so bad now that the bodies are out of the way. It will be even easier if the two of you would be kind enough to crank me up and down.”

Tony the Elf's eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

Tanner gestured up to the wooden framework over the hole, where a wheel was connected to one end of the beam the rope was hanging from. If you turn that crank, you can pull me up and down on the rope. All this climbing is exhausting.”

“What happened to all the bodies?” asked Katherine.

“You were right about there being chambers down there.” Tanner sat on the edge and pointed down to one of the tunnels at the bottom. “That tunnel there only goes back about ten feet. Perhaps they used it for storage or something. I pushed all the bodies in there while there was still enough water for them to float on. It should make a suitable burial site. The floor is lower than the entrance, so burying them will only be a matter of leveling if off with earth.”

“Where does the other tunnel go?”

Tanner shrugged. “It goes down, but gradually. There is still much more water beyond what we can see from here. It could take weeks to clear it all out.”

“We're not here for mining,” said Katherine. “We only need to clear enough out to find another chamber we can stick Mordred in so that we know where he is, but he doesn't. We'll want to go deep enough so that we can speak freely without him being able to hear us, but not so far that it's too much of a chore to go down there and feed him.”

“In that case, we may be able to finish today, depending on how far down the next chamber is.” Tanner started to get to his feet to make another trip down, but Katherine put her hand on his shoulder.

“Take a break. Rest your arms. Tony the Elf and I will fill a bag with dirt to bury the bodies. The sooner that's done, the easier I'll rest.”

Looking relieved, Tanner leaned back against one of the support columns. “I shall do as my captain commands.”

The earth immediately surrounding the mine entrance was free of saplings. Perhaps something involved in the mining process had made the soil barren. It would do well enough for burial purposes though. Katherine dropped to her knees and started digging. The earth was hard, rocky, and unyielding. She and Tony the Elf were able to scrape up a bit of loose dirt, but it would take forever to collect an appreciable amount.

“We'll wear our fingers down to the bones before we get enough dirt to bury all those bodies,” said Katherine, chucking an unearthed rock into her bag. “Maybe we'd be better off bringing in sand from the beach.”

“Maybe,” said Tony the Elf. “Or maybe not. Look.” He nodded past Katherine.

She turned around to find Butterbean mimicking their efforts, only much more effectively. His tough claws were made for digging.

Katherine sat back and massaged her fingers. “Good boy, Butterbean! Keep it up.”

“Dave!” shouted Tony the Elf. His sheepdog bounded over enthusiastically like he was hoping Tony the Elf would have a stick to throw. “Can you dig?”

Dave panted excitedly with his tongue hanging out.

“Dig,” repeated Tony the Elf, then bent over to demonstrate. To Katherine's surprise, the dog actually started to catch on. Before long, he was digging almost as effectively as Butterbean.

Katherine got herself into as comfortable a sitting position as she could. “While they're taking care of that, I think this would be a good time for me to prepare my spells.”

Tony the Elf nodded. “Okay.”

“I need an undisturbed hour of meditation, so please don't distract me unless absolutely necessary.”

“You got it.”

Katherine closed her eyes and cleared her mind. It was almost instinctive now that she'd done it enough times, like seeing the image in those Magic Eye posters at the mall. In her mind, the inner workings of those forces of nature hidden to ordinary people became clear. What common folk referred to as 'magic' was no more mystifying to her than the cycles of evaporation and condensation, or the changing of the seasons. Summoning a beast to fight on her behalf, or conversing with the plants and animals of the forest, was simply a matter of knowing how nature worked and how to manipulate it. Her understanding had grown recently, and now she even knew how to...

Shit. Those poor dogs, toiling away for nothing.

She didn't let that stop her from enjoying the rest of her meditation. Instead, she spent the remaining time studying what new knowledge nature had bestowed upon her and chose that which she felt would best carry her through the rest of the day.

When she came out of her trance, she was relieved that she'd chosen at least one of those spells. Butterbean and Dave's combined efforts, despite being far better than what she and Tony the Elf could have accomplished in the same amount of time, were still far short of what she'd need to bury the bodies.

“Butterbean, Dave.”

They stopped digging and looked attentively up at her.

“Great job, guys. Take a break. Go mark your territories or something.”

Butterbean seemed to understand her, responding with a quick bark before running off to find a tree stump to piss on. Dave turned to Tony the Elf for confirmation, then took off after Butterbean.

“You looked so peaceful,” said Tony the Elf. “You didn't strike me as the meditation type.”

Katherine laughed. “You mean like zodiacs and healing crystals and all that bullshit? Yeah, I'm totally not.”

“If you could see yourself before and after like I see you, you might change your tune.”

“We're in a fantasy game,” said Katherine. “Fantasy bullshit is what passes for reality here, and I need to do that in order to use magic. Speaking of which, I just learned a new spell that I think is going to save us a lot of time and effort.”

“Morganstern's Magical Shovel?”

“Is that really a thing?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“I've got something even better.” Wanting Tanner to witness her new spell too, she turned to where he'd been resting and discovered that he was no longer there. “Where's Tanner?”

“He got bored. He took the Bag of Holding and went down for a few more bagfuls of water. He should be back up in a few minutes if you want to wait for him.”

Katherine considered it for a moment. “Nah. It'll be more fun to see his face when he gets back up here and sees what I've done. He'll be all like, 'Whoa! How'd you do that?' And I'll be like, 'I don't know. I guess you're not the only resourceful person on this island after all.'”

“Well, that's not at all insulting to the rest of us.”

Katherine let out a little laugh of relief. “Oh, good. It felt a little weird there for a second when I said it aloud.”

“You don't need to prove yourself to him, Katherine. You don't need to prove yourself to anyone.”

Katherine knew that was bullshit. She'd had to swim upstream proving herself to these people ever since she arrived in this world. She'd be damned if she was going to slow down now that she was doing such a kick-ass job of it.

“Just stand back and get a load of this shit.” She pointed at the hard rocky ground. “Soften Earth and Stone!”

She immediately sank to her chest in thin runny mud.

“What the hell?” said Tony the Elf, also swimming in mud.

Her spell had worked better than expected, and they were being swept counter-clockwise around the mine hole which threatened to swallow them and their animal companions like a giant toilet.

“Just keep treading mud!” said Katherine. “We'll be okay as long as –”

CRACK!

The framework supporting the crank shaft buckled under a lack of foundation.

“Tony the Elf!” cried Katherine. “Watch out!” But she was too late. Tony the Elf looked up just in time to catch a heavy wooden beam to the face. Why couldn't he have picked a shorter name?

Katherine caught one of the support columns which was heavy enough to remain relatively stable against the force of the muddy whirlpool and waited for Tony the Elf's unconscious or dead body to drift into reaching distance.

She grabbed his arm and held on until the level of the flowing mud descended below them. Dave the dog whined as he put his paws on Tony the Elf's shoulder. Katherine pushed the dog away, then flipped Tony the Elf's mud-covered body over on the hard rocky bowl of earth it left behind. She grabbed him by the throat to check his pulse. That's not exactly the way she remembered seeing people do it on TV, but she didn't know exactly where to find the arteries she was looking for, and figured she should cover as much surface area as possible. After groping his neck ineffectually for a few seconds, she noticed his chest was moving up and down. He was breathing.

She sighed with relief. That had been a close one. It was probably for the best that Tanner hadn't seen –

TANNER!

All of the liquid mud had drained into the mine, leaving behind a fifty-foot diameter crater. Even worse, the broken remains of the crank shaft support framework had settled over the hole, blocking her from going down there. Any single piece of it was too heavy for her to move by herself. She needed help. She needed Tony the Elf to wake the fuck up.

“Tony the Elf!” cried Katherine, slapping his cheek. “Wake up!”

“Ow!” said Tony the Elf. “Stop hitting me!” When Katherine stopped hitting him, he sat up and rubbed the side of his face, then flinched. He opened the other eye and looked around. “How long was I out? Where are we?”

“We haven't moved. I cast a Soften Earth and Stone spell and accidentally created a giant crater.”

“Thanks so much for that.”

“Tanner's still down in the mine. I just flushed a ton of mud down on him.”

Tony the Elf's eye widened, then focused on the pile of wooden beams covering the hole. “We'll never get to him in time.”

“We have to try. Get off your ass and help me!”

Tony the Elf struggled to his feet and stumbled after her toward the hole. “Cut me a a little slack, would you? You just punched me in the face with a tree trunk.”

“Here,” said Katherine. “Help me push this one out of the way.” She and Tony the Elf pushed one of the beams as hard as they could, nudging it a few inches to the right. She wished she could turn into a gorilla to throw this shit out of her way, or a beaver or swarm of termites or something that could eat through it. But she'd already blown her animal shapeshifting ability for the day, and none of those animals were in her repertoire anyway.

It was at least fifteen minutes before they'd cleared a space large enough for Katherine to slip through, and the pile of debris looked like it could collapse in on itself at any second.

Tony the Elf frowned sympathetically at Katherine. “If he was buried under the mud, we're already too late.”

Katherine wasn't having any of it. “I have to know.”

“If all this shit collapses, you'll be trapped down there with him. I'm not going to be able to move it by myself.”

“Then you can go back to the beach and get help. Or I'll wait until tomorrow and turn into a fucking frog or something. I'm going down there.”

Loyal Animal Companion that he was, Butterbean trotted down to accompany Katherine as she wriggled down through the gap.

“You stay here,” she said to him. “I'll be okay.”

Butterbean whined at her.

“You're not going to be any help to me down there, and you'll be a pain in the ass to pull back out. Don't worry. I've got this.”

Butterbean licked her face and lay down in front of her.

Not daring to count on any of the debris to assist her, she lowered herself to her elbows at the edge of the hole, then prepared to lower herself even further when the slippery mud residue caused her to lose her grip.

“FUCK!” she cried as she fell, but it was a shorter fall than she'd anticipated. She splashed down into a muddy puddle after about a ten foot drop, and even managed to keep on her feet. It made sense, now that she thought about it. Her spell had turned the upper half of this entry shaft into mud.

“Katherine?” Tony the Elf shouted down after her.

“I'm okay,” she responded in a normal inside voice. “It wasn't that far a drop.”

It was dark, though. The debris above her blocked out most of the sunlight. And what little made it down to her didn't penetrate far into the tunnel.

She pulled out her new sword, both to protect herself from anything that might be down here and to use as a focus for a Light spell. Much to her surprise, the blade was already giving off a faint red glow. It wasn't bright enough to illuminate her surroundings. In fact, she probably wouldn't have noticed it at all if she hadn't been in near total darkness. It was something of interest that would have to wait. But in the meantime, she didn't want to sully whatever magic her sword was packing with a 0-level Light spell. Instead, she felt the earthen wall for a chunk of rock she could pry free.

The wall was slimy with the mud she'd just flushed down, but she found a suitable rock easily enough.

“Light.”

The tunnel glistened all the way to the ceiling with a wet mud coating. The floor was a series of mud puddles. Katherine splashed through them as she ran in search of Tanner.

She tried to imagine scenarios in which he'd still be alive. It was possible that the force of the flowing mud had thrown him back against a wall, knocking him unconscious, then continued flowing harmlessly past him. That was a good one. She'd stick with that.

“Tanner!” she called out when she thought she was nearly too winded to do any calling out.

“Katherine!” he called back.

Thank fuck!

Katherine sighed with relief, then continued in the direction of his voice at a much more leisurely pace.

“Where are you?”

“I believe I've found a suitable chamber to keep your friend contained.”

“That's cool.” Katherine would take whatever good news she could get. “Where is it?”

“I am currently swimming in it.” Tanner's voice was getting closer as Katherine continued down the tunnel. “In fact, part of what I imagine you would find appealing about this place is how incredibly difficult it is to escape from.”

“That sounds like a winner,” said Katherine. “Good job.”

“Thank you, but I am getting rather exhausted. Some of us are unable to transform into a duck as we await assistance.”

“Oh shit, I'm sorry!” Katherine started running again. “Keep talking so I can follow your voice!”

“It was the strangest set of circumstances that found me in this hole,” said Tanner. “I was returning with another bagful of water, just as I'd done several times already, when I was caught in a sudden deluge of flowing mud.”

“That was my bad. I used a spell I'd never used before to try to bury those bodies really quickly. It worked a little too well.”

“Ah. I thought perhaps your half-orc friend had caught up to you and squatted over the hole.”

Katherine slowed down as she laughed. Tanner's voice was very near now. “Take it from someone who's been there, you'd know if Cooper took a shit on you.”

“Oh?”

Katherine stopped dead in her tracks, both because Tanner's voice was now coming from behind her, and because she realized how her previous statement might have been misconstrued.

“That wasn't what it might have sounded like.”

“Far be it from me to judge what others do behind closed doors,” said Tanner, his voice coming from a small hole in the right wall of the tunnel that had been obscured in shadow until Katherine shined her light directly on it. “I myself have satisfied many an intimate curiosity in the company of ladies who were willing to indulge me. Some proved as exhilarating as I had anticipated. Others, less so. And there are some that make me cringe to recall. If you ever find yourself in the company of merfolk, I advise you to keep your hands away from their –”

“Jesus Christ!” said Katherine as she poked her head and shoulders through the hole. “You can stop talking now. I think I found you.” She held her light out.

“Yes!” said Tanner. “I see your light! I am down here!”

The echoes bouncing off the walls made it impossible to tell how far down he was. All Katherine knew was that he was beyond the light her enchanted rock could produce.

“I'm going to drop this rock to see how far down you are.”

“What? No, I can just tell you – Ow!”

Katherine watched the light fall until it bounced off Tanner's face about fifteen feet down. Then it disappeared into the muddy water he was swimming in, leaving them once again in total darkness.

“Sorry!”

“It goes down about another ten feet, if you must know,” said Tanner. “Now will you please lower a rope or something? I can't keep swimming much longer.”

“I don't have a rope. Why don't you just use the Bag of Holding?”

Tanner sighed. “Do you not think I would have already done that if it were an option?” It was the first time he'd ever sounded annoyed at her. She supposed anyone who had been swimming so long in the dark with little hope of being rescued was entitled to a little bit of irritability, especially to someone who shows up and starts throwing rocks at them.

“What's wrong with the bag?” she asked. “You didn't lose it, did you?”

“Of course not,” Tanner snapped. “I've got it right here. But it's filled to capacity. I already told you I was bringing back a bagful of water when you swept me in here with your little mudslide.”

Katherine was beginning to reach her capacity for that tone of his.

“I wasn't suggesting you should put more water in the bag. I was suggesting that you let water out of it.”

“Why in the Seven Hells would I –” The mine suddenly became as silent as it was dark. “That is an excellent idea. I wish I had thought of it half an hour ago.”

Katherine smiled to herself as she backed out of the hole.

“Water!” Tanner's voice echoed from down in the chamber.

The sudden rush of water sounded like pipes in the walls of an old house when someone upstairs was taking a shower.

While she waited, Katherine dug another rock out of the wall. “Light.” She leaned against the wall as casually as she could to give Tanner a smug look when he spilled out onto the ground.

Unfortunately, the water stopped flowing before that happened.

Katherine leaned into the hole again and held her light out.

Tanner shielded his face with one arm while he continued to tread water with the other. “Please!” he cried. “Don't!”

Katherine sighed. “I'm not going to throw the rock at you. I just wanted to see what happened.”

“There wasn't enough water in the bag.” Tanner was about six feet below Katherine, a little too far for their hands to reach each other.

“I'm going to take off my pants,” said Katherine.

“I appreciate the gesture, but perhaps it could wait until after you've pulled me out of here?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm trying to help.” Katherine chucked her rock back in the direction she'd come from so that she could at least preserve a little bit of dignity.

Millard, the vampire who had magically seduced and later murdered Katherine, had hired a tailor to invent blue jeans according to her description, presumably to show that he wasn't a totally bad guy. What she was wearing now was the closest approximation they were able to come up with, and she hoped that he didn't cheap out on the stitching. She was going to be pissed if she ruined her best pair of jeans.

Removing them in the dark while trying to remain standing proved more difficult than she'd anticipated.

“Shit!” she cried as she lost her balance and fell back on her ass. “Goddammit!”

“Are you all right?” asked Tanner.

Katherine supposed it was selfish of her to get so put out by a wet ass while poor Tanner was soaked to the bone, and had been treading water for at least half an hour. Now that she didn't have to worry about keeping her balance, slipping the rest of the way out of her jeans was much easier.

“Here I come,” she said as she crawled along the wall, feeling for the hole. “I'm going to lower them down to you. Get ready to hold on.”

Holding tight to the bottom of one leg of her jeans, she lowered the other leg through the hole and felt Tanner grab hold of it almost immediately. She braced her feet against either side of the hole while he climbed up. To Millard's credit, the stitching held.

Tanner climbed up out of the hole and collapsed on top of Katherine. His head weighed against her breasts as his chest expanded and contracted against her belly. It might have been arousing if either of them had showered in the past week. They smelled nearly as bad as the stench of the corpse-infused water that still lingered in the stagnant tunnel air.

“You, um... okay there?” she asked, hoping he'd catch the implied, 'Get the hell off of me' subtext.

“Yes,” said Tanner. “Thank you.” He rolled off her and lay on his back, still panting.

Katherine sat up and struggled to pull her jeans back on. They were as wet as her legs. It was going to be an uncomfortable walk back to the mine entrance.

“Why is your light so far up the tunnel?” asked Tanner now that he'd caught his breath.

“I'm not wearing any pants. Is it too much for me to ask for a little privacy?”

“Is this a bad time to remind you that I can see in the dark?”

Shit.

“Turn your head!”

Tanner laughed. “It's turned, it's turned.”

Katherine lifted her ass off the ground to pull her jeans the rest of the way up, then buttoned the front. With that out of the way, she felt relieved that Tanner was alive and with her again.

“I'm sorry I couldn't get to you sooner.”

“And I'm sorry for my impatient tone,” said Tanner. “I feared that after all that swimming, I might still drown even after you turned up.”

“I'm sorry I dropped a rock on your head.”

“Don't be,” said Tanner. “I deserved it for not thinking to raise the water level myself.”

“Speaking of water, how far down does this main tunnel go before its flooded?”

“It shouldn't be far. When I discovered this chamber, I abandoned the main tunnel to focus on clearing it out.”

Katherine stood up and drew her sword for what paltry light it would provide her. She could just make out Tanner's silver hair and white eyes glowing pink as he stared at the blade.

“That is quite a sword you've acquired.”

“Yeah,” said Katherine. “Pretty cool, huh? Stay here and rest your arms. There's no point in going back with an empty bag. One good rainfall will start to fill this place up again. We'll have to be mindful of that while we keep Mordred down here, and empty out as much water as we can.”

She took the Bag of Holding from Tanner and walked further down the tunnel alone, scarcely able to see where she was going, until she felt water up to her shins. She dunked the bag under the water and held it until the water receded to her ankles, then continued down the tunnel and repeated the process. During her third dunk, she noticed a light approaching from behind her.

“Tanner?”

“Yes,” said Tanner, much to Katherine's relief. “I thought you might like to see what you were doing.”

Katherine smiled at him. “Thanks.” When she turned back to her task, she was startled by three more bloated bodies floating in the muddy water further down the tunnel. “But maybe I was better off in the dark.”

She felt the same tug in her throat that had preceded her sobbing fit earlier, but she swallowed it down this time. There was a time for crying, and a time for not losing her shit. Right now was one of the latter times.

“I think we've got enough water,” said Tanner. “A bit of sunshine will do us good.”

Katherine nodded, then picked up her Bag of Holding. They walked in silence back to the mine entrance. It was a long walk, which was a good thing. Tanner had cleared out a hell of a lot of this mine during her meditation.

When she saw the rays of daylight poking through the debris at the entrance, she sheathed her sword.

Tanner shined her enchanted rock into the chamber opposite the tunnel, specifically its flat mud floor. “It appears you succeeded in burying the bodies.”

“They're covered, anyway. After some of the water evaporates out, we'll put some dry dirt on there to finish the job.” She looked up at the debris filling the entrance. “But first we've got to find a way through this shit.”

Chapter 32

Dockworkers, sailors, and other folks who were roaming about the harbor shouted in alarm and shielded their eyes from the basilisk that suddenly appeared, bathed in golden light. The poor souls had no idea that Jesus had sent Basil back to Randy without his gaze attack. He was a creature of Goodness, but Randy hated to give them a fright like that.

“Shit!” said Jay, understandably concerned on account of Basil having had tried to eat him.

“Calm down,” said Randy. “He ain't gonna hurt you. Hurry up and climb on his back.”

Denise didn't hesitate at all. She straddled Basil's tail, then scooted up his back and hugged him around his neck.

“I missed you so much,” she said, planting a sloppy wet kiss on his scaly hide. “Don't you ever die on me again, you hear?”

Jay climbed on after him but stayed so far back that he was behind the rearmost of Basil's eight legs. He no doubt wanted to stay as far away from Basil's teeth as possible, but that didn't leave Randy room to climb up behind him.

“I need you to scoot up a little,” said Randy.

Jay scooted about two inches, then shook his head. “I can't go anymore. This thing almost tore my arm off.

Randy sighed. “Fine. Just hang on tight then.” He walked up to Basil's head and stroked the beast's leathery cheek. “Come on, Basil. Let's go.”

He was prepared to jog alongside his Special Mount, but even in celestial form Basil wasn't the fastest creature on eight legs. He was able to keep Basil's pace with a brisk walk.

Glancing back as they walked, he saw that only the top quarter of the sun remained visible over the city. The highest spire of the palace poked straight through it like a chopstick through an egg yolk.

“I gotta run ahead,” said Randy. “Denise, I need you to guide Basil to Pier 12. Can you do that?”

Denise saluted. “Anything for you, Randy. I wish these was your babies inside me.”

Randy was already uncomfortable putting Denise in charge of anything. Her strange confession didn't help matters, but it did put a spring in Randy's step when he started running away from her. He wondered if the slight ickiness he felt creeping up and down his skin might be something akin to homophobia.

The Maiden's Voyage was still silhouetted against the evening sky when Randy reached Pier 12. As his boots pounded against the weathered wooden boards, he could hear Captain Longfellow bellowing orders and abuse at his crew.

“Move yer jism-dripping arses! Much like yer whore mothers, this ship be needing semen to keep her going! Now pull in the plank and hoist the anchor!”

“Wait!” cried Randy. “Captain Longfellow, wait for us!”

Captain Longfellow glared down at Randy as he fed a grape to the monkey on his shoulder. “Well, well. Would ye look at that, Lord Shitflinger. Our distinguished guest has decided to grace us with his company after all. Tell me, lad. Did ye manage to suck off every dockworker in the harbor while ye was gone.”

“No, sir,” said Randy, stopping to catch his breath. “I did not.”

“Did I not make clear the time of our departure?”

“You made it very clear, Captain.”

“And what time be that?”

“At sunset, if I recall correctly.”

“When the sun dips below the horizon,” Captain Longfellow corrected him.

“Yes, sir. I do believe those were your exact words.”

Captain Longfellow nodded toward the city. “Do ye see any trace of the sun?”

Randy looked down at his feet. “No.”

“Captain,” said one of the crewmen. “Shall I still hoist the anchor?”

Captain Longfellow shot him a severe glare. “Shove a cock in ye mouth, or ye'll be the anchor!”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I have a schedule to keep,” Captain Longfellow explained to Randy. “We be running behind far enough as it be. Ye claimed to have a group of three, and yet as late as ye be, I see only ye with yer cock in yer hand.”

“I sincerely apologize for that, Captain,” said Randy. “The others ain't far behind though. They's just having a little trouble on account of Denise being so far along in her pregnancy.” He hoped that reminder might elicit some sympathy from the captain.

“Mercy of the gods! What madness compels ye to bring an expecting woman aboard me ship? Have we not enough to contend with at sea without slipping and sliding all over placentas that dwarven whores splatter out on the deck? This ship be no place to bring a child into the world!”

“Eight,” muttered Randy, unable to resist the compulsion to speak the absolute truth.

“I beg yer pardon?” said Captain Longfellow. “I fear I did not catch that.”

“She's got eight babies in her.”

“Cock of a kraken! And how close to delivering be she?”

“I don't rightly know. She ain't got impregnated by conventional means.”

“I've no doubt,” said Captain Longfellow. “By the sounds of it, she had the fathers working in shifts.”

“That ain't what I meant. A scorpion woman injected already fertilized eggs into her womb.”

“Of all the...” Captain Longfellow frowned at Randy. “I think I've heard enough. Far more, in fact, than I would have liked to hear. I like ye. Ye and yer friends make the time at sea pass more quickly, and for that, I thank ye. But ye ask too much of me. There be many dangers at sea, lad. I cannot risk the distraction of an expecting woman, and the potential that me ship become infested with her arachnid progeny.”

Randy had one last card to play. “It might very well be less risky to have her aboard. As a matter of fact, she may ensure us all a smooth and safe ride to Lymn.”

Captain Longfellow cocked an eyebrow, no doubt expecting to be impressed by whatever drivel Randy was going to follow that up with. “And why might that be?”

“We set out to Nazere last time to fetch the Eye of Rasha from the Ice Queen. Rasha was so pleased about having it returned that she put a blessing on Denise, guaranteeing that no harm would come to her children while they was inside her.”

Captain Longfellow let out a hearty chuckle. “Lad, I know not what business ye have in Hollin, but ye spin a fine tale of rubbish.”

“It ain't rubbish. I'm telling you the truth.”

“Ye would do well, though, not to invoke the names of the gods when ye speak such madness.”

“I swear by the New God that what I'm saying is true! If I was lying to you, if I was even capable of lying, then why would I have brought up the scorpion babies in the first place?”

“I be a humble ship captain. Ailments of the mind be not me field of expertise. Mayhap ye swallowed the seed of too many a madman, or put yer cock inside too many a diseased whore's –” Shrieks and screams in the distance cut off Captain Longfellow's list of potential diagnoses. “What in the watery depths?” He peered past Randy toward the inner harbor. “Mercy of the gods! I told ye not to be bringing that cursed beast aboard me ship again!”

Randy looked back to find Basil moving cautiously toward him on the pier.

“Sorry we're late,” Denise called out. “I was lookin' for Pier 12, and then I remembered I can't read.”

“I thought ye said that thing be dead,” said Captain Longfellow suspiciously, like he'd just caught Randy in a lie.

“He was dead,” Randy replied. “We was all rewarded when we returned the Eye of Rasha. The New God sent him back for me as my Special Mount.” In case his word as a paladin wasn't enough for the captain, he followed with a demonstration. “Thank you, Basil. You can go on back to the celestial planes now. I'll call for you next time I need you.”

Basil let out a parting groan, then vanished.

“Fuck!” cried Denise as she fell hard on the wooden boards.

Randy grimaced with horror at the thought that his petty desire to show off to Captain Longfellow may have brought harm to Denise's unborn children, then he relaxed when he remembered they were under the gods' protection.

Jay had been riding closer to ground level, and managed to stay on his feet when Basil disappeared.

“So ye weren't pulling me cock about earning favors from the gods, was ye?” said Captain Longfellow.

“No, sir. I was not.”

“Far be it from me to deny passage to those favored by the gods. Alexei, extend the plank and let these three aboard.”

Randy had been wondering if Captain Longfellow's first mate, with whom Randy had shared a mutual attraction on his last trip on the Maiden's Voyage, was still part of the crew. It seemed odd that he hadn't shown himself, and Randy thought he might have moved on to command his own ship or something. Deeper down in his mind, he feared that Alexei might have been killed by pirates or eaten by sharks, or succumbed to one of the multitudes of possible dangers of a life at sea. As hard as he'd been keeping those darker thoughts suppressed, he was relieved to see Alexei's face when he extended the ship's boarding plank.

Randy gave him a wave and a big grin, but the smile and wave Alexei returned were much more subdued, like he was only doing it to get Randy to stop.

Unsure what to make of that, Randy put his hand down and focused on assisting Denise across the narrow plank and onto the ship.

“Welcome back,” said Captain Longfellow. “Ye two I remember from our last journey together.” He turned to Jay. “And ye must be African.”

Jay, who had been gazing around curiously at the ship and its crew, now honed in directly at Captain Longfellow. “'The fuck did you say?”

“This is Jay,” Randy said to the captain.

“Do me memory deceive me, or did ye not say he was called African Manerican, or some other such mouthful of gibberish.”

“His name is Jay. I said he was African American, in reference to his race.”

“And why did you feel the need to bring that up?” asked Jay. “Can a brother not ride a boat in this world?”

“No, I mean yes. I was just –”

“Racial profilin' ain't cool, Randy,” said Denise, scooping in Jay for a hug around the waist. “We's all God's children, after all.”

“But I didn't –”

“Enough with yer gabbersmacking!” demanded Captain Longfellow. “Me eyes be not so far gone as to not know an elf when they see one. We've wasted enough time as it is. Alexei, show these men to their quarters, and the rest of ye get this semen-soaked bucket out to sea!”

“Sorry you're on the top tier,” said Alexei after they'd climbed three ladders. Denise was still working on the first one, and Jay was stuck behind her. “It seems cruel to make an expecting woman climb all this way, but the captain recalled that she had caused some trouble during the last trip, and thought that all the climbing involved to go to and from her room might encourage her to stay in there as long as possible.”

“I can't say I fault him for that. Denise can be quite a handful. But I don't reckon she'll cause too much trouble on this trip.” Randy was still getting a sense of unease from Alexei, and wanted to clear the air between them sooner rather than later. “Hey, Alexei. I couldn't help but notice you ain't seemed too happy to see me. Is it something I done?”

Alexei shrugged. “You left.”

“I had to leave. You know that. Same as you had to stay. We both got people who's counting on us.”

“You didn't have to leave, and I didn't have to stay. Each of us is free to choose whatever path we want to follow. Both of us made that choice when our ships parted ways.”

Randy couldn't find fault in what he said. “That's true. But then why are you acting so prickly about it?”

Alexei sighed. “Because you came back. I like you, Randy. You're sweet and funny and brave and gentle. But I can't have you popping in and out of my life like I'm your sea whore.”

“I ain't never thought about you like that! I'm on this boat for the same reason I was last time. To get from one place to another. It ain't got nothin' to do with you.” That last part sounded a lot harsher than Randy had meant it to. “I'm sorry, Alexei. That came out wrong.”

“It's better that you're honest about it. I will do you the same courtesy. I have become involved in an exclusive relationship with another member of the crew.”

“That's terrific,” said Randy. “I'm real happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Alexei said curtly. “Linnus and I are very happy together.” He appeared to be trying to read Randy's reaction, but Randy wasn't sure what kind of reaction he was hoping for.

“Far out,” was all he could think to say.

“Linnus has trained as a blacksmith's apprentice. When we gather enough coin and find a port we want to settle down in, he's going to open his own shop.”

Randy was beginning to think he may have dodged a bullet with Alexei. “That sounds real nice. I wish you both the best of luck with that, and a lifetime of happiness together.” He hoped this wasn't going to go on much longer. He was running out of generic well-wishing phrases.

“We're already very happy together.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.”

“Woowee!” said Denise as she climbed up onto their tier. “Would you look at the view from up here? Look at all them stars? Y'all ever seen so many stars before?”

Randy looked up, but kept peripherally aware of Alexei as he slunk away and down the ladder. “No, I don't reckon I have.” He'd never been more grateful for Denise showing up.

Chapter 33

“There you are,” said Chaz, almost running into him as Julian hurried out of the alley.

“What are you doing out here?” said Julian. “I told you to wait in the lobby.”

“You were taking forever. I thought we might head straight to the Mortar & Pestle to get ready for my show. Maybe test the acoustics, see if we might be able to work out some background effects, go over the –”

“There's been a change of plans.” Julian pulled Chaz into the alley, then produced the die from his turban.”

Chaz took the die from him and held it up to the sun. “Holy shit! How did you... When did you...”

“Ravenus smuggled it out in his ass.”

“Fucking hell, man!” said Chaz, dropping the die like he'd never touched poo before.

“Be careful!” Julian used his foot to keep it from rolling out onto the street. He picked it up and tucked it back into his turban. “We can't risk losing this again!”

“Sorry. Maybe give a guy some warning before you hand him something that's been up your bird's ass. Can we move it along now? I'm a little nervous, and I want to acclimatize myself to the room.”

“Chaz!” said Julian. “Forget about the fucking show. We just ripped off a wizard. If Fazul discovers his prized magical trinket is missing, he won't have a long list of suspects to track down, and he knows exactly where to find us.”

“He's not going to automatically assume we stole it. He swept all that shit into his bag really quickly when the food showed up. Who's to say he didn't accidentally drop it on the floor? I bet a bit of Diplomacy could plant that seed of doubt in his head.”

Julian shook his head. “Way too risky. And for what? So you can feed your already over-inflated ego? No. We need to get this die back to the others right now.”

“Have you forgotten where we are?” said Chaz. “How are we supposed to get off this island?”

“The same way we got on it. I'll use a Fly spell.”

“That will just put us back down at some random spot in the desert.”

“Oh yeah.” Julian bit his lower lip. “Maybe we could ask Professor Goosewaddle. If we show him we've got the die, and explain that –”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” said Chaz. “He's the one who left us down there to die in the desert because we kept pestering him for free teleports!”

Julian knew Chaz was right. “Even if we can't make it there ourselves, we should at least send the die. Maybe I'll stick it back inside Ravenus's cloaca and send him off on a solo mission to find the others.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. But it is extremely uncomfortable for me to fly in that condition.”

“I've got a better idea,” said Chaz. “We're on an island full of wizards. We could simply pay one of them to take us wherever we want to go.”

“And where are we supposed to get the money for that?”

Chaz grinned and tapped his lute case.

Julian sighed. “Shit.”

The Mortar & Pestle was an entirely different place when they arrived. The dusty air was filled with the sounds of banging hammers and orders barked in some unfamiliar language. A small army of goblins scurried about, expanding the bar, removing furniture, and constructing a proper stage. They'd even knocked out most of the wall that separated the Mortar & Pestle from the high-end spell components shop next door.

“Look at this fucking place!” said Chaz.

“Look at you!” said Lodor, grinning from behind his newly expanded bar next to a thin, well-dressed middle-aged human man. “You look amazing!”

Chaz tossed his hair. “Thank you very much.”

“I'm glad you showed up early. I wanted to put your name on the marquis, but I forgot what it was.”

“RazzmaChaz.”

Lodor clapped his hands together. “I love it!” He pointed at one of the goblins working on his bar. “You there. Are you literate?”

The goblin nodded.

“Good. Go outside and paint Razzmachaz on the marquis in big bold letters.”

The goblin dropped the boards he was carrying and scampered past Julian and Chaz and out the front door.

Lodor beckoned Chaz over with a wave. “Come meet my new business partner. This is Faros. He owns the spell components store next door. Or rather, the former spell components store. We worked out a deal to expand the place, and he's half owner of the Mortar & Pestle now.”

Chaz offered his hand to shake. “I'm very pleased to meet you, sir.”

Faros stared at Chaz's hand curiously, then touched it with one finger. “Likewise. I heard you singing this morning through the wall. I was touched.”

Julian cleared his throat.

“Oh yeah,” said Chaz. “I'd like to introduce you to my manager, Julian.”

Lodor eyed Julian suspiciously. “Aren't you that same elf who showed up out of nowhere when he started playing?”

“That's right,” said Julian. “I was his first fan, and now I have the honor of being his manager.”

Lodor leaned over the bar and spoke directly to Chaz. “What do you want to get mixed up with a guy like this for? He shows up out of nowhere and offers you nothing in return for taking a cut of your pay. Why don't you let me be your manager instead. Have I not been generous to you so far? Why let this middleman fleece you out of your hard-earned money?”

Chaz looked back at Julian as if to challenge him to argue Lodor's point.

Julian took a step toward the bar and turned on his Diplomacy. “Part of my job as manager is to make my client, Mr. RazzmaChaz, at the very least enough money on top of what he's already making to justify my own modest percentage.”

“And what are you going to do for him that I can't? Do you know how much I paid him this morning?”

“I do,” said Julian. “And tonight you're going to triple it.”

“You must be out of your mind. Who do you think you are coming into my bar and making such demands. Only this very morning you couldn't afford more than three pints of well sludge. I paid him too much this morning as it was.” He turned to Chaz. “No offense, lad. You're a fine singer, but you're not the New God, bringing folks back from the dead, are you? This elf is misleading you. Entertainers simply don't get paid the kind of wages he's promising. I had a bit of drink in me when I paid you this morning. That's five times what I'd pay Danzo the Dancing Juggler.”

Julian smiled. “Then perhaps you should ask Danzo the Dancing Juggler to perform here instead.”

Lodor took a deep breath. “You're being unreasonable.”

“I'm being exceptionally reasonable,” said Julian. “You and I both know that RazzmaChaz brought you all those new customers this morning, and that you were only limited by the space in your venue and your capacity to fill drinks fast enough. You've now got at least three times as much space, and I think it's fair to assume that you've hired extra help.”

“But all that costs money,” Lodor argued. “Why should he take a proportionally bigger cut when I'm the one who laid down all the investment?”

“Because I'm not giving you a choice. You need us, you see? We don't need you. Even now that you've expanded the place, there are much larger venues than this shithole over on the other end of the strip. Do you honestly believe that RazzmaChaz can't easily fill one of those? This end of the strip will be a virtual ghost town every night he plays. I'm trying to do you a favor here. You can either accept my terms, or we walk.”

Lodor turned to Faros, who gave him a nod.

“Very well. We accept your terms.”

Curious as to how far he could push his luck, Julian prodded a little further. “I don't suppose it would be a problem to pay half upfront, as a show of good faith.”

Lodor sighed. “Fine.” He ducked down behind the bar, and Julian could hear the jingle of coins being counted into a pouch. “Here,” he said when he stood back up and plunked the bag down on the bar. “You can count it if you like.”

Short of making Lodor lick his balls while his children watched, Julian wasn't sure how much further he could push him. He winked at Chaz. “And that's why you need a manager.”

He was feeling better about their situation now that he had a sizable chunk of coin. He'd chat up a few wizards during the early part of the show and nail down a price on an emergency Teleport spell. If anything went wrong, he and Chaz could be out of there in the blink of an eye.

His turban was starting to feel uncomfortably hot and heavy on his head, and he'd feel a lot less ridiculous not wearing it. Turning slightly so Lodor and Faros wouldn't be able to see it, he pulled the die out and slipped it into his pocket before unraveling the turban.

“This had better be a good show,” Lodor warned Chaz.

Chaz opened his mouth to speak, but a higher-pitched voice spoke instead, where a red-robed halfling materialized sitting on a stool at the end of the bar.

“Oh, I can assure you. It will be.”

“What are you doing in here?” demanded Lodor grumpily. “We've not yet opened for business.”

“I'm not here for a drink.”

“Then maybe you should go somewhere el–”

The halfling drew a wand from under his robe and unleashed a barrage of blue lightning, which engulfed Lodor until his skin started to char.

“JESUS CHRIST!” cried Chaz.

When the lightning ceased, Lodor collapsed to a sizzling heap on the floor next to a very surprised-looking Faros.

“Are you mad?” said Faros. “Know you the penalty for wielding offensive magic against a fellow wizard on the Crescent Sha–” He, too, found himself on the wrong end of the little man's wand.

Julian couldn't bear to watch. Looking toward the exit, he found the door closed, and most of the goblin construction staff standing guard in front of it and grinning at him. He didn't know what was going on exactly, but he had a strong suspicion that they were in some deep shit.

“Who are you?” asked Julian.

The halfling smiled. “Around here, folks call me Wister.”

Julian didn't see the point of giving a region-specific name, but let it go in order to move the hostage situation forward. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much,” said Wister, hopping down from the bar. “Just that little treasure of yours.”

Was this a simple mugging? Had this little asshole just murdered two people in cold blood for a sack of gold? Julian understood that people were capable of doing terrible things for money, but something didn't add up. If this halfling was powerful enough to blast the shit out of two people with Lightning Bolts, he would surely be capable of making money by more conventional (and less violent) means. And even if he just really liked murdering people for cash, there were safer places to go on a crime spree than the Crescent Shadow. But all things considered, Julian felt that if he could end this by simply handing over his gold, they'd be coming out ahead. After all, Chaz had already proven that he could draw a crowd. They could take the show to other venues, just as he'd threatened to do.

“Be cool. Nobody else has to get hurt.” Julian placed the bag of gold on the bar and stepped away from it. “It's all yours. Just please let us go.”

Wister pointed his wand at Julian. “Do you take me for a fool, Julian?”

A chill ran up Julian's spine.

“How do you know my –”

“I was referring to your other treasure, the one I saw you slip into your pocket.”

Suddenly, the region-specific name made a whole lot more sense.

“Mordred?”

“Oh shit,” said Chaz.

“Give me the die,” said the halfling that Julian was ninety-eight percent convinced was one of Mordred's remaining avatars, but he supposed there was also a chance it could be Tim in disguise. “I would prefer not to have to dig it out of your burnt remains if possible, but I'll do what I have to do to reacquire my stolen property.”

That pushed Julian's guess to ninety-nine percent in favor of Mordred, but Tim might have some delusional claim to ownership as well.

“Master Julian!” cried Ravenus, flapping madly outside the window, trying in vain to peck and scratch his way through the grimy glass. He could sense Julian's fear and desperation. “What's wrong? Are you in danger?”

“Stay away, Ravenus!” Julian shouted back at him. Ravenus either didn't hear him over the sounds of his clawing and pecking, or he was deliberately disobeying him.

The halfling shifted his wand's aim to the window. “Perhaps my associates would enjoy some barbecued raven?”

“I prefer it raw,” said one of the goblins guarding the door, provoking another to elbow him in the ribs. “Barbecued is good too, though.”

“Stop it, Mordred!” said Julian. “Lower your wand, and I'll give you the die.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” said Chaz. “Do you understand what he'll be able to do when he gets a hold of one of those?”

“What choice do we have? He'll kill Ravenus, and then he'll kill us.” Julian had referred to Mordred by name, hoping that Tim would correct him. He had some slim hope of being able to reason with Tim, but he had a lot less faith in his ability to exploit any reservations Mordred would have over killing them. His only hope now was that Mordred, having reclaimed his dominion over them, would be merciful.

Reaching into his pocket for the die, a new hope surfaced when he felt the croissant-shaped clasp in his pocket. If he could stick Mordred hard with the pin, he might be able to distract him long enough to subdue him with the unwrapped turban while Chaz fought off the goblin minions with... his lute?

It was a long shot, and would most likely get them killed, but risking his and Chaz's lives for the slim chance of being able to save everyone else felt like the right thing to do. He would have felt better if there was some way to clue in Chaz as to what he was planning, but unfortunately he didn't have that luxury.

He opened the clasp in his pocket and took a step toward Mordred.

“Stay where you are,” said Mordred. “Put the die on the bar next to your gold and step away from it.”

Shit. That was definitely a wrench in his plan, essentially leaving him no choice other than to cave in to Mordred's demands.

Julian felt a mixture of relief for not having to go through what was likely to be a suicide mission, and guilt for feeling relief about having to damn all his friends to stay in this world forever under Mordred's thumb.

He let go of the clasp, took the die out of his pocket, then placed it on the bar next to the sack of gold coins. Mordred was practically salivating at the sight of it.

As Julian took a step back, he heard the nervous strumming of lute strings. He recognized it from Chaz's performance that morning. I Am... I Said.

Mordred laughed as he turned to Chaz. “Please! Do you really think I don't have strong enough wards to protect me from low-level bard spells?”

Chaz ignored him and strummed more confidently. Julian had to agree with Mordred on this one. As far as last-ditch efforts went, this was a particularly embarrassing one.

Whiskey's fine, or moonshine, even wine

Makes me feel kinda laid back.

Hit Points low, my stats all blow,

And you know when it comes to a fight,

I just kinda stay back.

Julian wasn't one hundred percent certain, but he was pretty sure those weren't the opening lyrics of I Am... I Said.

“Cute,” said Mordred. “It's nice that you wrote some of your own lyrics, at least, and only ripped off Neil Diamond's music. If you'd done that in the first place, I might not have had such an easy time finding you.”

“Shit,” said Julian. It should have occurred to him that only a small handful of people in this world would be doing a Neil Diamond tribute show, and that advertising it around the island would make them sitting ducks.

Mordred narrowed his little halfling eyes and aimed his wand as he took a step toward Julian. “Keep moving.”

Julian obediently took another step back.

Though his voice was shaky, Chaz began singing louder.

Well I can cast spells like Glitterdust,

And if I must,

I can talk to a duck.

Magic's great, but I'm no wiz.

Spells are cool, but all mine seem to

Fucking suck.

However much truth there was to the lyrics of Chaz's song, Julian thought he was being unnecessarily hard on himself to sing of his shortcomings during his moment of defeat. Most people would want to downplay how utterly weak and spineless they were when it came time to stand up against their oppressors, but Chaz was practically shouting now.

I am a bard!

So fill my glass.

I'm a useless third tier character class.

The front door rattled, then someone started pounding on it from outside.

“Has the show already begun?” cried a muffled voice from outside. “Let me in!” It sounded like... Fazul?

Seeing the suddenly panicked look in Mordred's eyes, Julian finally understood. Chaz wasn't trying to cast a spell or immortalize his own ineptitude. He was calling for help. Mordred might be powerful, but he wasn't powerful enough to take on a group of Crescent Shadow wizards.

“Step back!” Mordred demanded, shaking his wand at Julian. “Hurry!”

“No.” Julian stood his ground and pulled the clasp out of his pocket. He knew Mordred could obliterate him in an instant, but he could at least hope that the cavalry would arrive before that happened.

I am a bard!

A bard am I!

And no one here would notice

If I just died.

“RazzmaChaz!” cried Fazul gleefully as he popped into existence in front of Chaz.

Chaz smiled and winked at him as he resumed his song, singing louder over the growing din at the locked bar door.

Needin' my drink refilled.

Upon seeing another wizard in the bar, Mordred hurriedly shoved his wand back inside his robes, then lunged toward the die. Julian kicked him hard in the chest, knocking him back on his ass, then grabbed the sack of gold and the die. He shoved the latter down the front of his pants, safely but uncomfortably inside his snug-fitting silver underwear, and hoped that its powerful magic wouldn't have some kind of radioactive effects on his balls.

Did you ever read about a nerd

Who dreamed of being a hero,

And then became one?

Well except for getting juiced

And a Charisma boost,

If you talk about me,

The story's a lame one.

Mordred's goblin minions charged at Julian, but he hopped up on the bar, jumped over their heads, and ran for the door. As soon as he unlocked it, a tsunami of wizards flooded inside. Ravenus flew in over their heads and landed on Julian's shoulder. The few goblins Julian could still see quickly resheathed their weapons.

Yeah, I've got an emptiness in my glass.

So, bar lass,

Please fill my cup.

'Cause I'm not a man who likes to think,

And I feel a drink

Would fuck me right up.

With the adrenaline of a close-call victory pumping through his heart, Julian whipped up a quick Prestidigitation spell, displaying the next line of the song in big bold yellow letters over Chaz's head so the crowd could join in. And join in they did.

I AM A BARD!

So fill my glass.

I'm a useless third tier character class.

I AM A BARD!

A bard am I!

And no one here would notice

If I just died.

When Chaz removed his hand from his lute strings and took a small bow, the room erupted in joyous shouts and applause. This was their Woodstock.

Then there was a shout from over near the bar that was distinctly unjoyous. In the rush of excitement, Julian had forgotten about the two dead bodies still sizzling behind the bar. He shoved his way through the crowd toward Chaz, who had already started Thank the Lord for the Nighttime, which would have annoyed Julian more, since he'd given the explicit managerial advice to wait until later in the show for that, if it wasn't keeping most of the crowd distracted from the slowly-spreading news of murder in the room.

“Are you quite all right, sir?” asked Ravenus.

“For now. I've got the die, but Mordred is still around here somewhere, and he's pissed. Also, there are two dead bodies behind the bar.”

“Have the eyes been taken yet?”

“Stay with me, Ravenus. We have to get out of here.”

It would have been great to be able to capture one more Mordred while they were so close and this one was relatively small and weak, but Julian didn't see how it would be possible to subdue and kidnap a halfling in front of a mob of wizards. Besides, Julian and Chaz would be on the short list of murder suspects, given that they were among the only known people in the room when things went south for Lodor and Faros. Right now, their immediate objective had to be escape.

“Yeah, he's good,” a familiar female voice shouted over the crowd and music. “But he's no Neil Diamond.”

Julian turned toward the voice and found Professor Goosewaddle's Arby's manager, Jennifer, talking to the professor, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying Chaz's performance.

“Next time we go back to Earth, I'll look up tour dates, and we can see the real –” Jennifer's gaze met Julian's. “Oh look. It's the other one.”

“Fantastic performance!” said Professor Goosewaddle, giving Julian an enthusiastic grin and two thumbs up. His awkwardness suggested that Jennifer had recently taught him the gesture. While he seemed genuinely pleased to see Julian and Chaz, at least more so than Jennifer, Julian noted that he didn't apologize for leaving them to die in the desert. He wouldn't rule out asking Goosewaddle to teleport them away, but it would be a last resort.

Pushing his way to the front of the crowd, he found Fazul swaying blissfully to the rhythm of Chaz's music.

“Mr. Fazul,” said Julian as he placed a hand on the fat wizard's shoulder.

“Ah, Julian!” He apparently took Julian's hand on his shoulder as an invitation to hug and pulled him in for a great bearlike squeeze. “Why did you not tell me the show would begin so early?” His breath was thick with pineapple and cinnamon.

“Sorry about that,” said Julian. “It just kind of happened. Listen, do you have any more of those Teleport spells prepared?”

“Of course. One never knows when they'll find themselves in a dangerous situation or boring conversation.”

“Chaz – I mean, RazzmaChaz and I are in a dangerous situation right now. Someone is trying to kill us.” He pressed his bag of gold discreetly against Fazul's belly. “Will this be enough for you to Teleport us out of here?”

“In the middle of his own concert? Have no fear, friend. No one will dare commit a murder in plain view of so many wizards of the Crescent Shadow.”

Julian tried to think of a plausible lie. Going with the rock star angle, he thought up a good one pretty quickly.

“It's a jealous husband. He caught RazzmaChaz in bed with his wife.”

Fazul looked up at Chaz, whose attention was now focused toward the bar. He was still singing, but Julian could see panic in his eyes. The crowd was notably quieter now, with only the wizards nearest the stage still shouting and swaying enthusiastically to the music.

“It sounds as though he seduced the wrong wizard's wife,” said Fazul. He smiled at Julian. “Keep your gold. Fazul of Sunny Meadows does not charge a fee to deliver his friends from danger. Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere,” said Julian with a sigh of relief. “Somewhere safe and far away from this – SHIT!”

Mordred jumped down onto the stage from a ledge on the wall behind Chaz and ran straight for Julian, his little halfling eyes fuming with rage.

Before Julian could react, Mordred leaped from the stage and tackled him. That was finally enough to quiet the rest of the crowd. Even Chaz stopped singing.

“Give me back what's mine!” demanded Mordred as he shoved his little hand down the front of Julian's pants.

Julian didn't consider himself a violent person. But if anything was going to bring his otherwise dormant violent tendencies to the surface, it was Mordred's hand on his dick. He punched Mordred hard in the face, savoring the satisfying crunch of cartilage in Mordred's broken nose.

That riled the crowd up again. Apparently, magical fighting was forbidden on the Crescent Shadow, but a good old-fashioned bar brawl was highly encouraged. The wizards immediately surrounding them backed up to give them room to fight.

Mordred rolled off Julian and grinned through his blood-smeared teeth, as red as his cloak. His left hand was balled up in a fist, but he didn't look like he was going to throw a punch. Instead, he took a step back away from Julian.

Oh no!

Julian grabbed his crotch, distressed to not feel a hard third testicle.

“No!” he cried. “Don't do it!”

Mordred gave him the finger with his right hand as he held up his left fist. “MOOORRRRDRE–”

The back of Chaz's lute came down hard on Mordred's head.

The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers and applause at RazzmaChaz's brutal display of violence as Mordred collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Julian dived on top of him, feigning rage at having his junk groped, but actually wanting to keep the die hidden from view until he could get it safely tucked away. When he pried the die out of Mordred's fist and slipped it back into his pocket, he stood up again and shouted down at Mordred.

“I never felt that way about you! You were deluding yourself! Take your Wand of Lightning Bolts and get out of my life!” That last part sounded more like innuendo than incrimination when he said it aloud, but it drew murmurs from the back of the crowd. Julian turned to Fazul. “Can we get out of here now?”

Fazul nodded, looking as uncomfortable as Julian felt. Julian held Ravenus close to his chest as Fazul took him and Chaz by the hand.

“Home.”

Chapter 34

It didn't take long for Stacy to get directions. Arby's was a new local oddity, and the first person she asked knew exactly which way to point her. Fortunately, it wasn't too far away. She wasn't sure how many nights they had until the next full moon, and she wanted to cook up an early batch as soon as possible in case the process needed further refinement.

“Do you think it's a good idea for us to show our faces at Arby's?” asked Cooper. “Goosewaddle said he doesn't want us hanging around there anymore.”

“That's why you're going to wait outside. Goosewaddle and I haven't met since I arrived in this world. He has no idea what I look like. As far as he knows, I'll just be a regular human customer curious about the rumors I've heard of these exotic roast beef sandwiches.”

“But you don't have any money.”

Stacy smiled. “I've got other talents, remember?”

“Please don't punch me again.”

“You just leave this to me.” Turning the next corner, she spotted the Arby's sign immediately halfway up the street. It stood out like a  sore thumb on an animal that didn't ordinarily have thumbs. “There it is.”

“So I'm just going to hang around in front of the place?” asked Cooper.

Taking another look up the street, Stacy didn't see any cafes or other places where it wouldn't look conspicuous for a half-orc barbarian to hang around for too long in one place, even if they did have the money to buy him a cup of coffee.

“Better not. You might get picked up for loitering. Or even worse, someone might suspect you of casing out the joint. You won't look out of place if you keep moving. Just pace up and down the street until I come back. Pretend you're window shopping or something.”

Cooper sighed. “Great.”

“Oh, and Cooper?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don't kill anyone.”

Cooper nodded. “Yeah, alright.”

The front door to Arby's was wide open. Without any plan beyond awesome-ing her way through it, Stacy strutted inside.

“I don't care what the chart says,” said a portly balding man behind the counter. He had a distinct air of not belonging to this world about him, and appeared to be talking to the business end of a mop, the handle of which was sticking up over the counter next to him. “When Professor Goosewaddle and Jennifer are away, I'm in charge. And I say you have to clean the bathroom.”

“It is very kind of you to trust me with that responsibility, Paul,” said a malicious-sounding gravelly voice in response. If Stacy had to guess, it wasn't very mop-like. “If it were my name on the chart, I would want to personally make sure the bathroom was as shiny clean as I could make it before my boss returned. I would be very wary of passing that responsibility off to someone who might not take as much pride in his work.”

Paul's pasty white cheeks began turning pink.

“Someone who might not be motivated to clean so thoroughly behind the toilet and under the sink.”

Paul slammed his fist down on the counter to stop it from shaking.

“Someone who might not bother to get a ladder so that he could scrub away the mildew between the tiles near the ceiling.”

“You listen here, Fred,” demanded Paul. “I've been a fast food manager for seven and a half years. If you think I'm going to stand here and be threatened by –”

“Someone who might simply fling his own feces all over the walls and seek employment elsewhere.”

Paul's eyes went wide with terror. “You little monster.”

“You're not supposed to call us monsters, Paul. Remember your sensitivity training? I would hate to have to report you to Jennifer.”

“Just give me the mop!” Paul seethed as the mop handle moved into his open hand. He pushed it out from behind the counter in a plastic yellow bucket on wheels. His eyes were watering when they made contact with Stacy's. With a shaky voice, he shouted back to the counter. “You've got a customer!”

As he pushed his mop and bucket out the door, a gremlin-like head with an Arby's hat and a wide toothy grin popped up from behind the counter.

“Welcome to Arby's. We have meat!”

Stacy tried her best not to look surprised or frightened. “Hi. You must be Fred.”

“My name is Urguk Gri'klab, but my manager says Fred is easier to remember and pronounce. You can call me Fred.”

“Thank you,” said Stacy. “My name is...” It was probably best not to give her real name, in case Goosewaddle was really serious about not wanting any Earth people back here. She might need to use the equipment again, or she might just crave a roast beef sandwich. “... Sally.”

“Would you like to try one of our combo meals? Curly fries are very popular.”

“I was actually wondering if I might use some of your cooking equipment. My friend is sick, and I need to make an antidote for him.” She took a step closer and put the belladonna plant on the counter in front of him. “I'd be so grateful.”

The little gremlin man, Fred, plucked one of the berries and popped it into his mouth before Stacy could stop him, then puckered his lips like he'd just sucked on a slice of lemon.

“Sounds like fun. Come around to the kitchen.”

That was much less hassle than Stacy had been prepared to deal with. “Again, thank you very much.” She picked up her plant and followed him.

The kitchen was crawling with more of the same little monsters, all dressed in Arby's hats and oversized uniform shirts stuffed into their little toddler khakis. When they saw Stacy, they immediately stopped washing dishes, wiping down equipment, and other such fast-food post-lunch-rush chores.

“Who is she?” demanded one that Stacy guessed to be a female. “You can't bring a customer into the kitchen.”

“Relax, Velma,” said Fred. “She wants to cook something. Jennifer told us we should experiment with new recipes that might appeal to local tastes.”

“Ooooooh,” the others said collectively, abandoning their duties and crowding around Stacy, each of them armed with a kitchen utensil that might be easily weaponized.

“We want to help,” said the one holding a plastic spray bottle half-full of purple liquid.

Already knowing that Fred's name was given to him by this Jennifer person, the addition of a Velma left little doubt as to what the naming convention had been derived from.

“Do we have a Shaggy?”

“That's me!” said the one who had been washing the dishes. He raised the wet, soapy knife he'd pulled out of the sink.

“Dry off that knife, and you can be in charge of chopping up these leaves.”

Shaggy swiped each side of the knife across his shirt once, then stepped up on a stool in front of a cutting board.

Stacy plucked off a few leaves and placed them on the board. “Cut them as finely as you can.” Once she was satisfied with how he was cutting the leaves, she turned back to the others. “Does anyone know if there's a small pot anywhere in here?”

The one with the spray bottle set its bottle down on the line next to the pre-chopped vegetables, then rummaged through the stainless steel cabinets below. When it re-emerged, it was holding a steel pot. “Will this do?” This one also sounded female.

Stacy smiled. “That will do nicely, Daphne.” It was a little larger than what Stacy had had in mind, but that only meant they'd have to be a little more careful when most of the water boiled away to keep the residue from scorching on the bottom. “Can you fill that up about a quarter full with water and start it boiling?”

Daphne grinned enthusiastically, showing off her wide mouth of pointy yellow teeth. Stacy very consciously failed to reach for one of her weapons.

“What can I do?” asked the last one remaining.

“Scooby?” Stacy guessed.

Scooby nodded.

“When Daphne gets the water going, I'll need you to squeeze as much juice from the berries as you can, then give the husks to Shaggy for chopping.”

Scooby climbed on the counter next to Shaggy and went to grab one of the berries.

“Scooby,” said Stacy with a slightly warning tone, causing Scooby to freeze. “Those aren't Scooby snacks. I need all of these leaves and berries in the pot, so don't eat them.”

“Okay,” said Scooby with a resigned sigh. He sat back against the wall and waited for Daphne to get the water going.

When they'd all performed their assignments, Stacy allowed them to take turns stirring the slowly thickening mixture as the water boiled away, which they were very excited to do. All except for Fred, who had to stay close to the front of the store in case any customers came in.

“What a wonderful job you're all doing!” said Stacy when the purple mixture had boiled down to the consistency of glue. “Are you guys sure you've never made this before?”

The little gremlin people chattered excitedly among themselves.

“I can't wait to taste it!”

“Wait until Jennifer sees what we've learned.”

“I bet we'll all get a performance sticker!”

“What's going on in here?” cried a voice from behind Stacy. Paul's voice. “Who are you? What are you doing in my kitchen?”

“We're learning to cook something new,” explained Fred. “Don't worry. I've been keeping an eye on the front.”

Paul stared angrily at Stacy as if to imply that Fred's answer wasn't satisfactory. His face and uniform shirt were drenched with sweat, and his sneakers were soaked with dirty mop water. Cleaning the bathroom had clearly taken a toll on his mood.

“My name is Sally,” said Stacy. She only needed a few more minutes before the purple sludge would be thick enough to spread on a bagel. “Professor Goosewaddle sent me here to teach the crew a new recipe.”

“Uuunnnnnnggggghhhh,” Fred groaned, clutching his belly. “I don't feel so... I'll be right back.” He ran out the restaurant's open front door.

“I don't believe you,” said Paul. “If there was any training scheduled, I would have been informed.” He glared at his crew. “If Jennifer catches you gobbers back here goofing off on the clock, you'll all be fired!”

Stacy noticed all the little monsters' eyes narrow at the word “gobbers”. “What's a gobber?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Paul. “It's just another word for goblin. The customers use it all the time.”

“It's a mean, nasty word,” said Velma. She looked at Stacy. “He doesn't dare call us that when Jennifer is around.”

Stacy folded her arms and stared accusingly at Paul.

“They're overreacting. It's not that –”

“Bad news, Paul,” said Fred, staggering back into the kitchen a shade paler than he'd been when he left. “I didn't quite make it to the toilet. The floor is going to need another mopping.”

Stacy had hoped one little berry wouldn't affect him, but now she had a better understanding of just how potent this belladonna plant was.

“Are you okay, Fred?”

Fred nodded. “Much better now, thank you. I don't know what happened. It came on so sudden. I was lucky to make it to the bathroom and get my pants down in time.” He turned to Paul. “I used quite a bit of toilet paper. The toilet overflowed as well.”

Toilet paper? If Stacy had time, she would definitely try to snag a roll.

Paul thrust his mop handle at Fred. “You made the mess. You clean it up.”

“I would, Paul. But it's not my name on the chart.”

“No!” said Paul. “That's not fair. I already cleaned the bathroom.” He pointed at Fred. “You did this on purpose! I'll tell Jennifer.” He nodded at Stacy. “She heard you threaten to shit all over the bathroom.”

Velma grinned. “She also heard you call us gobbers.”

Fred shook his head. “Really, Paul? Again? If Jennifer hears about that, you might need another sensitivity training.”

Relative to the shade paler Fred looked after taking a dump, Paul now looked like he'd just shat out a herd of elephants. He turned to Stacy with pleading eyes.

Stacy shrugged. “I did hear you say it.”

“Fine!” cried Paul, shoving his mop bucket ahead of him as he stomped toward the entrance. “But I won't forget this!”

In order to keep it from scorching, Stacy had to lower the heat, which made the last stage of the boiling process take a lot longer than she'd anticipated. She hoped Cooper wasn't getting into any trouble outside.

The novelty of learning a new recipe had worn off for the goblins, which left Stacy doing all of the stirring while they went back to their previous chores.

“Tell me more about this Jennifer,” she said for something to pass the time as she stirred her purple goop. “Is she a goblin?”

Shaggy laughed like an angry squirrel. “No, she is a human. But she has the temperament of a goblin chieftain.”

The others nodded their agreement.

Stacy pulled out the wooden spoon. The goop dripped down like molasses, which would probably do, but she was going for a cream cheese consistency.  “What's the deal with her and Paul?”

Velma shrugged. “I think they have some kind of history back wherever they came from. Jennifer isn't the sort of person you want to push too hard for personal information, and Paul isn't the sort of person you want to talk to any more than you have to.”

“I guess I can see your –”

A flash of blue light and a crackle of magic came from the dining area.

“Such a pity the show had to end so abruptly,” said Professor Goosewaddle from the other room.

Shit.

While Stacy had entered Arby's prepared to face the professor, she was relieved that it hadn't been necessary, up until now.

“What's that smell?” demanded a suspicious voice that triggered the goblin crew to stand up straight and make sure their uniform shirts were tucked in.

“I take it that's Jennifer?” Stacy whispered. The goblins nodded.

“Shaggy!” Jennifer's voice was closer, and Shaggy's eyes and mouth were agape with terror. “You'd better not be smoking any magical herb or whatever in my –”

A woman appeared in the doorway and scowled at Stacy. She was about five feet tall and a lot less intimidating-looking than she sounded.

“Hi,” said Stacy.

“Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my kitchen?”

“My name is Sally, and –”

“Did you let her in here?” asked Jennifer, turning her attention sharply to Fred.

Fred stood even taller and straighter. “Yes, ma'am! She said she wanted to teach us a new recipe. We thought it would please you.”

“Do I look pleased?”

“No, ma'am.”

Jennifer turned back to Stacy so fast that she was surprised her gaze didn't make a swooshing sound.

“A new recipe?”

Stacy nodded. “Yes.” After a couple seconds of feeling Jennifer's eyes burning daggers in her soul, she added, “Ma'am.”

“Did Corporate send you?”

It was a better story than anything Stacy had prepared. “Yes, ma'am. They did.”

“That was a joke,” said Jennifer. “This is a completely independently owned and operated Arby's restaurant.”

Stacy smiled and squeaked out a fake laugh.

Jennifer narrowed her eyes. “You're one of them, aren't you?”

“One of who?” Stacy did her best to feign innocence, but she could tell Jennifer wasn't buying it any more than she'd bought that laugh.

“Don't bullshit me. I can spot one of you clowns from a mile –”

A second flash of blue light and crackle of magic came from the dining area, this one followed by a series of crashes and grunts.

“Where are we?” said an unfamiliar older man's voice. “Is this an... Arby's?”

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Why do we even have a door?” She pointed at Stacy. “You stay here, Sally. I'm not done with you.” She grabbed a broom off the wall, did an about face, then stomped toward the rising sounds of confusion and struggle in the next room. “YOU!”

Stacy didn't know what was going on, but she knew she had to get out of there as soon as possible. She'd just have to make do with the belladonna mixture as it was. Maybe she'd tell Cooper to use it more like a dipping sauce than a spread.

“Is there a back door out of here?” she asked, scanning the kitchen for an exit.

“No,” said Daphne.

“Shit. That's got to be a fire hazard.”

Whatever was going on in the other room was even more chaotic now that Jennifer had entered the fray. Tables and chairs were clattering against the floor. Condiment bottles were shattering. If she was lucky, Stacy thought she might be able to just make a run for it without anyone noticing.

Then someone screamed, chilling Stacy to the bone and making her reconsider stepping foot outside the kitchen. It was a terrible scream, certainly not one that would be warranted from getting smacked with a broom. She hoped that Jennifer hadn't run someone through with the handle.

“Mercy of the gods!” cried Professor Goosewaddle. “What are you –”

A long continuous hiss cut him off, then thick white smoke began to pour into the kitchen. It smelled like a campfire and stung Stacy's eyes. This was the best opportunity she was going to get to escape unseen.

“Take care, guys,” she said to her new goblin friends. “And keep up the good work.”

Closing her eyes, Stacy consulted her mental map of the dining area layout. She was pretty confident she could make a beeline straight for the door. Head down and eyes closed, she grabbed the pot handle and ran into the dense white smoke.

The going was good until she got to what she estimated to be about the center of the room, where she tripped over something large, like a piece of furniture she hadn't accounted for. She landed hard on her knees and left elbow, but managed to keep her right arm up so the pot didn't spill.

The piece of furniture she'd tripped over grunted and groaned.

“That son of a bitch,” it said in a slightly familiar voice. “He bit my fucking –” Whatever he meant to follow that up with came out in a vomity splatter.

“Dave?” said Stacy.

“Hey!” cried Paul's voice from just outside the door as something crashed and splashed. It sounded like his mop bucket. The door slammed shut, silencing Paul and the rest of the world outside of the restaurant.

Stacy followed the direction Paul's voice had come from, walking more carefully now and waving her left arm in front of her to avoid any other obstacles.

“That's far enough,” said Jennifer. Her voice was coming from between Stacy and where she estimated the door to be, and Stacy felt hard plastic pressing against her sternum. A broom handle. “You're not going anywhere.”

With a loud electric whir, the smoke began to thin out. Jennifer was blocking the doorway, squinting fiercely at Stacy.

Stacy had every confidence that she could easily shove her way through, but she didn't want to get on Professor Goosewaddle's bad side, and she appreciated this girl's moxy, and the respect she had obviously earned from her goblin crew.

Beyond her, Paul sobbed as he sat up next to his spilled mop bucket. Its smelly greyish-brown former contents stewed in a puddle on the sidewalk.

“Listen, Jennifer,” she whispered just loud enough to be heard over the whir of whatever was running behind her. “I don't want to have to kick your ass, but my friend is having a medical emergency right now, and I need to get to him.”

Jennifer's steely glare softened as her gaze shifted to something behind Stacy. “Oh my god!”

Hoping Jennifer wasn't the sort to try to trick someone into turning around before whacking them in the back of the head with a broom, Stacy turned around.

Dave was passed out on the floor in a puddle vomit, next to another puddle of blood from his dripping four-fingered hand. A middle-aged police officer, his uniform soaked in even more blood than Dave had spilled on the floor, squeezed Dave's wrist with both hands just below the weird band of leopard fur.

“Somebody get a bandage or something,” said the officer. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

The loud whirring noise stopped as Professor Goosewaddle turned off the leaf blower he'd been using to suck up the smoke which had been billowing out of a cigar-sized stick on the floor.

“What is going on here?” he demanded.

The police officer scowled at Professor Goosewaddle. “This man needs medical attention at once, or else he's going to –”

“Wake up!” snapped Goosewaddle as he flung his wrist toward Dave. A spark of golden magic flew out and struck Dave in the crotch.

“FUCK!” cried Dave as he bolted upright.

Stacy gasped. “Professor Goosewaddle!”

Professor Goosewaddle shot her a curious glance. “I had to wake him up. He is the only one of us here with the power to stop the bleeding.” He turned to Dave. “Heal yourself, fool.”

Dave grimaced and rubbed his crotch with his good hand. “I heal me.” He nodded at the police officer, who then let go of his wrist.

Unfortunately, Dave's spell didn't grow him a new middle finger, but at least there was a fresh patch of healthy skin over the stump when he wiped the blood away.

“Stand down, Jennifer,” said Professor Goosewaddle as he slid his leaf blower into a bag that was much too small to hold it.

Jennifer obediently lowered her broom handle, and Stacy wondered if that was a sign that she was free to go. Goosewaddle answered that question with a flick of his wrist, slamming the door shut.

“Who are you?” he asked the police officer.

The officer stood up straight and answered in a formal tone. “My name is Douglas Williams. I'm a patrol officer in the Waveland Police Department.”

Professor Goosewaddle turned to Stacy. “And you?”

“I caught her in the kitchen,” said Jennifer. “She claims her name is Sally. She's another one of them.” She nodded down at Dave.

“How can you tell?” asked Stacy. There was no point in trying to hide it anymore. If she couldn't even fool this ordinary Arby's manager, she didn't want to risk lying to Professor Goosewaddle, who might have magical means of discerning whether or not she was telling the truth.

“Nobody from this weird-ass world is called Sally. They're all Lancelot or Stormblade or Foozgooble or some shit.”

That made sense. Stacy made a mental note to get a little more creative next time she had to lie about her identity.

“She's right. My name isn't Sally. It's Stacy.”

Jennifer shook her head. “You really went out of your way on that one.”

“Stacy?” said Professor Goosewaddle, peering hard at her face. “Are you...”

“Yes. I'm the one you met on Earth. I got sent here by one of those magic dice.”

“But you look so much more...” Professor Goosewaddle cupped his hands below his imaginary breasts, then thrust them down by his sides as his gaze shifted up to her face. “I like what you've done with your hair.”

“Thank you,” said Stacy, perhaps a little too curtly.

“Why did you try to deceive me? What business did you have in my kitchen?”

“I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't want to lie to you, but I heard we weren't welcome in your restaurant anymore.”

Professor Goosewaddle surveyed the scene of blood, vomit, broken furniture and lingering smoke. “I can't imagine why.”

“I had nowhere else to turn,” Stacy explained. “Cooper was bitten by a wererat. I needed to use your equipment to make an antidote.”

Officer Williams walked over to the window, pressed his hands against the glass and looked up and down the street outside, making Stacy even more anxious to go out and find Cooper before he got himself into trouble. “This is not Waveland. Where the hell are we?”

“This is Cardinia,” said Professor Goosewaddle. “Welcome.”

“And where the hell is Cardinia?”

“We tried to explain to you before,” said Dave. “We're in a fantasy game world.”

“With an Arby's?” Officer Williams whirled around, his gaze fixed on Professor Goosewaddle. “Wait a minute. I know who you are.”

“I apologize for not remembering,” said the professor. “Did we meet at one of the temples of the New God?”

“You're the Arby's Bandit, aren't you?”

Professor Goosewaddle frowned. “Am I?”

“The Arby's over in D'Iberville,” said the officer. “All of the equipment, furniture, inventory, the signs, even the toilets. They disappeared overnight without a trace or any sign of forced entry. They've been trying to crack that case for months. Their best lead was the couple who worked there who went missing at the same time, but nobody could fathom how they could have pulled it off or what they intended to do with it.”

“Couple?” said Jennifer. “Paul and I were never a couple. Are people saying that?”

Officer Williams's eyes widened as he stared at the name tag on Jennifer's shirt. “Are you... Jennifer Rodriguez?”

“That's right. Am I in some kind of trouble?”

“Listen,” said Stacy. “I hate to interrupt, but I really need to get this belladonna sludge out to Cooper so he doesn't turn into a rat monster.”

Professor Goosewaddle, who had been fascinated by the conversation between Jennifer and Officer Williams, gave Stacy a severe look.

“Listen here, young lady. No matter how dire your situation may seem, there is no excuse for barging into someone else's restaurant and demanding to use their equipment without permission.”

“You literally stole this entire place!” said Stacy. “Besides, I feel like you kind of owe me.”

Dave's face went pale as he shook his head at her.

Goosewaddle's face turned red. “I'll tell you the same thing I told that nine-fingered imbecile dwarf! I am grateful that you introduced me to your strange world, but I have paid my debt in full!”

Stacy glared right back at him. “I was referring to when you put a dent in my car, then trashed my boss's office with a giant scorpion.”

Professor Goosewaddle broke eye contact and shuffled his little feet. “Oh yes. I suppose that warrants the use of some kitchen equipment.” He nodded up at the pot in Stacy's hand. “Come here. Let me see what you've got there.”

Stacy walked over and held the pot down low enough for Professor Goosewaddle to look inside.

He gave it a sniff and frowned. “The leaf-to-berry ratio smells off, and it looks a bit runnier than ideal, but not a bad first try.”

“Will it cure Cooper's lycanthropy?”

Professor Goosewaddle shrugged. “Only the gods can say. But it certainly won't hurt his chances... even if it does hurt him.”

That last part cast a shadow of doubt on Stacy's hopefulness. “Could it kill him?”

Professor Goosewaddle smiled up at her reassuringly. “I certainly hope not.”

Stacy was less than reassured by that.

“Go on now,” said the professor. “Rescue your friend, and let us now call my debt to you paid in full. Are we agreed?” Stacy wasn't sure if he was addressing her, because he was looking at Jennifer.

Jennifer nodded, then backed away from the door and looked at Stacy expectantly. Professor Goosewaddle was now looking at her, too.

This didn't feel like a very full payment of debt, considering the irreparable damage he'd done to her future career if she ever got back home to pursue it. But Stacy knew as surely as Jennifer and Goosewaddle that they had her over a barrel. She didn't really have any choice.

She nodded. “Agreed.”

Jennifer smiled smugly at Professor Goosewaddle as Stacy opened the door and waved goodbye, then scowled down at Paul, still sobbing next to his spilled bucket.

Searching left and right, Stacy didn't see any sign of Cooper on the street. It wasn't a big street, and it wasn't very crowded right now. He should have been easy to spot even at a casual glance among the stylish and well-to-do patrons of the shops on this street which, with the obvious exception of the new Arby's, almost all dealt in magical wares.

She hoped he hadn't gotten into any trouble. She had been confident that Nabi would keep him in line. Aside from inciting the occasional mass-murder, she seemed to be a good influence on him overall.

Then again, maybe there was no Nabi. It wasn't the first time Stacy had entertained the possibility that Cooper might have snapped, inventing this person inside his axe to justify his sudden murderous impulses. But she'd always given him the benefit of the doubt, on account of him not having the mental facilities to spin that kind of lie.

Then again, if he was insane, then it wasn't a lie. He might believe in Nabi whether she was real or not. None of these speculations were helpful right now, though. Cooper was clearly not on this street, and the only thing Stacy needed to focus on was where the hell he'd gone.

“Dammit, Paul!” snapped Jennifer from behind her. “Stop crying and clean that shit up! Then get in here and mop up all this blood and vomit before the dinner rush starts.”

Chapter 35

Do not let them get you down. I can see who you are on the inside, where it counts. And you are a beautiful person.

“Thanks,” said Cooper as he gave the finger to a shopkeeper scowling at him through the window from inside his shop. “So my stomach and lungs and shit, they don't appear to be turning more rat-like?”

I was referring to your heart.

“That's all you've checked out so far? I guess that's good news. I'll take what I can get.”

I sense no evil within you at all. Truly, I believe your friend's fears to be unfounded.

“But what if they're not? What if I do suddenly turn evil against my will? What happens to us? Will you do like Stacy said and make me use you to chop my own face off?”

Of course not! Please calm yourself. You are worrying over nothing.

Window shopping sucked. It had sucked even when he had enough cash on him to buy a shitty slice of Sbarro pizza at the food court to comfort himself after checking out a bunch of shit that he couldn't afford, and when not everybody in the mall stared at him like he was a living pile of vomit.

Cooper thought back to the summer after high school, when he worked at a mall kiosk selling Electric Muscle Stimulators. Or rather, not selling them, because the few people who might be gullible enough to believe it actually worked were put off by the sales pitch, which not only involved heavily insinuating that the potential customer was a big fat-ass right to his or her face, but then requesting to strap electrodes to said fat asses in the middle of the goddamn mall.

Pizza delivery may not have been the most ambitious career path he might have taken in life, but holy shit did it ever feel like a step up from that first job.

Not wanting to think about it anymore, he steered back to the less depressing topic of possibly turning into a rat monster.

“Don't pretend you aren't worried, too,” he said to Nabi as he passed a shop without even bothering to look in the window. “Why else would you be cruising around in my organs looking for evil?”

I am not cruising around your – Never mind. Cooper, you are a dear friend to me. You cannot turn evil. I simply will not allow it.

“But what if it's not up to you? What if the curse is too strong? Just for the sake of argument, what if I do turn evil?”

In that case, would you not want me to chop your face off?

Her voice in his head sounded like she felt that should be genuinely comforting.

“Fuck no! Just abandon me. Make me give you to another paladin or some shit. I don't want you to fucking kill me.”

But think about what harm you might do to those you now love. A true friend would kill you before allowing that to happen.

Cooper was disturbed to find that he actually thought she was making some good points. “You've got some fucked up logic, Nabi. Why don't we put a pin in this until we know whether or not this shit Stacy's working on is going to – What the fuck?”

As Cooper was about to pass by Arby's for the fourth or fifth time, a chubby human guy was wheeling a modern-looking plastic yellow bucket from around the corner of Arby's. It was just like the bucket Cooper used when he worked the closing shift at Papa Joe's. Just as he was approaching the entrance, white smoke started billowing out of the doorway. The mop bucket jerked over sideways like some invisible asshole had just tripped over it. Murky brown water spilled out onto the sidewalk and flowed into the street.

“Hey!” cried the fat guy as he fell to the ground like he'd just been tackled.

“Son of a bitch!” said a voice Cooper knew all too well. “Watch where the fuck you're going, shithead!”

“Tim?” said Cooper before he thought better of it.

“Shit!” said a seemingly empty space with Tim's voice. Wet halfling footprints fled in the opposite direction.

Cooper strapped Nabi to his back. “No matter what happens, we're not killing this one.”

Fine.

Cooper could almost feel an eye roll in Nabi's tone.

He chased the footprints, which were already starting to fade. “Come on, man. I just want to help you!”

Cooper was a lot faster than Tim, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to catch him before the footprints dried up completely.

The other people on the street gave him a wide berth. He could only imagine how ridiculous he looked to them, a filthy half-orc shouting at nothing as he chased it down the street.

Use the Decanter of Endless Water.

“I appreciate your advice, but I don't think a shower is going to make any difference right now.”

Douse your quarry with water before its footprints vanish completely.

“Oh,” said Cooper as he pulled the silver decanter out of his bag. “That's a much better idea.” He took aim at the barely-visible footprints ten yards ahead of him. “Geyser!”

“Oomph!” said an amorphous watery form as it fell forward. “Dammit, Cooper! Fuck off!”

Cooper slowed to a jog and deactivated the Decanter of Endless Water as he approached cautiously. “Take it easy, Tim. I just want to help you.”

“I'm doing pretty good on my own, thanks,” said Tim, gradually disappearing again as the water dripped off him. “I need your help like I need a second asshole.” The sound of a cocking crossbow stopped Cooper in his tracks. “Stay where you are.”

Cooper noted that while Tim wasn't trying to flee again, he did appear to be squirming around quite a bit, like he was hastily trying to do something that Cooper couldn't figure out.

He's up to something. You have to stop him.

“Dude, chill the fuck out. I'm not going to hurt you.”

“You're goddamn right you're not going to hurt me,” said Tim. “Because if you take one more fucking step toward me, I'm going to shoot your stupid ugly ass.”

At least hit him with the water again.

“Fine,” said Cooper. “Geyser.”

An almost entirely visible water-cast of Tim rolled backward with both hands around one of his ankles. His crossbow slid away, becoming properly visible now that slid out of his possession, as did a brown leather boot. Tim scrambled after the boot.

He chose the boot over his weapon. You cannot allow him to get it!

Cooper didn't understand why Nabi was so put off by Tim's choice of footwear, but he supposed there was no harm in tackling him. “This is for your own good,” he said as he lunged at Tim, who was hurriedly trying to shove his invisible foot into his visible boot.

Tackling an invisible person was tricky, and Cooper wasn't sure which parts of Tim he was holding on to.

“Get the fuck off me!” said Tim, becoming fully visible as he kneed Cooper in the nuts.

Cooper doubled over in pain and threw up. Tim squirmed out from under him, jumped on his back, and wrapped his elbow tightly around his neck. Cooper stopped breathing when he felt the sharp blade of a dagger just below his eye.

“Come on, man. It's me, Cooper. We've been best friends since the third fucking grade.”

“Bullshit,” said Tim. “You ditched me on the road.”

“We ditched each other. I had to go help our other friends. You just went to get shitfaced.”

“You didn't stand up for me when Frank kicked me out of the Whore's Head.”

“I feel bad about that,” said Cooper. “But to be fair, you were being a total asshole.”

“Did you take a shit in my scroll tube?”

Cooper sighed. “Yeah. Frank said that was the only way he'd send it to you, and I was still pretty pissed. But come on. That's not something to get so worked up over.”

“No?” said Tim. “How about when you hunted me down like a dog with Tony the Elf? Am I overreacting to that too?”

“I wasn't going to let them hurt you. We just needed to get back Frank's dice.”

“I never had the fucking dice! That shithead drow who was trying to fuck my sister stole them.”

“We know that now. Katherine got him resurrected, so everything's cool.”

“She did what? How big was that dick that she went so far out of her way to bring it back to life?”

“Dude,” said Cooper. “That's no way to talk about your sister, especially since she thought she was getting you resurrected.”

Tim sighed. “The whole point of faking my death was to keep you assholes out of my hair while I fixed everything.”

“What the fuck do you think you're fixing? You've done nothing but make things worse ever since you ditched me on that fucking road.”

“Listen, Cooper,” said Tim. “You're a goddamn moron. I've got genius level Intelligence, so maybe you should leave the thinking to me. I need you to stay the fuck out of my way until I can make things right. If you come after me again, I'll have no choice but to...”

“To what?” Cooper challenged him to finish his sentence. “Kill me?”

“Just do us both a favor and don't put me in a position where I have to make that choice.”

“Fuck you.”

Tim slid the blade back away from Cooper's eye. “Tell the others to keep their distance. When I've got all the pieces in place, I'll come for you.”

“Listen, man. We all know you didn't take the dice. If you just come back with me, we can all work together and –”

“Goodbye, Cooper,” said Tim. “Fertile Desert.”

*

The intensity of the midday sun dimmed suddenly, as if Cooper had just jumped six hours either forward or backward in time. He felt a chill in the air and cool sand under his hands and knees.

“What the fuck?” said Tim, pushing himself backwards away from Cooper. “Why are you here? I specifically came to the most isolated place I know so I could be alone to think.”

Cooper rolled onto his back and sat up to face Tim. “Fuck if I know. You're the one with genius level Intelligence.”

Tim laughed and shook his head. “I had you in a headlock. The game must have counted you as one of my possessions when I teleported.”

“Well hop on and put me in another one. I need to get back to Arby's.”

“You're jonesing for curly fries that bad?”

“No,” said Cooper. “Well, kinda, now that you mention it. But I got bit on the ass by a wererat while we were looking for you. Stacy's brewing me up some kind of antidote so I don't turn.”

Tim's eyes lit up in a way that Cooper couldn't remember seeing for a long time. “Are you fucking serious?”

Cooper frowned, sorry to have to break the bad news to him. “Don't get your hopes up, dude. I don't think it works after you've already turned.”

“Who gives a shit about that?” said Tim, his mirth undeterred. “Don't you see? We're going to be best friends again.”

“Come on, man. We never weren't best friends. That's the whole reason I was trying to track you down in the first place.”

“But now we'll be on the same team, working together.”

“What are you talking about?”

Nabi sighed in Cooper's head. He's going to leave you here in the desert until you turn.

That couldn't be true. Tim wouldn't –

“I'm going to leave you here in the desert until you turn.”

“What? No!” said Cooper. “Don't fucking do that!” He stood up and pretended he wasn't about to tackle Tim again.

“Will you relax?” Tim slipped his ring off his finger then put it back on and promptly turned invisible. “Being a shape-shifter is awesome. You get Damage Reduction, you scare the shit out of people, you get to turn into a giant rat whenever you want.”

“I don't want to turn into a giant fucking rat!” said Cooper, then pounced on the spot where Tim was standing. All he got for his effort was a kicked-up spray of sand in his face. He sat up and tried to find Tim's footprints to see where he'd gone.

Keep him talking.

“And I don't want to turn evil.”

“There it is.” Tim's voice was coming from behind Cooper. “It's not what you think, Cooper. Alignment is a joke in this game. Good and Evil are about as meaningful as sports teams here. They're just tags that make you susceptible to magic that targets them. Changing your alignment isn't going to change who you are.”

He is too far away to reach before he can teleport away. Your only hope is to hit him with the Decanter of Endless Water. Perhaps engage him with a question first to distract him.

Cooper nodded. “Where'd you get those new shoes, motherfucker!” He whirled around and aimed the decanter at an empty patch of sand. “Geyser!”

There was nothing at first, and Cooper feared he had misjudged Tim's location. Then the water began to betray a form. Cooper kept the stream as steady as he could as he lunged toward it. Tim's rib cage cracked and collapsed in his overzealous embrace. He could feel his friends gooey insides all over his arms and chest.

“SHIT!” cried Cooper. “Tim! I'm sorry! I... What the fuck?”

Deactivating the Decanter of Endless Water, Cooper discovered that he had not, in fact, crushed Tim to death, but rather a large orange pumpkin that had sprouted out of the Fertile Desert sand. He was sitting in a tangle of lush green pumpkin vines that were now beginning to wither.

Not exactly what I had in mind.

“I stole them off an acquaintance who was trying to doublecross me after I shot him point blank in the face,” said Tim from about ten yards away. “Just like I bit Dave's finger off and stole his ring when he doublecrossed me. Notice a pattern here?”

He is getting impatient. He won't give you many more opportunities. Take your time and wait until you are certain of his location.

“You said a new alignment wouldn't change you,” said Cooper. “Those don't sound like the sort of things you would have done before you turned.”

Tim laughed. “What, you mean like killing a guy? I seem to recall an instance of me doing just that. It caused a bit of a tizzy at the Whore's Head, if I recall correctly.”

Cooper had a rough idea of Tim's general direction, but didn't feel confident enough yet to take another shot at him.

“That was a heat-of-the-moment thing, and you were drunk. I'm not saying that excuses it, but it was a hell of a lot different than a cold-blooded fucking execution. Besides, what about Dave?”

“Oh please,” said Tim. “Dave sucks. He's always sucked. You know that. You've never liked him.”

“I've never bitten his fucking finger off!”

“So maybe alignment changes you a little, but it's for the better. I've got, like, zero inhibitions now.”

Cooper snorted. “Inhibitions have never been that big an obstacle for me.”

“You say that, but take a look at what you've accomplished in life. You're in your late thirties and still delivering pizza, for fuck's sake.”

“Well excuse me for not being able to climb the high ivory walls of the Chicken Hut, Mr. Fortune 500.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about,” said Tim. “I'm not that same loser anymore. Life can't push me around the way it used to. This is the new and improved Tim. Now when life tries to fuck me out of my own game, I shoot it in the fucking face. When life thinks it can tell me what to do without repercussions, I bite its fucking finger off. I've never felt so optimistic about the future.”

“What are you so fucking optimistic about?” said Cooper. “You've alienated yourself from all the people who care about you. Hell, you even alienated yourself from your own fucking rat club.”

“So I fucked up. It happens. The old Tim would use that as an excuse to crawl into a bottle and feel sorry for himself, but the new Tim learns from his mistakes.”

Cooper frowned. “I honestly can't say I see that as what's happening here.”

“The gun-running plan is still solid. I've got the boots and I've got the business model down. All I need now is the muscle, someone strong and loyal who I know isn't going to betray me.”

“Well, you'd better look elsewhere,” said Cooper. “Because I'm going to betray the fuck out of you.”

Tim laughed. “I know you will, buddy. Your Good alignment has you thinking you're acting in the best interest of your friends, but you're too dumb to see the bigger picture. That's why I need you to turn. Once you're Evil and I lay out my plan for you, your horse blinders will fall away and you'll be super stoked to be a part of it.”

That was exactly what Cooper was afraid of.

“I don't want to be super stoked to be a part of your shitty plan.”

Tim sighed. “I understand that. But you will want it after you... You know what? We're arguing in circles now. In a couple of weeks, you'll see that I was right. Sorry you're going to have to live on a vegan diet until then, but the Decanter of Endless Water should keep you alive at least. I'll treat you to a big steak dinner after the next full moon.”

A vegan diet was a horror that Cooper hadn't even considered. “Tim, wait!” Cooper had been so wrapped up in their conversation that he forgot he was trying to pinpoint Tim's location.

“I've missed you, Cooper. I can't wait to have you ba–”

“GEYSER!” shouted Cooper. Water gushed out of the decanter, bringing forth zucchinis and eggplants, watermelons, cabbages, and some kind of fucked-up blue gourds, but showing no trace of Tim.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he deactivated the decanter. “My tongue slipped.” Tim still seemed to value their friendship. Maybe he could use that to talk some sense into him. “I missed you too, man. I want us back the way we used to be. Who gives a shit that we were both slackers? We were best friends.”

He waited for an answer, but the desert was silent.

“Tim?”

I am sorry, Cooper. Your friend has abandoned you.

Cooper sighed. “I know.”

Chapter 36

“Katherine?” called Tony the Elf's voice from outside. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” Katherine shouted back. “I found Tanner. He's okay.”

“Oh. That's great.” Tony the Elf sounded a little less excited by the news than Katherine thought was appropriate.

Katherine examined the debris, looking for the gap she'd entered through. “Tony the Elf and I moved one of these beams so I could get down here. If we find the gap, I can stand on your shoulders and –”

SNAP!

Tanner yanked Katherine back by the arm as the whole pile of debris shifted above her.

“Are you okay?” asked Tony the Elf.

“We're fine,” said Katherine.

“It's been doing that since you went down there. I don't know how we're going to get you out.” If Katherine was reading his tone right, he sounded just a little bit smug. “I told you this was going to happen.”

“Congratulations, Nostradamus. Now could you go back to the beach and get some people to help you move some of this shit out of the way?”

“That will take far too long,” said Tanner. “Why not just burn it down?”

Tony the Elf laughed. “That's brilliant. Are you sure you're an NPC?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind,” said Katherine. “It's just nerd talk.” She peered up at the debris pile. “I like Tanner's idea.”

Tony the Elf sighed. “Of course you do.”

“Seriously. That pile is unstable. If you try to move it, somebody might get hurt. If we let it burn until it collapses, then it will stabilize itself. We can douse the flames and use whatever's left to build a ladder or something for easier access.”

Tanner nodded approvingly. “Good idea. I hadn't thought about that.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” said Tony the Elf. “I've got a torch and some lamp oil, but I really don't like the idea of –”

“Excellent,” said Tanner. “That will make things much easier. If you don't mind, would you please light the torch and drop it down here before applying the oil? I'd prefer to get the fire started from the bottom.”

“Right away, sir. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Perhaps some smaller logs and sticks?” Either Tanner wasn't picking up on Tony the Elf's sarcasm, or he was being intentionally obtuse. “It is rather cold and damp down here. A small secondary fire would be –”

“Just send down the torch,” said Katherine.

“Fine,” grumbled Tony the Elf. “Give me a minute to get it lit.”

Katherine watched with amusement at the impatience in Tanner's face while they listened to the scraping sounds from Tony the Elf's flint and steel. She knew he was itching to tell him to just send those down with the torch so he could light it himself, but he swallowed his frustration when she shook her head at him.

“Okay, I've got it,” Tony the Elf finally said. “Are you ready?”

“No, please. We were just getting comfortable.” If Tanner didn't get sarcasm a few minutes ago, he was picking it up at an impressive rate.

“Do you want the torch or not?”

Tanner tread carefully under the unstable debris pile, then looked up. “I am ready.”

The flaming end of the torch poked through a small gap, then flipped over as it fell. Tanner caught it by the shaft, then hurried back to join Katherine in the tunnel. Long, dark shadows danced and lurched on the walls, then relaxed as the torch's flame steadied.

Katherine rubbed her hands next to the torch fire. “Fuck, that feels good.”

“Would you kindly ask him to sprinkle his lamp oil on the pile now?” Tanner whispered to her.

It seemed like an odd request, considering that he'd demonstrated himself as being quite capable of communicating with Tony the Elf. She didn't mind relaying his instructions, but she was curious.

“Why don't you ask him yourself?”

“He grows more impatient with me with every command I give him. I do not wish to stretch his patience too thin. I feel he would be much more receptive taking the order from his captain.”

That sounded fair enough to Katherine, though she'd been enjoying their interactions.

“Go ahead and sprinkle your lamp oil on the wood now,” she called up to Tony the Elf.

“You got it,” he called back, his tone sounding much more eager to please.

Katherine and Tanner enjoyed what little warmth the torch fire provided while they waited for Tony the Elf to apply his oil.

Tanner's gaze followed a single drop of oil as it fell from the debris pile to the ground below. “Excellent. We'll give that a moment to soak into the wood, then it should get a bit warmer in here.”

That was welcome news to Katherine. She was tempted to ask Tanner to turn around so that she could use the Bag of Holding to extract all the moisture out of her clothes, but she had no doubt that it would only lead to the debris pile collapsing prematurely, leaving her standing bare-ass naked next to Tanner while Tony the Elf gawked at them. She'd suffer a soggy ass for now and dry out the old-fashioned way.

“Are you originally from Cardinia?” Katherine asked in an effort to pass the time.

Tanner shrugged. “Who knows? The drow are a proud race who value greatly the purity of their bloodline, almost as much as non-drow races fear and revile any apparent trace of drow blood. Half-breeds like me seldom live to see a full cycle of the moon. In the entirety of my life so far, I've only run into a small handful of my kind.”

Katherine frowned. “That's so sad.”

“That all depends on how you look at it.” Tanner smiled. “I prefer to see myself as fortunate to have beaten those odds. No doubt my blessed mother, whoever she was, felt she was doing me a great kindness by selling me into slavery rather than leaving me in the wilderness to be devoured by wolves.”

“She sold you into slavery as a baby?”

“I can only assume so. My earliest memories – I must have been about four or five years old – were of giant armored men swooping in on horseback to slaughter our masters at the elzonite quarry where we lived and worked.”

“That must have been terrifying for a five-year-old, but at least you were free.”

Tanner laughed. “Far from it. The men on horseback were rival slavers, and much less pleasant to work for. Not a thing changed for us, except that the next day's work was much more brutal, especially after having our sleep interrupted.”

“I'm really sorry to hear that,” said Katherine. “I always thought my life was shitty, working with my brother at the Chicken Hut, with nothing on the horizon to look forward to.”

“There's always something to look forward to if you envision the life you want and set realistic goals toward achieving it.”

Katherine smirked at him. He was beginning to sound like a corny motivational speaker. “And you had this insight as a five-year-old quarry slave?”

“By the gods no,” said Tanner. “I acted upon only what was necessary to keep me alive. The new masters had different policies than our old ones. Instead of shouting at us and beating us, they would weigh the elzonite crystals we produced at the end of each day. Whoever had produced the least, they fed to their pack of dire wolves.”

Katherine gasped. “That's horrible!”

“To their credit, we all produced significantly more elzonite crystals than we had under the old way of doing things.”

“But that doesn't make any sense. What's the point of killing one of your own slaves every day? Sooner or later, they're going to run out.”

“When the numbers get too low, they take their most motivated workers and raid a new slave camp to replenish their numbers. It was a more effective system than it seems at first. Those who had survived several such purges began to take pride in it. Continuing to be counted among the most elite slaves became the life goal they strived for. Often times I've seen that it's possible to wield full control over weak-minded men simply by telling them they are in a class above others.”

“I hate to keep coming back to this,” said Katherine. “But as a five-year-old boy, how did you manage to compete with these elite slaves?”

“I didn't have to compete with them,” said Tanner. “At least, not at first. I simply had to compete with the weakest, oldest, and laziest. As those thinned out, I started to apply my imagination toward more efficient means of quarrying crystals rather than relying entirely on brute labor. While others slept away their exhaustion during their off hours, I devoted a part of every night to developing new methods and tools to make the process more efficient and less labor intensive. I built myself a small box with a sieve at the bottom with which I could sift through the dirt that stronger men had loosened and find elzonite crystals they had missed.”

Katherine smiled. “That was very clever of you.”

“The master assigned to my division thought so as well. He sent for me late one night. When I arrived at his tent, he was slobbering drunk. I feared that he wanted to use me to satisfy his twisted carnal fetishes.”

“That would have been my first assumption too,” said Katherine. “But instead, he wanted to discuss your invention, right?” She hoped she was right.

“Not instead of. In addition to.”

“Oh.” Katherine wasn't sure she wanted to hear the rest of this story, but if he wanted to get it off his chest, she owed it to him to listen. “So what did you do?”

“I stabbed him in the throat with a concealed dagger I'd made from an elzonite crystal, set fire to his tent, and rode off on his horse in the ensuing chaos.”

“That's...” Katherine wasn't exactly sure what to say. “...incredible.”

Tanner shrugged. “Elzonite crystals are very sharp.” He looked up at the debris. “That has probably had enough time to soak now. Ready?”

Katherine nodded.

Tanner swung the torch down, then back up again, releasing it up toward the debris, then grabbed Katherine's arm to pull her back.

WOOSH!

A rush of wind from behind threatened to push Katherine directly under the massive eruption of heat and light emanating from the suddenly flaming debris pile.

“YAAAAA!” cried Tony the Elf from the other side, his voice faint through the roar of flames.

“Tony the Elf?” Katherine called out to him.

“What the fuck?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but what the fuck?”

“How much lamp oil did you use?” Tanner shouted.

“I don't know! Whatever I had! Five or six vials, maybe!”

“One would have been suffici–”

CRACK!

“Watch out!” cried Katherine, shoving Tanner hard in the chest to avoid the flaming debris pile as it came crashing down into the mine.

Tanner sat up and rubbed his chest where Katherine had shoved him. “Thank you for that.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“The way is clear now. We should try to douse the flames before the wood is too compromised.” He scooped up a handful of wet mud and flung it into the fire. It was difficult to tell if it had any effect at all.

Katherine enjoyed the warmth of the fire while she watched Tanner fling fistful after fistful of mud ineffectively into it. When she turned around to dry her backside, she saw that his facade of calm indifference was beginning to crack.

“Something wrong?” she asked as innocently as she could fake.

“This was your idea. I thought you might want to help.”

“I was going to. I just wanted to warm up a bit first.” Satisfied that she'd successfully gotten under his skin, Katherine took out her Bag of Holding and bunched the mouth of it around one finger. “Water!” she said, then immediately pulled her finger out and grabbed hold of the mouth with both hands as muddy water gushed out of it. She ran the stream up and down the length of each log until all the flames were doused.

“That was... incredible,” said Tanner.

Katherine smiled at him. “I applied my imagination rather than rely entirely upon brute labor.”

While the smoke dissipated, Tanner chopped footholds into the charred exterior of one of the larger logs which had fallen to a leaning position that went all the way up to the mine shaft entrance, and Katherine threw what smaller pieces she could lift into the room with the freshly buried corpses.

When he was finished, Tanner stood back to admire his handiwork. “That should facilitate our way in and out.”

Katherine nodded. “We can haul one of these other big-ass logs to that chamber. We'll come back later with a rope from the ship and tie it to the log so we can get up and down while we drain the water out.”

When she climbed back up to the surface, Tony the Elf took her wrist to assist her with the last few steps. She was grateful for the warmth of natural sunlight on her body, but she would have been equally grateful for a heavy downpour of rain... and maybe a bar of soap to go with it.

Tony the Elf also assisted Tanner out of the mine, which Katherine thought was sweet.

“Welcome back,” he said. “I wasn't sure I'd see you again.”

“Growing up half-drow isn't easy,” said Tanner. “The few who manage to survive tend to be extremely difficult to get rid of.”

Tony the Elf smiled. “So I've noticed.” He turned to Katherine. “We've still got plenty of daylight. Do you want to keep excavating?”

“Fuck no,” said Katherine. “That's enough for one day. Let's head back to the beach and see if the others have managed to get anything done.”

Chapter 37

“Son of a fuckin' whore!” said Denise as she staggered into their room, slamming the door against the wall. She was wet and shivering “Who's fucking idea was it to get a room on the top floor?”

Randy sat up and yawned. The sky was grey and rainy outside the open door, but it was light out. It must have been well into the morning, and it appeared as though Denise's drugs had worn off.

“That was Captain Longfellow's idea. He thought it might encourage you to spend more time in your room, and not cause as much of a ruckus as you done last time.”

“Well Captain Longfellow can suck my missing dick. A woman in my condition has to piss more frequently than normal. I had to climb up and down them goddamn ladders three times last night.”

“Can you shut her up?” asked Jay from under his threadbare wool blanket. “I didn't sleep well, and all this rocking has got me feeling one whiff of fish away from puking my guts out.”

Randy had to admit he could feel a lot more sway up in the top tier than he'd felt down near the deck, but he didn't have even a hint of motion sickness.

“There ain't so many people on board this time as there was on our last trip,” he said. “I'll have a talk with the captain and see if we can move down. But Denise, that'll mean I gotta promise him you'll behave yourself.”

“'The fuck are you even talking about? I ain't causin' no ruckus.”

“I'm talking about how you throw yourself at every man you see.”

“Don't you slut shame me, Randy. I'm a consensual adult.”

“And about how you went around trying to get raped last time.”

Denise folded her arms. “Oh sure, blame the victim.”

Jay pulled the covers down to frown at Randy. “That is pretty low, man. I thought you were cool, but a man needs to be held accountable for his actions.”

“It weren't like that,” said Randy. “She was literally tryin' to –”

“People like you are why more women don't come forward after the fact.”

“That's right,” said Denise.

“No it ain't, and you know it. I nearly got killed after I pulled that feller off you.” Randy got up from his cot and walked out to take his morning pee. “I can see you ain't gonna make no effort to behave yourself, so I can't in good faith make any such promises to the captain.”

“Oh come on, Randy,” pleaded Denise from above as Randy climbed down the ladder. “Show a little fuckin' compassion, would you? I'm suffering up here. Don't do it for me, Randy. Do it for my ba–”

BLEGGGGHHHH!

Warm sour-smelling liquid splattered all over Randy's head and shoulders, then ran down his back and chest. He wiped vomit off his face to glare up at Denise.

“I'm sorry, Randy,” she said with tears in her eyes and puke in her beard. “I swear to God I ain't meant to do that. It's the morning sickness.”

Randy said nothing as he climbed the rest of the way down. He was grateful at least for the rain to help cleanse Denise's beer, stomach acid, and liquefied chicken off him.

The few passengers with fishing lines in the water didn't spare him a second glance as he scooted past them. Either seeing a man drenched in vomit was commonplace among seafaring folk, or it was still to early in the morning to care about such trivial matters.

Whether or not he decided to ask for a room change, Randy had another matter to discuss with Captain Longfellow. He needed to know how long this trip was going to take so that he could plan out how he was going to ration the additional three vials of sedative he'd acquired at the Happy Cock. It was real tempting to give one to Denise as soon as he woke up, but if they were going to be at sea for a week, it made sense to break up the headache a bit.

Instead of finding Captain Longfellow at the rear of the ship, he spotted Alexei chatting with another member of the crew. This was another headache Randy would have preferred to avoid, but he really had to pee.

He could have peed off the side, but the rear was the preferred part of the ship to pee from. Less pee got caught in the wind and ended up on the deck that way. Now was as good a time as any to get this over with anyway. It was a good opportunity to show there weren't no hard feeling between them.

“Good morning, Alexei,” he said as he climbed up on the ship's rear wall and pulled his peter out, making sure to keep it faced away from them.

“Good day, Randy,” said Alexei. It wasn't the friendliest greeting Randy had ever heard, but at least it wasn't openly hostile. Still, it made Randy's bladder tense up. An already awkward situation was even more awkward now that Randy was standing there with his wiener in his hand unable to pee. He hoped a bit of conversation unrelated to their relationship might help him relax, and he might even be able to get the information he was looking for without having to bother the captain.

“Say, I was wondering if you knew how long this trip is supposed to take.”

“Speaking of long, this is my lover, Linnus.” Alexei giggled at his own sad joke.

Randy turned his head back while keeping his pecker pointed out to sea. “Pleased to meet you. I'm Randy.”

“How do you do?” said Linnus, looking as uncomfortable as Randy felt.

His question still completely unanswered, he nudged it a little more. “So, like, three days? A week, maybe?”

Alexei sniffed the air and grimaced. “What is that putrid odor?” Alexei asked Linnus. “It smells like vomit. Come, Linnus. Let us continue this conversation in my quarters where we can get out of these wet clothes.”

When they were gone, Randy let out a long sigh of relief and a steamy stream of urine as his bladder relaxed.

It started raining harder, and Randy decided to make the best of it by taking a stroll around the deck while nature washed the rest of Denise's vomit off him. When he'd done a complete lap around the ship without finding Captain Longfellow, he decided to seek him out in the captain's quarters, in the tier above the one their room was in. He climbed up the other side of the ship to avoid getting distracted or vomited on by Denise.

When he reached the top tier, Randy held onto the railing as he inched his way along the narrow platform to the captain's door. The cloudy sky gave no indication as to whether or not it was too early to knock on someone's door, but he didn't know what hours Captain Longfellow generally kept anyway. He knocked.

“Whoever be knocking on me door at this early hour must feel he has one too many hands.”

Randy supposed it wouldn't have hurt to have waited another hour or two before knocking. He was about to make his way back to the ladder when the captain's door swung open.

Captain Longfellow stood in the doorway wearing only his captain's hat and a black robe, open in front. He was in remarkable shape for a man his age. Or else his weathered face made him look older than he actually was. His chest and abdomen were covered in tattoos of dragons, skulls, large-breasted mermaids and well-endowed male humanoid creatures. None of them were especially well-drawn, and some of them looked to have been applied on stormy seas. There were also a number of tick marks, inked wherever there was free space, like you might find on a prison wall. Randy wasn't sure what the captain was keeping track of, but he sure seemed to have done a lot of it.

Captain Longfellow's longfellow, hanging between his legs like a pendulum, was not quite as impressive as the ones inked on his skin, but then he wouldn't be able to walk if it was. By realistic standards, it was an impressive specimen.

“Have ye something to say to me?” the captain asked Randy. “Or did ye climb all the way up here to gaze upon me mainmast?”

Randy looked away, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks. “I'm sorry, Captain. You caught me off guard. I weren't expecting you to be so...” He wished he hadn't begun this sentence.

“Limp?” asked Captain Longfellow. “Ye caught me just after me morning rubdown. I shall require at least ten minutes before me weapon be ready to fire off it's next load. Yer free to come in and wait if ye like.”

“That actually ain't what I'm here for,” said Randy, hoping again that he wasn't being rude.

“Well come in out of the rain anyway, ye cursed fool. And mind ye step. There's like to be a slippery spot around here somewhere.”

Randy stepped past him, careful not to brush against his wiener or look too closely at the floor for whatever might be responsible for the slippery spot. “Thank you, Captain. That's awful kind of you.”

“Have a seat,” said the captain. “Lord Shitflinger! Two cups, please.” He fell into the biggest chair at the far end of the table that took up most of the space in the rectangular room, then produced a glass bottle from underneath. It was half full of bright green liquid and capped with a silver skull.

“Thank you,” said Randy, sitting two chairs away, far enough to keep a bit of distance between himself and the captain's junk, but close enough so that the ship's mainmast, which penetrated the floor, ceiling, and table, wasn't between them. “But it's a little early in the day for me, I reckon.”

“Throbbing manatee cock!” he responded, filling the two cups in the swaying cabin as steadily as if they sat upon a bar on solid ground. “It will wash the taste of yer sister's testicles out of ye mouth.” When the pouring was done, he slid one cup Randy's way. It stopped just short of his waiting hand without a drop sloshing over the side.

“Thank you,” said Randy again, not wanting to further offend. “That's mighty generous of you.” He took a sip to be polite, then coughed like he'd just poured burning gasoline into his mouth. If he had a sister, and she had testicles, and he had for whatever reason been tasting them, he had no doubt that this would indeed have washed the taste from his mouth.

Captain Longfellow laughed, then poured the entire contents of his cup down his throat, barely wincing as he slammed the cup back down on the table.

“Ye drink like ye've just been weaned from yer dear mother's titty.”

Randy got his coughing under control. “I ain't what you'd call a heavy drinker.” He took another small sip, just to demonstrate that he was capable. It was almost as horrible as the first, but being prepared for it kept him from having another coughing fit.

Captain Longfellow poured himself another cup. “So to what do I owe the honor of ye gracing me cabin with yer divine presence at the arse crack of dawn, oh mighty paladin of the New God?”

“I was hoping you could tell me how long a journey this would be.”

“No more than five days,” said the captain. “Mayhap four if the gods blow upon our backsides. What be yer hurry?” He leaned in and narrowed his eyes at Randy. “What know ye about the strangeness that be brewing in the Slavelands?”

“I don't know nothin' about no slave lands. Where's that?”

“Mercy of the gods, lad. I could insert meself in yer left ear and squirt me seed from yer right without fear of soiling me member with brain matter.”

“I'm sorry I asked.” Randy took a slightly larger sip from his drink, not wanting to insult his host, but hoping to lessen the amount of time he had to sit there and take his abuse.

“Do ye truly know nothing of the place ye asked me to take ye?”

Randy didn't see any harm in telling the captain what little information he was privy to, and now thought it might do them some good to find out whatever the captain was willing to volunteer.

“All I know is that our companion, Jay, turned up at the inn we was staying at and said he just escaped from this place called Hollin. He mentioned some strange things going on there which we felt we should investigate.”

“Aye. What sort of strange things?”

“I ain't exactly sure. Something of a musical nature, I reckon.”

“Musical?” said Captain Longfellow. “I hear sailors speak of civil unrest and slave revolts, and ye tell me tales of a handful of dandies blowing upon each other's skin flutes!”

“I don't believe I made any such reference.” Randy picked up his drink to sip again, then set it back down, determined to get something useful out of the captain. “Tell me about these slave lands. Are we headed to some kind of cotton plantation or something?”

“The Slavelands be a loose alliance of cities on the northern coast of the Barovian subcontinent. Beholden to no kingdom, they flaunt their wicked trade in the face of civilized men.”

“Slavery,” said Randy, just to be sure he was keeping up.

“Aye, slavery.”

“If civilized men is so put off by the slave trade, why don't none of these kingdoms go put a stop to it?”

Captain Longfellow laughed. “Then that kingdom would assume responsibility for governing the gods-forsaken blights of barren land, never mind that there be coin to gain in such trade without overtly getting yer hands dirty. I daresay most of their stock comes from kingdoms shipping away their undesirables.”

“I don't understand. How can they sell people to slavers without overtly gettin' their hands dirty? That sounds about as overt as you can get.”

“Get the cocks out of yer ears, lad. Who said anything about selling? No king would dare sell a man into slavery. The Treaty of Al'Navar expressly forbids such a practice. But there be no law forbidding the hiring of wardens to keep a kingdom's prisoners fed, housed, and clothed until such a time when they be deemed fit to rejoin society.”

Randy was beginning to see where Captain Longfellow was going with this. “So they ain't selling folks into slavery. They're actually paying the slavers to take them into slavery?”

“Ye catch on quickly.”

“In a way, that's almost worse than selling them.”

“It be a far cheaper price to pay than maintaining the old dungeons. The Eastern Kingdoms have flourished for centuries with the coin they've saved, and the Western Kingdoms have started to come around in the past few decades.”

“That's terrible,” said Randy.

Captain Longfellow swallowed a gulp from his drink. “It be the way of this world, lad.”

“Surely the people must know about this.”

“The people?” Captain Longfellow laughed. “The people give not a puddle of festering cat piss beyond what tasks they must do to fill their bellies and those of their sons and daughters. The promise of a better life through hard work and allegiance to a lord's banner, there be yer real slavery.” He emptied the rest of his cup down his throat, then filled it again.

While Randy was truly interested in the captain's political commentary, he tried to think of how he might steer the conversation back to his more immediate concerns, but he was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

“Mercy of the gods,” grumbled Captain Longfellow as he stood up to answer the door. “I've got but only one cock to go 'round!” He swung the door open.

Alexei's gaze stayed fixed on the captain's exposed junk for a second, then rose to his face. “Captain Longfellow! I –” He shifted focus to Randy and narrowed his eyes. “Hello, Randy.”

“Good morning, Alexei,” said Randy as friendly as he could.

“Did ye have matters of more import than ogling me guest, Alexei?” asked the captain. “Or need ye a reminder of how dearly I value me cabin time?”

The captain's monkey, Lord Shitflinger, chuckled and yipped from where he was perched on one of the shelves full of junk.

Alexei stood at attention. “Please accept my apologies, Captain. There's something I think you should see. A Barovian longship headed toward our port bow.”

Captain Longfellow sighed. “Poor cursed fools drifted too far away from the coast and lost their way. Make preparations to salvage what coin and jewelry ye can from the bodies, then set fire to the ship.”

“Forgive me, Captain,” said Alexei. “But you don't understand. They are not adrift. They are deliberately rowing toward us.”

“Son of a sea whore, ye know better than to be pulling me rigging at this hour of the morning.”

Alexei shook his head. “Please, Captain. See for yourself.”

Captain Longfellow tied off the front of his robe, much to Randy's relief, then followed Alexei out onto the platform.

“By Triton's titties!” he cried, apparently having spotted the approaching ship. “How be it possible?”

“Shall we take evasive measures?” asked Alexei.

Captain Longfellow laughed so hard that he began coughing.

“Evasive measures?” he bellowed when he finally caught his breath. “May I end me days as a cloud of shark shit in a festering pool of whale piss before I turn tail and flee from a godsdamned rowboat!”

“Very good, Captain. How then shall we proceed?”

“Lower the sails. Let them come at us. They have me curiosity piqued.”

“LOWER THE SAILS!” cried Alexei.

Assuming that his audience with the captain had officially come to a close, Randy got up and followed them outside to make his own assessment of how much danger Captain Longfellow's hubris might be putting them all in.

The rain had let up a bit, and Randy found Captain Longfellow and Alexei on the front of the platform, peering ahead and slightly to the left. Following their gaze, he saw what they were staring at maybe half a mile away. And although it was about the size of a school bus, Randy had to admit that he agreed with the captain that it probably wouldn't pose a serious threat to the Maiden's Voyage. No large weapons were visible, and the ship was so low on the water that it would be almost impossible to board this ship before the crew cut their ropes. Still, he had an eerie feeling about this.

“Excuse me, Captain,” said Randy as Alexei hopped down each tier of the ship's cabins to assist the crew in lowering the sails. “Somethin' about this don't feel right.”

“Aye. A ship like that has no business being this far out to sea.”

“That's what I was concerned about. What if they's setting a trap or something? Lulling us into a false sense of security before they ambush us?”

“Ambush us from where?” scoffed the captain. “Wipe the goat sperm out of yer eyes and look around? There be nothing but miles of empty sea in every direction. That sorry lot of chum is like to be starved and exhausted beyond measure. Poor souls have probably resorted to eating some of their own by now.”

They didn't look exhausted to Randy. Now that they were getting closer, he could see the oars on either side of the approaching ship rowing in unison. Then he heard a chant echo over the waves that sent a shiver up his spine.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!”

A door below and behind Randy swung open. Jay came out of their room and scanned the horizon frantically.

“That's it! That's the song! Where is it coming from?”

“Over there,” said Randy, pointing to the longship.

Jay held on to the railing as he scooted along the platform to the front of the ship. “Who are they? What do they want?”

Randy shrugged. “I reckon we're about to find out.”

The chanting grew louder as the longship drew closer.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!”

About half of the rowers were goblins. The rest were a mix of humans, half-elves, orcs, and a few other races Randy wasn't sure of. All of them were chanting in perfect unison as they rowed.

The only person not chanting was a beardless dwarf standing at the front of the ship. What he lacked in beard, he more than made up for with an impressive mustache, which hung down in thick blond braids from each side of his mouth. He wore leather armor scored with hundreds of blade marks, and a horned helmet. It was kind of like the quintessential Viking helmet, except that instead of only two horns on the sides, it had six horns going all the way around like a crown.

A terrifying thought suddenly occurred to Randy.

Could this be the Mordred who called himself Jordan Knight?

Chapter 38

“DADDY!” shrieked three small children as they ran toward Chaz with open arms.

“Jesus!” Disoriented and still riding high on adrenaline from his encounter with Mordred, Chaz raised his lute to swing at the attackers, but Julian grabbed it by the neck.

Ravenus fell out the bottom of Julian's serape and landed on the floor with a squawk.

The kids ran past them and jumped into Fazul's waiting arms.

“Oh,” said Chaz. “Those belong to you. How adorable.” He pulled his lute free from Julian's grasp and was delighted to discover that it appeared to have suffered no damage from smashing into Mordred's head.

“Are you okay, Ravenus?” asked Julian.

Ravenus stood up and ruffled his feathers. “Yes, sir. I think so.”

“A talking bird!” shrieked the eldest daughter, as she and her two younger brothers squirmed out of their father's bearlike embrace.

Ravenus's eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

The three kids knelt on the floor, surrounding Ravenus.

“Say something else, bird,” said one of the boys. “What's your name?”

“Ravenus.”

All three kids burst into laughter.

“That's a stupid name,” said the daughter. “I'm going to call you Princess Blackfeather.”

“Very well. Then I shall call you –”

“Ravenus!” snapped Julian, then gave his familiar a soothing smile. “Play nice with the children please.”

Ravenus sighed. “Yes, master.”

“You have a lovely home,” Julian said to Fazul. “And such adorable children.”

“Thank you,” said Fazul. He gave his children a warning glare. “Run and fetch your mother.”

The daughter folded her arms. “She's not really –”

“NOW!” Fazul stood up and watched the kids run out of the room. “It is much quieter here than on the Crescent Shadow, I'm afraid. But Felania and I feel it is a good place to raise our children.”

Chaz caught Julian's drift and politely looked around the room. It was nice and quaint, and a little messy with random articles of clothing and wooden toys lying around. Leaning over a breadcrumb-dusted green sofa, he peered out the open window. They were on a hilltop overlooking miles of lush green countryside. The air coming in from outside flooded Chaz's head with memories of childhood summers.

“Where are we?”

“Worcestershire,” said Fazul.

Chaz laughed. “Like the sauce? I don't think that's how you actually pronounce it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Julian cleared his throat and stared menacingly at Chaz. “I believe our host knows how to pronounce his own homeland.”

“Oh, right,” said Chaz. “Of course. I just meant that, um...”

“Good heavens!” said a brown-skinned, green-haired elven woman holding a long-eared baby with one arm as the three older kids dragged her by the other hand into the room. “You did not mention he brought home guests.”

Much like the living room, she appeared in no state to be receiving company. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, her simple beige dress was wet with baby spit and bulged out in front like she might be plopping out numbers four and five any day now. Her wild green hair was pinned in a bun with two oversized chopsticks in a way that appeared to have been done for practicality rather than fashion.

Fazul clapped Chaz and Julian on the back. “Gentlemen, meet my beautiful wife, Felania.”

“Hmph,” said Felania. “Mayhap I'll be beautiful again once you stop putting these little monsters inside me.” She glared down at the three oldest kids. “I only just cleaned this room. If it isn't clean again by the time supper's ready, I'll have your father put up an Antimagic Field when you clean the hen house.”

The kids looked to Fazul to confirm the threat.

Fazul shrugged. “You think I'll refuse her when she's in a mood like this?”

That lit fire under their grubby little asses. They immediately started firing off spells, and tiny whirlwinds swept up toys and clothes and crumbs.

Chaz hugged his lute and backed up against a wall. Kids were creepy enough without being able to wield magic.

“And don't you just pile it all in your room!” said Felania. “I want those clothes folded and the toys put away properly.”

“But we want to play with Princess Blackfeather,” whined the daughter.

Felania waved her away dismissively. “Fine, fine. Take it to your room with you.”

Ravenus whimpered at Julian with panic in his beady bird eyes.

Julian nodded.

One of the boys grabbed Ravenus and carried him into another room. The other two children followed with their whirlwinds of clothes and toys trailing behind them.

Felania glared at her husband. “You might have told me you were coming home early and bringing company. I can set three more places at the table, but all I've cooked is porridge.”

“Sit and rest, Dearest,” said Fazul. “I'll roast one of the hens.”

“Oh will you, now?” Felania's expression turned quickly from incredulity to anger. “You've been gambling again, haven't you!”

Fazul backed away from her with his hands up. “No, no! I swear it!”

Felania pulled one of the chopsticks out of her hair and held it menacingly at her husband. It crackled with magical energy as the tip glowed red like iron pulled out of a fire.

“You promised you wouldn't start that again. Don't think for a moment that I won't leave you with these little rodents and go back to Wyrmwood.”

The baby started crying.

“Go on, then!” said Fazul, seemingly not at all bothered by his wife threatening him with a wand or his wailing child. “Run back to your father! He'd love that, wouldn't he? He's never accepted that you married a human.”

“Don't you start with the human thing again.” Felania handed off her screaming kid to Julian, who accepted it awkwardly and held it like a bag of snakes. “He never had a problem with you until you lost his father's dagger in a card game!”

“I had six gold dragons!” cried Fazul. “He knows numbers better than I do. The odds of that gnome pulling a griffon were beyond immeasurable!”

Chaz cleared his throat. “Maybe we should go.” He had no idea where in the world Worcestershire was, but he would have preferred to be any place but in this couple's living room right now.

Fazul took a deep breath. “Please forgive us. My poor wife is exhausted.” He held out his arms to her.

She lowered her wand and shuddered with sobs as she fell into his arms and pounded his chest with her tiny fists. “I can't live like this anymore.”

“There, there,” he said, stroking her hair where it had fallen loose. “You will feel better once you've rested and supped.”

Felania pushed herself away from him. “I will feel better when you stop leaving me alone with your devil spawn to go spend what little money we have on whores and games of chance!”

“How many times must I tell you, woman? I was not gambling!” Fazul rubbed his temples like he was the only one getting a headache from the screaming baby. He flicked his wrist at it. “Zwoombi.”

The baby suddenly went silent in Julian's hands, though it was clearly still trying to scream. Confused as to why it could no longer make any noise, its scream turned into a yawn. Julian set it down on the sofa.

“I was making business connections,” Fazul continued more calmly now that the baby was silenced. “I would like you to meet my new partners, Julian and RazzmaChazz.”

“Hi,” said Chaz, feeling a little douchey being called RazzmaChaz outside of the Crescent Shadow and wondering when they'd formed a partnership with this guy.

“Partners?” Felania sneered at Chaz and Julian. “They look like clowns.”

Julian sighed. “Thank you.”

Fazul wrapped his arm around Chaz's shoulder and pulled him in close. “Wait until you hear this one sing! But first, we must eat. Gentlemen, would you care to escort me to the hen house?”

“We would love to,” said Julian.

When they followed Fazul outside, Chaz got a new appreciation for just how isolated they were. Aside from the house and the small barn-like shack they were walking toward, there wasn't another man-made structure as far as he could see.

A gentle breeze threatened to knock Chaz over. Not by force, but instead with the dizzyingly powerful aroma of Fazul's herb garden.

“Excuse me,” said Julian after the door closed behind them. “Mr. Fazul?”

Fazul sighed. “Yes, yes. My three eldest children are from a previous marriage. She was human. Does that sate your curiosity?”

“I was actually going to ask about the business arrangement you just mentioned. This partnership?”

Fazul turned around. “Well, I had to tell her something, didn't I? She thinks I'm a failure, and one of these days I fear she really will leave me with all the children and return to her rich elven family.”

“She's going to find out that we aren't business partners sooner or later. What are you going to tell her then?”

“I'll tell her you died, or ripped me off or something. I don't know. One of these days I'm going to score big. Then it won't matter.”

“Score big? Does that mean you're still gamb–”

“SHHH!” said Fazul. He grabbed Chaz and Julian by the elbows and dragged them toward the shed from which the sound of clucking grew louder. “I have a system worked out so that I never lose more than we can afford.”

“You have a family to provide for,” said Julian.

“I provide very well for them.” Fazul's tone was suddenly a lot less friendly. “Maybe you should stick to managing your client's affairs.”

Julian nodded. “I'm sorry. You're right. I was out of line.”

Chaz suddenly had an idea that could solve everyone's problems. “I know how to fix this!”

“Fix what, exactly?” said Julian.

“Fazul's marital problems, for one.”

“Oh?” said Fazul, a hint of annoyance still present in his tone. “And how is that, exactly?”

“It's simple. We become business partners for real!”

The clucking of hens filled the following moment of silence between the three of them.

“I do not understand,” Fazul finally said.

“What's not to understand? You get a portion of our take for every show, and you don't have to lie to your wife anymore.”

“I understand that much. What I don't understand is what is in it for you. Surely you do not make this offer purely out of the kindness of your heart.”

“Of course not,” said Chaz. “There are a couple of things we need from you.”

“Such as?”

“One of the trinkets you had in your pouch.” Chaz ignored Julian's panicked stare and continued. “A shiny black twenty-sided die.”

“Yes, I know the trinket of which you speak. I won it in a game of Golden Dragons. What do you want with that?”

“Never mind what I want with it. Will you part with it?”

Fazul shrugged. “It means nothing to me.” He reached down for his pouch, but Chaz stopped him.

“It's not in there. Julian is hiding it in his underwear.”

“Oh?” Fazul stared accusingly at Julian's crotch.

“His bird swiped it while you weren't looking,” Chaz explained. “He can be a bit of a klepto, and we were looking for a discrete way to tell you.”

Fazul turned warily to Chaz. “What else do you want from me?”

“Just one more little thing. We need you to teleport us somewhere.”

“And where is that?”

“Nazere.”

Fazul laughed. “You must be mad!”

“Oh come on. This is a good deal. All I'm asking for is one worthless bauble and a spell that you've already used on us for free.”

“Good deal my foot!” said Fazul. “What good is this partnership if my partners are slaves to the Ice Queen?”

“Oh right. I guess I should have started with that. The Ice Queen's dead. Our friends killed her.”

“You're a better singer of songs than teller of tales, bard.”

“I'm not fucking with you, man. Why would I ask you to take us there if I wasn't telling the truth?”

Fazul thought about it, then nodded. “I cannot argue that logic. And that's all you want?”

Chaz grinned. “That's it.”

Fazul turned to Julian with an open palm. “Return what is mine, and we may resume the negotiation.”

“Sure,” said Julian. He reached down the front of his pants and produced the die.

Rather than accept it in his hand, Fazul opened his pouch.

Julian dropped the die in. “So... How does five percent sound?”

“I want twenty,” said Fazul.

“Deal.”

“What?” cried Chaz. “You call yourself a manager? What kind of deal was that? You didn't even try to negotiate!”

“Maybe I would have had a little more leverage if you hadn't just thrown me and Ravenus under the bus.”

“He was going to find out sooner or later. How would it look if he found out we had his die before we gave it back to him? You could have just given it back right away, explained what happened, and apologized. But instead you had to tuck it down next to your junk.” While Chaz was enjoying continuing to throw Julian under the bus, he hoped that Julian understood that he was also trying to reinforce their claim that they hadn't actually meant to steal the dice.

Julian sighed. “You're right.” He turned to Fazul. “I should have come clean right away.”

Nice job, Julian.

Fazul gave him a wide grin. “Think no more of it, friend! Small men dwell on such trifles of the past. Instead, we shall look ahead to the future.” He held out a rolled-up sheet of scroll-grade paper to Julian.

“What's this?” asked Julian, accepting the paper and unrolling it.

“Our contract, of course.”

“When did you have time to write a contract?” asked Chaz.

Fazul shrugged. “I have engaged in many business dealings. Most of it is standard. Only the details need adjusting.”

“This looks pretty straightforward,” said Julian.

“Great,” said Chaz. “I hope you're as good a lawyer as you are a negotiator.”

“That's just it. There's not a lot of lawyering to be done. No fine print or legal mumbo-jumbo. Just the terms we agreed to.”

Chaz shrugged. “Cool. Where do we sign?”

Fazul stared at him with a furrowed brow. “Sign?”

“I'm sorry. Is that not a thing here? Where we come from, signing a contract makes it legally binding.”

“Writing your name?”

“That's right.”

“Can another man not write your name just as easily?”

“Yeah, it's not a perfect system. Can we move this along? What do we have to do to make this official?”

Fazul drew a shiny, thin-bladed dagger from the sheath on his belt.

“Whoa, man! Take it easy!” said Chaz. “It's more about the way we write our names. Individual styles of handwriting are difficult to replicate. Forgeries can happen, but most major contracts involve having a witness present, so... I don't know. Is that enough? Should I keep going?”

Fazul pressed his own fingertip against the tip of his blade, drawing a small bead of blood, which he smeared onto the bottom of the contract. Taking the dagger by the blade, he offered the hilt to Julian.

Julian followed Fazul's example, wincing a bit as he poked the tip of his finger. He held his finger over the contract next to Fazul's smear.

“Is here okay?”

Fazul nodded. “Anywhere on the document will do.”

After adding his own blood smear, Julian passed the dagger to Chaz.

Chaz looked for a place to wipe the traces of Fazul's and Julian's blood from the blade. His new RazzmaChaz clothes were still clean enough that it would be noticeable. He settled for wiping it on the grass and hoped that he wasn't exchanging clean blood for some errant dog shit bacteria.

Pressing his finger lightly against the tip of the blade, he found that the point at which it would break his skin was greater than his comfortable pain tolerance. How had Fazul and Julian made it look so easy? He cringed as he pressed a little harder.

“YOW!” he shrieked when Julian slapped his hand upward, slicing his fingertip open. “Son of a bitch, that hurt!”

“Don't be such a baby,” said Julian. “You were taking too long. It was embarrassing to watch.”

Chaz sucked on his bleeding finger. “Dick move, man.”

“Just try to get more blood than spit on the contract.”

“Oh, don't worry,” said Chaz, revulsed by the taste of blood in his mouth. “There's plenty. You just about cut my fucking finger off.” He wiped a thick line of blood across the bottom of the paper. “Satisfied?”

Julian winced. “Yeah, that's a lot of blood all right. Sorry about that.”

“Fuck your sorry.” Chaz sang an incantation softly to himself. “Magic, heal my finger. Let this pain not linger. I don't...” He couldn't think of any rhyme to finish that last line, but it didn't matter. His wound had closed itself up.

“It is finished!” said Fazul with more urgency than seemed appropriate. The paper, as if in response to his words, rolled itself up and crackled with magic. When it unrolled again, it had multiplied. Fazul handed a copy to Julian and another to Chaz, keeping the third for himself.  He clapped and smiled. “Who is hungry?”

This felt like the right time to ask for the die. Chaz gave Julian an encouraging nod.

Julian acknowledged the nod, but didn't seem to understand what to make of it. He turned to Fazul. “I'm hungry!”

Chaz rolled his eyes. “Perhaps we should take care of the die part of the contract first, since we have it right here.”

“Oh,” said Fazul. “Of course.” He started to reach into his pouch, then thought better of it. He held it open to Julian. “You may retrieve the die.” When Julian started to reach, he pulled the bag back half an inch and gave Julian a warning glare. “And only the die.”

“Yes, of course,” said Julian. “I would never...” He sighed. “Okay.” He reached into the pouch and felt around a bit before pulling out the die, then held it in his open palm for a second to show that he hadn't taken anything else.

Chaz sighed with relief. It was a much different feeling to have legitimate possession of the die without the looming specter of a pissed-off wizard hunting them down. Throwing Julian under the bus had been the right call.

“Excuse me,” said Julian. He turned around and shoved the die back down the front of hit pants.

Fazul watched curiously. “If I may be so bold, why is this child's plaything of such value to you?”

Julian turned back around to face him. “It's not a child's plaything.”

Chaz didn't know if he was being so insistent because of how powerful the die was, or because calling it a child's plaything made it extra weird that he chose to keep it next to his dick.

“Forgive me. Of course I noticed it has a strong magical aura. But as much as I studied it, I could find no practical function.” Fazul's gaze fell to Julian's crotch. “Perhaps it aids in fertility?”

“That's right!” said Chaz before Julian could respond. Honestly, what better way was there to put a pin in that issue? “Julian hasn't had much luck knocking up his old lady. He's hoping this will invigorate his little swimmers.”

Julian pursed his lips, then nodded. “Yep. That's what it's for. But I'm not sure the whole world needs to know about it.”

Fazul laughed and slapped Julian on the back. “Have no fear, friend. Your secret is safe with me. I am relieved to be rid of it now. As you saw in my home, I have extremely healthy seed.”

Julian smiled politely. “Indeed you do.”

“My wife carries twins now, and I barely squirted inside her!”

“That's very potent.”

“I sprayed most of it on her backside.”

“We really don't need to –”

Fazul laughed. “If I released into the sea, mermaids would give birth to children with legs!”

“You know what?” said Chaz, wishing as much as Julian to put an end to this line of conversation. “Now I'm getting hungry.”

Julian and Fazul grimaced at him.

Fazul shrugged. “Who am I to judge what will whet a man's appetite?”

“No,” said Chaz. “I didn't –”

“Wait here.” Fazul went around the corner and disappeared into the henhouse. The clucking grew louder.

A few moments passed, then a fat brown hen waddled out of the coop.

“Hey there,” said Julian. “Are you lost?”

“Fazul?” Chaz called into the coop. “I think one of your chickens got –”

"Methylchloroisothiazolinone!"

“Wha–”

With a sizzling pop, Chaz was blinded by an explosion of brown feathers.

“Jesus!” cried Julian. “Did you just Magic Missile a chicken?”

Fazul laughed as he stepped out of the coop. “I find it's more humane than holding it down to chop its head off. She never saw it coming. And look. No feathers to pluck!”

Chaz could now see through the rain of falling feathers. As advertised, a completely bald bird lay dead at Fazul's feet.

Fazul picked up the chicken carcass and started walking back toward the house. “Grab some thyme and rosemary from the garden, would you?”

Chaz looked doubtfully at the herb garden next to the house, having no idea what either of those plants looked like. Julian seemed to know, though, as he deliberately picked off pieces of plants that Chaz would have guessed were weeds.

“You can identify thyme and rosemary by sight?” he asked when Julian had harvested enough herbs.

Julian shrugged. “I guess my character can. I don't think I've ever seen either of these outside of a plastic McCormick canister.”

When they went inside, Fazul called them into the kitchen, where he was rubbing the chicken down with butter. “Here, give me the herbs.” He took them from Julian, ripped them to tiny bits, and rubbed them between his buttery hands before massaging them into the chicken.

Even with its eyeless head still attached and staring at him, the chicken was starting to look really appetizing. Chaz's stomach grumbled loudly.

“Do not worry, friend,” said Fazul. “Supper is almost finished.”

“But you haven't even started cooking it.” A sudden thought turned Chaz's stomach. He was all about tolerating other people's cultures, but... “We're not going to eat that raw, are we?”

“Hmph,” said Felania as she waddled into the kitchen to fetch a stack of wooden bowls. “You might wish you had after you get a taste of his cooking.”

Julian rushed to her side. “Here, let me help you with those.”

Felania jerked the stack of bowls out of his reach. “You go and wash those filthy hands first. Fazul's told me where they've been.”

Fazul smiled innocently. “I might have mentioned your fertility problems in passing.”

“In passing?” said Julian. “You only left us for a minute.”

“You really should wash your hands.” Fazul nodded to a stone basin next to the window. It was full of semi-clear water, outside of which sat a fist-sized brown chunk of something that Chaz hoped was soap.

Chaz joined Julian for a hand washing, and allowed him to test the soap theory first. It was rougher than he was used to, like scrubbing his hands with a slippery chunk of rock, but it was definitely soap.

When they turned back around, Fazul was almost elbow deep up the chicken's butthole. Its empty eye sockets conveyed a proper sense of alarm.

Fazul laughed at Chaz, who must have had a similar expression to the chicken's. “What's the matter? Have you never cleaned a chicken before?” He pulled out a fistful of viscera, which he plopped into an old tin bucket. “I suppose a fancy entertainer like you has servants to do all the dirty work. Mayhap I'll hire a few once my twenty percent starts rolling in.” He glanced toward the next room to make sure his wife was out of earshot, then winked and whispered, “Or when I finally make my big score.”

Chaz couldn't help but feel put off by the knowledge that Fazul was already planning to gamble away the additional money he expected to be earning. He was more put off when Fazul started fisting the bird again.

“How much more innards can that thing possibly have?”

“She's all cleaned out. Now it's time to roast her.”

“You know what would make you look better?” Julian asked the dead chicken. “A pair of eyes that didn't melt down the sides of your face.”

Chaz and Fazul glanced at each other in confused shock, then at Julian, who was inexplicably grinning.

“Because you look with your eyes,” Julian insufficiently explained.

Fazul turned to Chaz for further clarification, but all Chaz could do was shrug and shake his head.

“You've got a face like a doll, sweetheart,” Julian continued with his unprovoked harassment of the dead bird. “But an ass like a ventriloquist dummy!” He stared back at Chaz and Fazul like he was expecting a reaction. “Seriously? Nothing?”

“Dude,” said Chaz. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Julian sighed. “He said it was time to roast her.”

Chaz closed his eyes and shook his head again. “You're like the dad I wish had abandoned me.”

“That was comedy gold and you know it.”

“May I proceed with the cooking?” asked Fazul cautiously.

“Please!” said Chaz. “Put that thing out of its misery before Julian can tell any more jokes.”

Chapter 39

Dave stared angrily at the stump where his middle finger used to be. The message was clear. Fuck you, Dave. That little psycho shitbag wanted to make sure Dave knew that he wasn't just bailing on him to save his own ass. This was revenge for denying Tim the pleasure of shooting Officer Williams. He would have waited longer, scheming and biding his time for the perfect opportunity to fuck Dave over if Dave hadn't immediately dropped such an opportunity right in his lap.

Now that he thought about it, there were so many other places he could have teleported to. The Crescent Shadow, Porttown, Millard's abandoned castle. Hell, they could have gone to the field behind their old high school, just to get out of immediate danger and cool off a bit.

But now that he knew what he knew about Tim, he was glad he came here. All he needed to do was survive and escape, then he could start planning his own counter-revenge against Tim. He'd start by telling Officer Williams that Tim owned the Chicken Hut, then do everything in his power to get him teleported back to Earth. If Tim ever did make his way back using the dice, he'd have a nice surprise waiting for him.

Was that enough? Dave smiled to himself and shook his head. An eye for an eye. A finger for a... No. A digit for a digit. Tim took Dave's finger. Dave would take Tim's dick. He could spend the rest of his life in this world a happy man if he knew Tim was spending the rest of his in a Mississippi prison with no dick.

But before he could get to plotting, he had to find some way to get away from Stacy and Cooper before they dragged him back to the Whore's Head to answer to Frank. He didn't think Professor Goosewaddle would have any objections to him walking out the door, but if Stacy and Cooper caught him trying to make a break for it, they'd be on top of him in a matter of seconds. He might be able to outrun Stacy in his hybrid form, but probably not Cooper. And then he'd have all the citizens on the street and Kingsguard to deal with as well.

Stacy stormed angrily back into Arby's. “Cooper's gone.”

That was a step in the right direction.

“What about the little guy?” asked Officer Williams.

“Tim's gone too,” said Stacy as she set down the small cooking pot she'd been carrying for some reason. “I jogged up and down the street, peeking down alleys, but there was no sign of either of them. It doesn't make sense. Cooper's way faster than Tim. It shouldn't have been that long of a chase.”

Tim's disappearance was easy enough to explain, but Dave wasn't about to volunteer any information. The smug bitch thought she was so smart. She could figure it out for herself.

Officer Williams glanced down at Dave's bare feet, then said to Stacy, “He has some kind of magic boots. That's how we came here.”

Dave sighed. Fucking cops.

Professor Goosewaddle let out a long low whistle. “Boots of Teleportation. Impressive.”

“Shit,” said Stacy. “That means Cooper's out there chasing nothing.” She stared out the window for a moment, and Dave forced down the urge to encourage her to go out and look for him. If she came to that decision on her own, great. Dave would tell Officer Williams about Tim, then plead to Professor Goosewaddle on the officer's behalf. Even his bitch of a manager, Jennifer, wouldn't argue to keep an old cop here against his will.

But Charisma wasn't Dave's strong suit. If he told her she should run off and look for Cooper, she'd know he was up to something. Neither could he recommend she stay here and wait for him to return. She'd see right through his reverse psychology. All he could do was keep his mouth shut and hope for the best.

“He'll give up sooner or later,” Stacy finally said. “He knows where we are.”

Shit.

“Let's see if we can fix this one while we wait.” She took a step toward Dave, then paused. The smell of her sweat and the apprehensive look in her eyes excited him. “Can someone hold him down?”

SHIT!

Dave locked gazes with Officer Williams, then tried to make a break for it before the officer got the jump on him, but he was paralyzed.

“I have him held,” said Professor Goosewaddle. “Commence fixing.”

Though the rest of his muscles were completely immovable, Dave's heart was beating like a motherfucker. How did this crew-cutted slut think she was going to fix him? What did that even mean? Why the fuck was she picking that pot back up?

“It's going to be hard to make him chew bread like that,” she said. “Is it okay if I just pour some straight into his mouth?”

Professor Goosewaddle shrugged. “It is okay with me.”

“How much should I give him?”

“Perhaps one ladle's worth. Any more than that might kill him.”

“Hey Shaggy?” Stacy called out toward the kitchen. “Can you bring me a ladle, please?”

One of the goblin employees peeked out from the kitchen holding a ladle. He looked to Professor Goosewaddle before proceeding any further. The professor nodded, and Shaggy walked over to Stacy and handed her the ladle.

Stacy tilted Dave's head up like he was a poseable action figure. “This isn't going to taste good.” She sniffed whatever was in the pot, then scowled. “At all. But hopefully it will make you not be a wererat anymore.”

Who the fuck did this bitch think she was? What if Dave wanted to be a wererat? Fuck her. He'd go out and find some other wererat to scratch him. Then he'd hunt her down like the whore she was, and he'd make her regret this. She wanted to force things down other people's throats? Fine. Two can play at that game. And after he finished, he'd tear that shaved head clean off and fuck her up the neckhole until his jizz dribbled out of her dead whore mouth. And then he'd – FUCK!

It was easily the worst thing he'd ever tasted, and it burned when it went down. He felt like a tubercular hobo was vomiting bile straight down his throat. As hard as he willed his muscles to contract, it flowed down from the ladle to his stomach entirely unimpeded. He could feel it pooling inside him, but not without leaving a thick residue all the way down.

When she was done torturing him, Stacy stood back, and Professor Goosewaddle released his magical hold on him.

Dave collapsed, rolled back and forth on the floor like he was on fire, and tried to throw up. Nothing would come out.

“How do we know if it worked?” asked Stacy. “Oh, I know. Dave, try to turn into a rat.”

Dave thought that was a fine idea. One little scratch was all he needed, then Goosewaddle could hold her still while someone else poured that shit down her throat. It would be worth the ass-kicking he'd receive just for the chance to watch that.

“Fuck you!” he cried before morphing into his hybrid form. The transformation was too much for his digestive system to handle. Though he could feel what was coming, he attempted to lunge at her anyway. The forcefulness with which he shat himself rivaled Cooper at his worst. He could hear splatter on the floor behind him as he dropped to his knees.

“Hey Paul!” Jennifer shouted as Stacy cocked her fist back to launch it into Dave's face.

Her hands were neither silver nor magical, but they hurt like hell. As she pummeled him again and again in the face, Dave didn't manage to land a single bite or scratch.

He turned back into a dwarf and shielded his face from Stacy's fists. “That's enough! I'll talk!”

The sadistic bitch finally stopped wailing on him long enough to catch her breath. “Sorry about that. You just freaked me out a little.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to not turn into a rat monster.”

“You told me to!”

Stacy laughed. “I guess I did. What I mean is that I want you to not be able to. I was trying to cure you.”

“I don't have anything to cure,” said Dave as he sobbed in his own excrement. “What I have isn't a disease. It's a gift.” That had sounded a lot better when Tim and the other Rat Bastards said it during his orientation. It sounded really lame now that he was saying it aloud.

“What is it now?” said Paul, coming in from the kitchen. “Oh, dear God!”

Jennifer smiled at him. “The dwarf was just saying he had a gift. I think it's for you.”

Paul sighed. “I'll get the mop.”

“So the belladonna didn't work?” Stacy asked Professor Goosewaddle.

“Of course it didn't.”

“Why not? Did I cook it wrong?”

“I am sure you cooked it just fine. It is not so specific a recipe as a potion. There is a much higher margin for error.”

Stacy stared down into her pot. “Then why didn't it work?”

“He has already turned. For the solution to be effective, it must be ingested before the full moon after the subject is inflicted.”

“Then why did you let her do that to me?” cried Dave. “Why did you hold me while she poured that shit in my mouth?”

Professor Goosewaddle shrugged. “Mostly for my own amusement. I have asked you a number of times not to return here, and yet you keep coming back. And you always bring trouble with you. I thought perhaps a particularly unpleasant experience might make this place less appealing to you.”

Dave was so filled with rage that it was almost like it was filling the hollowness inside him left from his explosive diarrhea.

“You're a real fucking piece of work, Goosewaddle! You know that? You think you're so great with your magic and your shitty food, but you're just a twisted old fuck! You're a sad little –”

“SILENCE!” bellowed the professor much more severely than Dave thought such a little old gnome capable of.

Dave shut his mouth. Then he thought, fuck it. It felt good to get such a rise out of him. If Goosewaddle wanted to kill him, at least it would be a quick death. Dave was tired of being everyone else's bitch. It was time for him to stand up for himself. The very fact that he was able to get the wrinkly little shit so riled up was an intoxicating feeling, and he wanted more of it, no matter what the cost.

“I won't be silenced!” Dave shouted back at him. Or at least he tried to. No sound came out of his mouth. “Hey! Hello? What the fuck?” He could feel his vocal cords vibrating in his throat, but he couldn't hear shit. Was he deaf?

“Jennifer and I will be having dinner at Popeye's,” Professor Goosewaddle stated calmly. “When I return, I expect all of you to be gone.” He turned to Paul, returning from the kitchen with a mop and bucket full of fresh water. “And I expect this floor to be clean enough to eat off of, or else you might find yourself doing just that.”

Paul nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

Dave wasn't deaf. He could hear just fine. He just couldn't speak. Goosewaddle hadn't lost his shit at him after all. He had just cast a Silence spell on him. That little son of a bitch.

“Excuse me,” said Officer Williams. “Professor, is it?”

Professor Goosewaddle's nostrils flared. “Yes?”

“Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you were going to Popeye's?”

“That is correct.”

“As in Popeye's fried chicken?”

“And biscuits, yes.”

“There's a Popeye's here?”

Professor Goosewaddle's bitter expression softened. He actually smiled. “Not yet.”

“Would you mind if I went with you?”

What? NO! No, no, no!

All Dave had going for him right now were his revenge fantasies. He couldn't let Officer Williams leave without telling him about Tim and the Chicken Hut. He struggled to his feet, then lunged at the officer, who looked more freaked-out now than he had when he got shot.

Instead of grabbing hold of Officer Williams, Dave was lifted off his feet and flung hard against the back wall, which he bounced off of before falling to the floor.

Professor Goosewaddle wagged the finger he'd just been using to throw Dave around the room at Officer Williams. “For the last time, I am not a charity transportation service!”

“Excuse me, Professor,” said Jennifer. “Maybe we should take this one back home. He's a police officer, and it looks like he's had a pretty rough day.”

Officer Williams nodded at her. “I appreciate that, ma'am.”

Professor Goosewaddle sighed. “Very well.”

“I'd like to go to Popeye's,” said Paul.

Jennifer glared at him like she'd just been possessed by the devil himself. “Clean the shit off the wall, Paul!”

“Yes, ma'am. Right away.”

Dave looked up at the wall. Judging by the L-shaped shit smudge his soiled robe had left behind, Goosewaddle had thrown him pretty high up there. That gave him a last-ditch effort idea. He scrambled on hands and knees to his shit on the floor, desperate to get there before Paul could mop it up and Officer William's fucked off to Popeye's.

Paul wasn't a problem. He backed away when Dave approached. He backed away a little further when Dave poked a finger into his own shit and began scrawling out the letter T.

“Dave!” said Stacy. “What are you doing?”

Jennifer gagged and turned away from him. “This... This is disgusting. I can't watch this. Can we go now?”

Dave quickly dragged his finger down to write an I.

“Give me your hands,” said Professor Goosewaddle. Jennifer and Officer Williams took his outstretched hands, then held each other's.

Dave wrote an M, then waved frantically to them.

“I think he's trying to say something,” said Officer Williams. “T-I-M.”

“Yeah,” said Jennifer. “Time to get the fuck out of here.”

Professor Goosewaddle nodded. “Agreed.” He closed his eyes. “Popeye's.”

With a crackle of magic, they vanished, leaving only a whiff of blue smoke behind.

Chapter 40

When Cooper squatted down to take a dump, Tim knew he had given up searching for him. His boots had one more Teleport in them for the day, but Tim didn't have anywhere to go. Cooper was the closest thing to a friend he had left.

Besides, the Fertile Desert was a vast place, and Tim didn't know it well enough to Teleport back to a specific location within it. If he lost track of Cooper, he might not be able to find him again before the full moon. He wasn't sure how long he had before that happened, but he was sure that his one bottle of vodka wasn't going to hold out that long.

The desert sucked for the most part, but Tim was grateful that the insatiable thirst of the sand quickly sucked all the moisture out of Cooper's shit, along with most of the smell. Out of the dehydrated pile of turd sprouted a small cluster of pleasant-smelling herbs.

As he squatted and shat, Cooper poured water in front of him from Katherine's Decanter of Endless Water. An eggplant stalk grew out of the sand, heavily laden with large ripe eggplants. Seemingly unimpressed, he moved the decanter slightly to the right and poured again. The water brought forth a stalk of corn, which grew out of the sand like a giant vegan's dick. Cooper moved the decanter to the right and poured again.

Tim hadn't known Cooper to be such a fussy eater. But six plants later, he still wasn't satisfied with what the desert was offering him. What the hell was he holding out for? Or maybe this wasn't about vegetables at all. Maybe he was trying to build himself a stall of stalks for some privacy while he shat.

Privacy from whom, though? As far as Cooper knew, Tim had teleported away. Besides, mid-shit was a little late to start thinking about modesty.

The next plant to sprout was a head of cabbage. Bland as fuck and not great for a wall. Moving on.

Except Cooper didn't move on.

“There you go,” he said as he continued feeding the growing head more water. “Keep it coming, you big leafy bitch. That's it. Keep going.”

The way he was talking to it sounded like he was trying to dehumanize it before paying it for sex. But who fucks a cabbage? Why couldn't he fuck a normal fruit like a pumpkin or watermelon? Even a banana would do if the peel was strong enough to hold together and the inside was mushy enough to penetrate.

When it was big enough to satisfy his twisted desires, Cooper pulled the giant head of cabbage out of the sand and stood up. He tore off one of the large outer leaves and shoved it up under the ass side of his loincloth.

“Oh, God! Fuck, that feels good!”

Tim looked away. He couldn't bear to watch any more. Everyone was entitled to their own weird fetishes that not even their closest friends know about. So Cooper liked it up the ass. Maybe he was secretly into dudes, or maybe chicks with strap-ons. Tim wouldn't judge him for that. But he would continue to judge him on the fucking cabbage. There were so many other plants Tim could think of right off the top of his head that would be more appropriate for the job. Carrots, cucumbers, zucchinis. Hell, he already had eggplants and corn. Once again, a banana would make the perfect tool for this endeavor. With a bit of practice and the right kind of squeeze, he might be able to achieve a gush of sticky white fluid when he was ready for it. But a cabbage?

While Cooper moaned and groaned with ecstasy, Tim resisted the urge to pull off his Ring of Invisibility and shame Cooper for his sexual food preferences. That wasn't intolerance. That was being a fucking friend. But he kept his head turned away, swigged down some vodka, and remained invisible. Their friendship was on shaky enough ground as it was. Maybe they could have this talk after Cooper turned. It would still be awkward, but Tim was confident that after he helped Cooper graduate from cabbages straight to bananas, their friendship would be solidified for life.

“Jesus, Nabi!” Cooper continued. “It's been so long. This is incredible.”

Who the fuck was Knobby? Probably some treant whore he shacked up with in the woods. That would explain his leaf fetish.

“Sorry,” said Cooper, breathing heavily. “It got a little weird there for a second.”

Come on, Cooper! Never apologize to the whore. That's what the money's for. And the whole point of a jerk-off fantasy is to get the apology-worthy shit out of your system so you don't actually go through with it for real.

“It's just that I haven't had a proper wipe in ages. These cabbage leaves really do the trick though.”

Unable to contain his morbid curiosity any longer, Tim threw caution to the wind and looked at Cooper. Instead of the gallon of cabbage-fetish-inspired splooge he expected to see, he saw four cabbage leaves at Cooper's feet, each soiled with lessening degrees of shit smears. The stupid asshole wasn't rubbing one out. He was wiping his ass. But who the fuck was he talking to?

Tim looked down at himself to make sure he was still invisible. All he saw was sand. But who else was there? Was there some other invisible person hanging around with Cooper? Julian maybe?

No, that was impossible. Julian didn't weigh much, but Tim would have known if Cooper had been carrying him when he tackled him, and he surely wouldn't have kept so quiet all this time.

Had Cooper multiclassed and picked up a familiar or animal companion? Again, not likely. Cooper was nearly naked. The only place a critter could be hiding was up his ass, and that space had just been evacuated extremely thoroughly.

The third and most likely explanation that Tim could think of was that Cooper was losing his goddamn mind.

Cooper picked up his axe. “Which way should we go then?” After a moment of silently confirming Tim's third theory, he nodded. “Okay.” He started walking eastward, following the setting sun.

No, you fucking idiot! You're lost in the desert. You're supposed to sit tight and wait for me.

He had the bare essentials, infinite water and all the food he could eat, even if it was only fruits and vegetables. Why would he risk getting more lost in the desert when he knew Tim was going to come back for him?

Then again, that Decanter of Endless Water meant that he was just as capable of surviving on the go as he was staying put. If he traveled far enough in any direction, there was a chance that he might make it out of the desert in time to find an antidote before the next full moon. It was a smart decision.

Why the fuck is he picking now to make a smart decision? Asshole!

Tim calmed himself and thought about it. This wasn't any big setback. It might have been if he'd actually teleported away, but all he had to do now was find some way to slow Cooper down or trick him into walking in circles. With a little imagination, neither of those should be a problem.

He followed at a distance in his hybrid form, keeping himself concealed by hopping from one of Cooper's big footsteps to the next, thinking of ways he could sabotage his friend's journey.

Pour sand in his eyes while he slept? Tim shuddered at the thought. Not only was it a huge dick move, but it would be difficult to pull off without getting caught. Besides, that would only be a temporary delay. Cooper would be able to easily flush out his eyes with the Decanter of Endless water and be back on his feet in half an hour or so.

That gave Tim another idea. Steal the Decanter of Endless Water. He could make fruit grow in whatever direction he wanted Cooper to travel, and Cooper wouldn't have any choice but follow. But he'd almost certainly figure out that Tim was behind it, and Tim would be vulnerable to being discovered while he slept. The idea still might work with a bit of finessing. He'd come back to it if he didn't think of anything better.

He thought up and shot down a number of other ideas as the sun fell below the horizon. When it got dark enough so that the stars were visible, Tim couldn't see Cooper ahead of him, though he could still hear him talking to himself occasionally. The half moon provided enough light for Tim to follow his footprints, but he no longer worried about hopping from one to the next.

A loud fart broke the desert night silence, alerting Tim that he was almost right on top of Cooper. He must be settling down for the night.

He crept forward, invisible but wary of making any sudden movements, until he could see Cooper lying on the sand with his axe next to him and staring up at the stars.

“Tim's not a bad person,” he said to no one. “He's just impulsive, and makes a lot of bad choices.”

That was rich coming from a guy who once got suspended for muttering that sixty-three Earths could fit inside his science teacher's mom's anus.

“Evil comes and goes. His sister used to be a vampire.” After a pause, Cooper shook his head. “No, she got it sorted out.” He yawned, then closed his eyes. “It's complicated, and I'm tired. We've got a long walk ahead of us in the morning. I'll tell you about it then.” He patted his axe affectionately. “Good night, Nabi.”

Tim watched with morbid fascination. Cooper was out of his fucking mind. He guessed that's what happens when you ditch your best friend and have to rely on Julian and Dave for companionship. But the axe gave Tim an idea. What better way to cripple Cooper's movement than to just fucking cripple him?

There were a few down sides, sure. An attack would turn Tim instantly visible, so he wouldn't be able to deny doing it. And Cooper would probably hold a grudge about it until he grew a new foot.

But on the other hand, it would be totally effective. Cooper wouldn't be going very far with one foot. He wouldn't even be able to chase Tim, which would give him time to rationally explain why he had to do what he did, and that Cooper would thank him for it in time. A simple Regeneration spell would put him back on two feet, and Tim would save the old one so they could laugh about it later.

After a long swig to steady his nerves, he set his vodka bottle down in the sand. He wasn't quite as nimble in his Boots of Teleportation as he was barefoot, but the sand was soft, and Cooper's heavy snoring was loud enough to cover any noise he inadvertently made. Even louder was the sound of his heart pumping in his ears. They might laugh about it later, but now that he was actually creeping toward the axe he would use to chop his best friend's foot off, the whole idea was beginning to seem much more fucked-up.

It's a good plan, Tim. Keep your shit together. It only seems fucked-up because your mind's stuck in the real world. You can grow his foot back. You're both going to laugh about this, remember?

Tim nodded to himself and wiped his sweaty rat palms on his thighs as he crept closer to the axe.

His fingers slid through the sand under the handle like burrowing snakes. The cool desert night air chilled his sweat through his bristling fur as he gently lifted the axe off the ground. It was heavy, but not quite as heavy as it looked.

Running a thumb along the blade's edge, it felt plenty sharp enough to cut through a leg, but this was Tim's first time trying to sever a limb. He really hoped the foot came off on the first swing. He could probably get in a second swing if he had to, but it would be even more difficult to follow through with it if Cooper was awake. Then again, there would be no turning back at that point, so it would be even more necessary as well.

Come on, axe. We've got to do this in one clean slice.

A sudden snort in Cooper's snoring nearly caused Tim to drop the axe and piss himself, but he held it together.

Holding the axe high over Cooper's right leg, he visualized its downward arc, exactly where the center of the blade would slice through the thinnest part of Cooper's shin just above the ankle.

Grow a dick for one second, and it will all be over.

Tim took a deep breath, then swung the axe down as hard as he could, straight down into the sand. It was the mother of all Natural 1s. The whiff of all whiffs. He'd missed so badly that Cooper didn't even fucking stir. Shaking his head and trembling, he picked up the axe again, thankful that no one had been around to see how badly he'd –

What the fuck?

Why was there blood on the axe. He looked down at Cooper's leg again. It was completely untouched. But that only left...

“FUUUUUCK!” he tried to scream, but it came out as an incoherent rat noise. The front half of his own left foot, returning to its halfling form but still nestled snugly in the front half of his left Boot of Teleportation, sat about a quarter inch away from the rest of him. Small green vines snaked their way out of the blood pouring from his stump and twined up his right leg. He jerked himself free of them and fell back on his ass. Then he changed back into his halfling form so he could properly express his feelings. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

“Hey!” snarled Cooper. “I'm trying to fucking sleep. Show a little goddamn – Tim?”

Tim took off the rest of the boot and tried to keep his bleeding stump out of the sand. He could feel it now. It was a dull throbbing pain. Not excruciating, but very much present. “Son of a... FUCK!”

“Dude, are you okay?”

“No, I'm not fucking okay!” Tim snapped back, hugging his thigh as hard as he could against his chest to try to limit the blood flow. “Do I fucking look okay?”

“Well, no,” said Cooper a little impatiently. “That's why I asked.”

“I chopped my goddamn foot off!”

“What the fuck did you do that for?”

“Will you stop asking me stupid questions and help me? Rip off my sleeve and tie a tourniquet around my ankle or something. Hurry up before I bleed to death!”

Cooper yawned. “I've got a better idea.”

“No you don't!” cried Tim. “You're a fucking moron!”

“You're clearly in a lot of pain right now, so I'm going to let that slide.” Cooper picked up his axe where Tim had dropped it.

“Jesus, Cooper! I'm sorry. I didn't mean it!”

“Nabi,” said Cooper, clearly addressing his axe. “My friend had an accident. Can you heal him?”

Tim started to ask Cooper what the fuck he was talking about, but Cooper held up a finger to shut him up.

Cooper stared at the axe for a moment, then turned to Tim. “Nabi says she cut your foot off.”

“What the fuck, man? Is this a guns don't kill people thing? Obviously I didn't fucking karate chop my own fucking foot off. I did it via the axe. Also, I wish you'd stop talking to that thing. You're starting to freak me the fuck out.”

Cooper frowned. “She says you were trying to cut my foot off.”

“Well then she's a fucking liar!” Tim didn't appreciate what kind of mind games Cooper was trying to pull on him, but he was way out of his league.

“Nabi doesn't lie,” said Cooper. “She's a paladin.”

“Good for her. Halle–fucking–lujah!” The pain in Tim's foot was growing more intense now. His initial shock was fading. “Now can you please tie off my leg? I can't hold on much longer, and this desert sand will suck me dry.”

“Nabi says –”

“COOPER!” cried Tim. “I don't give a fuck what Knobby says! I am BLEEDING. TO. DEATH!”

Cooper stared down stoically at Tim for a moment, then cleared his throat and spat a brown glob of phlegm on the sand. “Nabi says she'll heal you if you tell the truth.”

So that's the game he was playing at. The big dumb motherfucker was stonewalling him for a confession. Some best friend. That's fine. He'd get what was coming to him sooner or later, just like Dave. Some day, after he'd made examples out of enough backstabbing assholes, the consequences for fucking with Tim would be known far and wide enough to prevent this sort of thing. But until he had the right leverage, he would play Cooper's game.

“Fine,” he said. “I was trying to cut your foot off. Is that what you want to hear? Can you tie a goddamn tourniquet now?”

Cooper nodded to his axe, then placed the pointed tip of it against Tim's chest, which made Tim question the wisdom of the insincere passive-aggressive nature of his confession. Damn his short temper. It would have been far more satisfying to feign sincerity now, apologize, then fuck him over good when he was least – “FUUUUCK!”

Tim's foot wound sizzled, bubbled, and foamed. The pain now was so intense that it made the pain of cutting it off feel like an erotic foot massage from the smoking hot Indian girl who worked at the Taco Bell on Highway 90. It was like the wound was being cauterized in battery acid.

Finally, it ended. Tim was still alive, and his foot stump was covered in fresh hairless skin.

“What... the fuck... was that?” panted Tim, barely managing to keep himself from passing out.

Cooper removed his axe from Tim's chest. “Nabi says healing evil creatures doesn't go as smoothly as healing good ones. It was her first time trying.” He looked at Tim's stump. “Looks like it worked, though.”

“She's real?” said Tim, his eyelids getting heavy. “Nabi?”

Cooper nodded. “Why did you try to cut my foot off?”

Tim closed his eyes, welcoming the total darkness. “I didn't want you to leave me.” He gave in to his exhaustion, letting himself fall into a much-needed sleep and half-hoping that Cooper and Nabi would put a quick and painless end to his miserable life. It was more than he deserved.

Chapter 41

On the way back to the beach, Tony the Elf walked ahead with Butterbean and Dave, while Katherine hung back with Tanner as he stepped carefully around the sprouts.

A question weighed heavy on Katherine's mind, which she'd hoped to ask Tanner in the mine while the fire burned slowly above them. She hadn't expected Tony the Elf to douse the logs in enough lamp oil to bathe an elephant in.

“Why did you stay with us?” she blurted out.

“You saved my life,” said Tanner. “I owe you.”

Katherine was annoyed by the way he chose to dodge the question. “You don't owe me shit. I'm part of the reason you got killed in the first place, and you and I both know I thought I was rescuing my brother. Besides, I was talking about before that. Back at the Whore's Head Inn, when they kicked out Tim. I could understand why you wouldn't want to hang out there, but why stick with us? Surely you had your own reasons for being in Cardinia.”

“I was there to be executed.”

Katherine hadn't expected that. “Okay, well I can see how you might have wanted to bail on that plan. But you must have had better things to do with your life than hang out with me and Tim while we worked a shitty tavern job.”

“I find you fascinating.”

Katherine hadn't expected that either, though she'd kind of been hoping for something along those lines.

“Oh?”

“Not you specifically,” said Tanner, then followed it up before Katherine had time to get annoyed again. “I mean not just you specifically. Certainly I find you fascinating. But I am also fascinated by the dynamic you share with the rest of these people who claim to come from your strange world.”

“It's not just a claim.”

“I believe you. Your mannerisms, your peculiar turns of phrase, your creative uses of the word fuck. I have wandered about this world quite a bit, and I can truly say I've never been to a place where you would be viewed as normal.”

Katherine wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a compliment. “Thank you?”

“That is what fascinates me about you. I, too, am viewed as an outcast wherever I go. I long to hear more about where you come from. If possible, I would perhaps even like to visit there some day.”

“Where I come from isn't as fascinating as you might think,” said Katherine, wondering where she'd take him if they ever visited Mississippi again. Would he be into bowling?

The beach they returned to was spectacularly different from the beach they'd left that morning. It looked like the beginning of a functional village. Fritz had a long trench full of fire, topped with woven wood grills. He was also overseeing several men as they dug a trench from the sea to a car-sized pit in the sand at the far end of the beach. In spite of Katherine's use of the Purify Food and Water spell, he had apparently not given up on his plan to trap live fish. Good on him.

There was another pit not very far from it which Katherine couldn't immediately guess any function for. Five men were jumping up and down in it, though none of them seemed to be enjoying themselves in the least little bit.

But perhaps the most impressive project under construction was the framework for a long building. Stuart, the monk who had accompanied Tim and the others when they came to “rescue” Katherine by murdering the man who'd been providing for her, was directing Rhonda and a group of her fellow wizards as they collectively lifted a beam via shared Telekinesis while two halflings waited to tie it into place.

“What do you think?” said Frank, beaming at Katherine from under the brim of her captain's hat as she approached.

“How did you...” It suddenly occurred to Katherine that the ends of the beams on the building under construction were sawed off at the ends. Had the trench diggers been using shovels? She turned back to them to confirm that they were. “Where the fuck did you get all these tools?”

“Fritz gets the credit for that. He figured that it made sense for a ship to have a supply of tools on board, in case they suffered damage at sea and needed to make some on-the-fly repairs until they reached a port. He rowed back to the ship and found a supply closet below deck.”

“I really should have done a more thorough inspection once I became captain. Did he find anything else?”

Frank shrugged. “Not much. A few dead rats. A couple of live ones.”

Katherine considered setting the live rats loose on the island to help restore the lost fauna, then decided an unchecked population of inbred rats might not be the best way to kick things off. She pointed to the building. “What's that supposed to be? A town hall?”

“It's going to be a shelter we can all sleep under.” Frank grinned. “And, if need be, we can set it on fire to signal a passing ship.”

Tony the Elf laughed. “I know I'll sleep better knowing I'm in a building that was designed to burst into flames at a moment's notice.”

“What are you planning to use for a roof?” asked Katherine. There weren't any usable leaves on the island. And even with a hand saw or two, cutting these logs into planks would be a huge pain in the ass.

Frank frowned. “Take a walk with me, Katherine.”

Katherine nodded to Tanner and Tony the Elf, who politely feigned interest in Fritz's ditch-digging progress while she joined Frank for a stroll on the beach.

“What's up?”

“I wonder if you'd take some leadership advice from a little old gnome who's not always been able to rise to the challenge.”

Katherine laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me? I'll take any advice I can get.”

“As a child, did you ever have a substitute teacher who just handed out pointless worksheets to keep you busy until the bell rang?”

“I went to school in Mississippi. A number of my regular teachers did that.”

Frank smiled sadly as he stared down at the wet sand. “Sometimes, that's what being in a position of responsibility for others feels like. However earnestly you go into it wanting to see them thrive, wanting to feel like you've made a significant difference in their lives, reality has a way of wearing you down over time. Eventually, you start handing out word search puzzles and pat yourself on the back for making it through another day without anyone dying.”

They continued to walk in silence for a moment while Katherine thought about Frank's words. His resigned tone didn't match the prideful look on his face a few minutes ago when he was showing off all they'd accomplished. It was like he saw that she finally recognized him as a fraud, except she hadn't. At least, not yet. At the risk of highlighting her own ignorance, she pressed him to continue.

“Is this related to the roof on the shelter you're building?”

Frank let out a shallow laugh. “The shelter is the word search puzzle. If they figure out a way to make a roof, great. If not, who cares? It's not like we're going to die of exposure out here. The same goes for Fritz's fish farm. You've already demonstrated that you can feed us indefinitely with all these dead fish on the beach. But if digging trenches keeps their minds distracted from the likelihood that nobody is ever going to show up on this island with one of those dice, I'm more than happy to let them dig.”

Katherine tried to lighten Frank's mood with a tangentially related question. “What was going on in that other pit? The one people were jumping up and down in.”

“That was Rhonda's idea. They're mushing up dead fish for you to use as fertilizer.”

Katherine grinned. “That's really thoughtful.”

“Who knows?” said Frank. “Maybe we'll still be here when those sprouts grow into trees, and we can use the leaves to finish our roof.”

“You're really bringing me down, Frank. What's got you all down in the dumps?”

“I've seen too many failures. Every time I let myself believe that we might be able to pull ahead, we get dragged back even further. Your brother went off the rails, Dave tried to kill me, and now we've got five Mordreds out there growing more and more powerful every day.” Frank bent over and scooped up a handful of sand. “Look at this. Every single grain of this sand was made by wave after wave pulverizing rocks and shells over time. That's reality.” He tossed the sand back on the ground and wiped what was left onto his pants.

“Oh please,” said Katherine. “Spare me your melancholy Mr. Miagi bullshit. First of all, we don't have five Mordreds getting more and more powerful every day. At worst, we have four, because number five is in our custody, tied to a goddamn chair two hundred yards away with a bag of shit on his head. Secondly, we have good people out there hunting down those dice. Cooper's loyal and fearless. Stacy may be a big bitch, but she's proven herself capable. Julian has proven himself to be resourceful. Chaz is... with Julian. And we've all gotten to where we are because we didn't sit on our asses and feel sorry for ourselves.” She pointed to the crew on the beach. “Think about what they might have accomplished by now if you hadn't been handing out fucking word search puzzles at the Whore's Head.”

Frank glared at her. “I was keeping them alive!”

“For what?” Katherine regretted saying that as soon as the words left her lips. “I'm sorry, Frank. I didn't mean that. I know you did what you felt was best for your people. And maybe it was the right decision under the circumstances. But it's so frustrating to hear you blathering all this gloom and doom when we're as close to winning as we've ever been.”

Frank opened his mouth to speak, but Katherine cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Except for the time when Tim slit Mordred's throat. Let's move on, shall we?”

Frank nodded.

“You're acting like we're forty-seven points down at the end of the fourth quarter,” Katherine continued. “But that's not how I see it.”

Frank looked up at her. “How do you see it?”

“We're only at halftime, and it's still anybody's game.”

“Maybe you're right,” said Frank. He took off Katherine's captain hat and held it up to her. “You wear this. It fits you better.”

Chapter 42

“Who's that fine hunk of man meat?” asked Denise, who had joined Jay on the platform below. She was gazing thirstily at the dwarf standing at the head of the approaching longship. With his Viking-esque crown, his determined expression, and his unconventional style of dwarven facial hair, he was an imposing figure. A boatload of people like him might have been cause for concern. His crew, however, were distinctly less impressive. Mostly humans, goblins, and half-elves, they looked ill-suited to the rigors of sea life. Some of their arms were as thin as the oars they rowed with, while others were plump enough to suggest they weren't accustomed to this much exercise.

Captain Longfellow grimaced down at Denise, then cleared his throat to address his approaching counterpart.

“Salty winds, foes or friends?”

Randy supposed that was a standard nautical greeting in this world.

The dwarf squinted through the rain at Captain Longfellow, then raised his left hand. “HO!”

Randy didn't know what to make of that, but it didn't seem like a very polite response.

The rowers pulled their oars out of the water and held them straight up.

“I be Longfellow of the Maiden's Voyage,” said Captain Longfellow.

“I am Rothgar, son of Rothgar,” said the dwarf on the other boat. “Emissary of the Illustrious Jordan Knight, Liberator of Slaves, Bringer of Peace, Father of Freedom, finest bard ever to grace this unworthy world with his song.”

“'Twould appear that ye have lost yer way.”

“We travel where our master instructs us. We act as his eyes and ears.” The dwarf narrowed his eyes at Captain Longfellow. “And if need be, his fist.”

“That vessel be not intended for the high seas, cursed fool! It be a miracle ye made it this far. One wave of a respectable size is like to capsize that little horse trough ye be paddling in. Take a rope and let us tow ye back to the mainland.”

“We shall not return until we have retrieved the artifacts that were stolen from our master.”

“Oh shit!” said Denise. “I reckon he's talkin' about the dice!”

Randy, Captain Longfellow, and Jay glared at her as the rowers on the longship murmured excitedly.

“I demand permission to board your ship, Captain,” said Rothgar, son of Rothgar.

Captain Longfellow scoffed. “Ye have me permission to go fuck yer whore mother.”

The dwarf nodded. “So be it.” He turned to his crew. “They know of the Sacred Jewels of Jordan Knight!”

His crew cheered.

“Tear that ship apart until you find what our master seeks. Slaughter any man who stands in your way!”

The rowers laid down their oars in the center aisle of the narrow boat, then pulled grappling hooks, coils of rope, and daggers out from under their seats.

Captain Longfellow shook his head as his own crewmen readied their weapons and took positions to intercept the invaders. “Poor devils. They be lining up for the slaughter.”

“You can't kill them,” said Randy. “They was slaves, and they gotta be under some kind of mind control.”

“Good thinkin', Randy,” said Denise. “We can make them our concubines.”

“What would ye have me do?” asked Captain Longfellow. “Serve them drinks while they tear me ship to pieces?”

“Of course not. But look how strong y'all are, and look at them. They barely got strength enough to lift them oars. All I'm sayin' is that you apply only as much pressure as necessary to subdue them.”

Following Alexei's example from earlier for the sake of speed and a bit of drama, Randy grabbed the railing and vaulted himself down to the platform below. He wasn't nearly as graceful or surefooted as Alexei had been, but at least he didn't break his legs.

The following two leaps went a little more smoothly, and he made it to the deck before anyone climbed on board.

“Lower your weapons,” he demanded of Longfellow's crew, asserting more authority than was probably appropriate as a guest on someone else's ship. “Please.”

The crew turned to Captain Longfellow, who shrugged and nodded.

When the first invader peeked his goblin face over the railing, Randy punched it, then grabbed him by the throat and pulled him aboard.

“Tie him up,” he said, handing the dazed goblin off to a crew member, along with the rope and grappling hook that he'd used to climb up.

“Goddamn!” said Denise. “That was some cold shit, Randy.”

The crew seemed a little confused at first by the concept of non-lethal fighting. But after a clumsy first wave of beating the shit out of invaders with their bare fists, they started to catch on, then appeared to really enjoy it.

“It's like being back home with my father,” said a half-orc after he punched one of the invading humans so hard in the gut that he vomited all over the deck.

A half-elf missing the tip of his left ear assumed tying duty. “It reminds me of being back home with your mother.” He and the half-orc shared a hearty laugh, then resumed punching and tying.

By the end of the embarrassing attempt at piracy, every single one of the invaders, including their dwarven captain, lay on the Maiden's Voyage deck, constrained in their own ropes. Some had been beaten more excessively than others, but they were all alive. Hardly any of Captain Longfellow's men had suffered so much as a slight stabbing.

“That was exhilarating,” said a heavily-tattooed human man, wiping rain and sweat from his bald head. “Let's untie them all and do it again.”

“Ye play on yer own time!” said Captain Longfellow. “Tie their boat behind us and raise the sails.”

“Captain!” cried one of the crew, who Randy recognized as Linnus, Alexei's new lover. “There's another one!”

Randy the horizon the horizon in the direction Linnus was pointing. Sure enough, he could barely make out another longship through the mist and rain.

Captain Longfellow stroked his grizzled beard as he peered out to sea. “Never mind towing the boat. Sink it. Haul the crew below deck and make sure those knots be secure. Bring the dwarf to me cabin.” He pointed at Randy. “You and yer companions. In me cabin now.”

Randy started climbing but got stuck with Jay on the third tier waiting for Denise. Thankfully, she only had the one ladder to climb.

“I know ye lot be wrapped up in these shenanigans somehow,” said the captain when Randy, Denise, and Jay finally entered his cabin. “Spill yer guts, or by the gods I'll spill them for ye.”

“There ain't nothin' more to say than what I already told you,” said Randy. “The whole reason we was coming here was to investigate what little Jay had told us.”

Captain Longfellow turned to Jay with warning eyes. “And what, precisely, be that?”

“That song they were singing while they were rowing,” said Jay. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. These two said they recognized it as a song from our world, a little before my time.”

“Yer world?”

“Oh. Randy didn't tell you about us being from a different world?”

The captain turned his narrowed eyes back to Randy. “Nar. 'Twould seem he neglected to mention that small detail whilst he was being so forthcoming with information.”

“I weren't tryin' to keep nothing from you,” said Randy. “I just didn't think you'd believe me, or that you'd find it relevant.”

“Never mind what ye think I'll believe. When yer aboard me ship, ye'll cough up whatever cockamamie beluga shite yer jism-riddled brain believes to be true. I'll be the judge of whether or not ye been clobbered upon the head by one too many stone giant cock.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Now this dwarf who's being hauled up here as we speak. Do he be of this world ye claim to come from?”

“No, sir,” said Randy. “At least, I don't reckon so. But the bard he was talkin' about, the one he's working for. He's from our world.”

Captain Longfellow turned sharply to Denise. “And what of the dice ye spoke of?”

Denise squirmed in her chair. “Dice? I ain't said nothin' about no dice.”

While Randy appreciated Denise's efforts to keep knowledge of the dice as close to the chest as possible, she'd already spilled the beans on it, and Captain Longfellow had just made very plain how thin his tolerance for falsehoods was stretched. Not that it mattered much, as Randy's compulsion to speak the truth was forcing the words out of his mouth.

“The dice are what sent us to this world,” he said. Telling the truth felt like scratching his nose after helping a friend move a heavy piece of furniture. “They sent Mordred here, too. And he'll stop at nothing to get them back.”

Captain Longfellow scrutinized Randy in silence for a moment. “And who in the squid-fucking depths is Mordred?”

“He's the bard.”

“I thought ye said the bard's name was Jorban Knight.”

“Jordan Knight,” Randy corrected him. “That's more like his stage name. He must be using his music to force all these people to go search for the dice. If he gets his hands on just one, he'll send himself back to our world and regain complete control over this one.”

“A bard, ye say?” Captain Longfellow laughed. “Whoever heard of an entertainer wielding that kind of power and influence?”

Jay shrugged. “Where we come from, it's not uncommon.”

The captain stopped laughing and stared at Jay, then at Randy and Denise who were nodding their agreement.

“Yer serious,” he said. “Out of your fool minds, but serious nonetheless.”

“Unhand me at once!” demanded a gruff voice from outside the captain's quarters. “Surrender the artifact and release me, or you will surely suffer the wrath of Jordan Knight!”

Two of Captain Longfellow's crewmen shoved Rothgar, the dwarven longboat captain, through the door, his hands tied behind his back, and sat him down hard in a chair. Being the most formidable of the invaders, he'd taken one of the biggest beatings. His face was swollen, his nose crooked, and blood ran from his nose all the way down both disheveled braids of his mustache.

“Very good,” said Captain Longfellow. “Now we shall see how closely this dwarf's story matches yer own.”

Rothgar spat a gob of bloody phlegm on the table in front of him. “You'll get nothing out of me, cowardly son of a –”

SMACK!

One of the crewmen who'd escorted Rothgar backhanded him across the face hard enough to knock an elf's head clean off.

“That be enough, lads,” said Captain Longfellow. “Now get yer cock scabbards back to work.”

“Yes, Captain,” said the two men in unison. They exited the captain's quarters and closed the door behind them.

“Y'all lay him down on the table and hold him still,” said Denise. “When I'm through with him, he'll sing like... Well, like Jordan Knight, I reckon.”

“How dare you speak such blasphemy!” said Rothgar. “But do unto me as you will. I shall be honored to suffer the worst torture you can imagine for my master.”

Randy rose from his chair. “Now, everybody calm down. Ain't nobody gonna torture nobody.”

“I might remind ye who be wearing the captain's hat,” said Captain Longfellow.

“I'm no fan of torture,” said Jay. “But come on, Randy. Did you see how hard this dude just got bitch slapped? He's going to be a tough nut to crack if you want to get any information out of him. Maybe you and I can go take a walk or something.”

“I ain't goin' nowhere.” Randy looked down at Captain Longfellow. “I don't mean no offense, Captain. But I answer to a higher authority, no matter whose ship I'm on, and I can't allow no torture. Besides, you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar, if you catch my meaning.”

Captain Longfellow grimaced. “If it be flies I want to catch, I'd sail this ship into yer mother's gaping sperm tunnel.”

“Damn!” said Jay.

Denise chuckled. “You got a way with words, Captain.”

Even Rothgar looked more shaken up by the captain's words than he'd been about getting the crap slapped out of him.

“While I don't appreciate that kind of talk about my deceased mother,” said Randy, “I recognize that you gotta assert your authority.”

“Ye'll recognize more than that if ye try to give orders on me ship again.” Captain Longfellow stood up to meet Randy eye-to-eye. “When ye come aboard the Maiden's Voyage, there be no authority higher than me.”

The last thing Randy wanted was to back the captain into a corner. Instead, he decided to sidestep the argument and propose an alternative solution to the problem.

“I apologize, Captain,” he said. “But he ain't gonna give up nothin' no matter how much you beat him. I seen this kind of zealotry before. He wants to suffer. He said as much himself.”

“Then what do ye propose we do? Suck his cock until the truth comes out?”

“That sounds about Randy's speed,” said Denise.

Randy shot her a warning glare, then turned back to Captain Longfellow. “That is not, in fact, what I had in mind.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the vials he'd acquired at the Happy Cock. “With your permission, Captain, I would like to try this.”

Captain Longfellow squinted at the vial. “And what be that?”

“Just a little something I picked up before we set sail. It makes folks more cooperative.”

Rothgar's eyes went wide.

“Hey!” said Denise. “You ain't said you got more of those. That's my pregnancy medicine!”

Rothgar's eyes went wider.

Randy turned to Denise and Jay, then thought better of it and turned back to Captain Longfellow. “Captain, I await your command.”

Captain Longfellow nodded. “Aye. Hold him down and pinch his nose.”

Denise moved faster than Randy had seen her move in the past couple of weeks. She pulled Rothgar up out of his chair, spun him around, slammed him down on the table and climbed up on top of him to pin him down.

Jay wasn't quite as gung-ho as Denise, but he did his part by pinching Rothgar's nose.

Rothgar squirmed and held his breath until his face turned purple, but he could only hold out so long. When he finally exhaled through his mouth, Randy poured the red liquid in.

Captain Longfellow forced Rothgar's mouth closed and clapped a grimy hand over it. “Swallow! Take it down like yer sister takes a donkey's load!”

Randy shook his head at the captain, who was staring daggers at Rothgar. That sort of talk was completely uncalled for, but Randy knew he had to choose his battles with the captain more selectively now.

Rothgar held out a little longer, but eventually gulped down the potion.

Captain Longfellow removed his hand, and Rothgar gulped in deep breaths of air.

“Now tell me what ye know of this so-called Great Bard!”

“Never! I'll never betray my master!”

The captain glared accusingly at Randy.

“You got to give it a minute to take effect.”

“I got to do nothing!” snapped Captain Longfellow. He let go of Rothgar and got up in Randy's face. “Again ye forget yer place aboard me ship. I be the captain, and I tell folks what they got and don't got to do here!” He pulled a dagger from its sheath on his belt. The tarnished, jewel-studded hilt had probably been a lot more eye-catching when it belonged to whomever he had acquired it from, and the blade looked like it had cleaned a lot more fish than its creator ever imagined it would.

Randy wasn't scared. Maybe he should have been. He didn't know how well he'd fare in a fight with the captain if it came to that, but he had no fear of death.

“I ain't your enemy, Captain.”

“We shall see.” The captain flipped the dagger around, caught it by the blade, then offered the hilt to Randy.

Unsure of why it was being offered, Randy accepted the dagger. “What's this for?”

Captain Longfellow turned his back on Randy and paused, presumably to dare Randy to stab him in the back. When Randy failed to do so, the captain went over to his shelves and removed an old dusty hourglass.

As large as a Family Size box of Fruity Pebbles, the glass was encased in a frame of dark polished wood, carved into the shapes of four human feet at one end, and four hands at the other.

Flipping it from the hand side to the foot, the captain set it down with a loud thunk at the end of the table. At the rate the sand was pouring out, Randy could tell it wasn't going to last anywhere close to an hour.

“Ye might find use for it,” said Captain Longfellow. “One way or another, ye'll get that dwarf to talk before the last grain of sand falls, or I'll be chumming the waters with the both of ye.”

Rothgar laughed. “You fools dance to the master's glorious song, and you don't even know it. Cut me to pieces! Do it slowly, so that I can savor every excruciating minute of it.”

“Come on, Captain,” pleaded Jay. “Please don't put this on Randy. He just hasn't got it in him. The rest of us can overpower him, tie him up, and interrogate this dude any way we see fit.”

Captain Longfellow didn't take his eyes off Randy. This wasn't about getting Rothgar to talk anymore. This was about Randy overstepping his bounds and repeatedly challenging the captain's authority. In order to assert that authority, he was forcing Randy to choose between death and doing the thing he'd demanded nobody else do. The choice was easy.

Randy set the dagger down gently on the table. “I understand, Captain. You do what you gotta do, but I ain't gonna torture nobody, and I ain't gonna stand by while no one else does it, neither.”

“Jesus Christ, Randy,” said Denise, staring at the dwindling sands of the hourglass, which had drained about three quarters of the way now. “Ain't nobody askin' you to watch. Just get the fuck out of here and let us take care of it.”

“I ain't going nowhere, Denise. The Lord has a plan for me, and if that plan involves getting' chopped into pieces and thrown in the sea, then I reckon that's what I'm gonna do.”

Captain Longfellow shook his head. “Yer both madder than an eight-dicked dolphin.” He turned his sad eyes from the empty hourglass to Randy. “Damn ye to the depths for making me do this.”

“Wait!” said Jay. He glared severely at Rothgar. “This is your last chance. Nobody has to get hurt here. All we want is for you to talk to us.”

Rothgar gave Jay a wide blood-soaked grin. “That is very touching. Too few people take the time to get to know one another these days. What would you like to talk about?”

Randy felt Captain Longfellow staring at him, and tried to maintain an air of humility.

“I'll tell you what we want to talk about, motherfucker!” said Denise. “If you don't start talking about –”

“Denise!” said Randy.

“Just a second, man. We finally broke him. Don't interrupt the momentum.”

“We ain't broke him. I reckon he's just feeling friendlier now. Ain't that right, Rothgar?”

Rothgar struggled to sit up. “I have a few aches and pains, but on the whole, I feel fantastic.”

Randy picked up the dagger off the table and addressed Captain Longfellow extra politely. “I think our guest might be more comfortable if we removed his restraints.”

“Aye.” The captain poured himself a drink and gulped it down while Randy cut the rope binding Rothgar's hands behind his back. “Would anyone else care for a cup?”

Jay nodded.

“Fuck yes,” said Denise.

“That would be delightful,” said Rothgar as he rubbed the soreness out of his wrists.

Captain Longfellow turned to Randy. “And ye?”

Randy smiled. “I would love a drink, Captain.”

“Lord Shitflinger!” shouted Captain Longfellow. “Three more cups!”

The monkey shrieked as it swung itself down from the rafters to the shelves, then hurled three tin cups, one at a time, down on the table.

Rothgar clapped excitedly. “A monkey! He is so adorable.”

When everyone's drinks had been poured, Captain Longfellow gestured expectantly at Randy, but Randy simply stared back at him, politely allowing him to initiate the interrogation.

“Very well.” The captain turned to Rothgar. “Tell us about this bard ye serve.”

“Jordan Knight?” said Rothgar. “Have you heard him?”

“We have not.”

“By the gods, you have not yet lived! He sings this one song, it sounds like, Oh, oh, oh, –”

“Yes, yes! We've heard ye sing the cursed song.”

Rothgar's excitement flickered. “Well, I couldn't possibly do it justice.”

“I understand Master Knight has gained quite a following in the Slavelands.”

“He certainly has, but you can't really call it the Slavelands anymore, since he freed all the slaves.”

Captain Longfellow raised his eyebrows. “All the slaves, ye say?”

“Every last one. He has been playing across the Barovian peninsula, gaining himself a larger audience with each city he liberates. Now he moves his adoring masses down toward the Eastern Kingdoms. We have seized the port at Hollin and commandeered all the ships to spread word of his song and seek that which has been stolen from him.”

“And how far from Lymn be his adoring masses?”

Rothgar shrugged. “We left more than a week ago. They may have taken Lymn by now.”

Captain Longfellow muttered as he stroked his beard. “Every ship in the port. We'll have to change course.”

“Permission to speak, Captain,” said Randy.

“Aye.”

Randy addressed Rothgar. “When you said Jordan Knight was looking for that which has been stolen from him, you was talkin' about the dice, right?”

“That is correct. Wicked men stole the master's dice because they were jealous of the power of his song.”

“Do you know what he'll be able to do if he gets his hands on these dice?”

Rothgar smiled. “He will reclaim his rightful dominion over this world and everyone in it.”

Randy frowned. “You don't see a problem with one man having that kind of power?”

“Jordan Knight is a benevolent ruler. He has freed us and given us his song. When he takes back what is his, the world will be at peace.”

“These dice,” said Captain Longfellow. “They sound like quite a prize. A trinket like that might fetch a man a small fortune. Mayhap enough to retire on his own island.”

“Captain Longfellow!” said Randy. “Ain't you heard what he said about Mordred – I mean, Jordan Knight taking control over the whole world?”

“The politics of the civilized world mean little to men like me. What care I for who governs what fickle speck of land, so long as I can govern me own?”

“It matters to a lot of people! You can't just –”

Captain Longfellow slammed his cup down on the table. “Ye been warned too many a time about telling me what I can and can't do, paladin!”

There was no point in arguing. Who knew how many thousands of people Mordred already had out looking for his dice. One more was just a drop in the bucket. The best thing to do was lay low until they reached whatever destination they ended up going to, then redoubling their effort to find those dice before Captain Longfellow or any of Mordred's minion's could.

“Yes, Captain.”

“I got an idea,” said Denise to the captain. “I reckon I can give you exactly what you need to forget about those silly dice.”

Randy might have to mind his tongue with regard to how he spoke to the captain, but he didn't have to mind squat for Denise.

“That's enough out of you, Denise!” he snapped. “You need to stop all this right now! Look at you. You look like you're in your seventh trimester with walrus triplets. Don't nobody wanna put their wiener in your filthy mouth. Don't nobody want to squirt their load on your big dwarf titties. I'm beggin' you, Denise. For once in your life, try to show a modicum of self-respect!”

Captain Longfellow, Jay, and Rothgar stared at Randy with wide eyes. Denise's eyes were narrowed.

“Are you finished, Randy?” she asked coldly.

Randy took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Then maybe you should go say some prayers and get your dirty mind out of the gutter. The captain said he wanted to retire on his own island, and that's what I was proposin' to offer him. Nothing more, thank you very much.”

Randy had heard some impressive backpedaling from Denise before, but this one might take the cake.

“And where do you think you're gonna find an –” Randy instantly knew the answer to his question. And judging by the smug look on Denise's face, she knew he knew it. “Nazere.”

It was like Rothgar's and Captain Longfellow's expressions leaped onto each other's faces.

“Did you say Nazere?” asked Rothgar, suddenly alarmed.

Captain Longfellow snapped out of his astonishment at Randy's outburst and laughed. “What want have I for some godsforsaken frozen wasteland, Ice Queen or no Ice Queen? What good is a life of freedom if I spend it plucking icicles off me sandbags?”

“It ain't like that no more. The ice started melting as soon as we killed the Ice Queen.”

Denise cleared her throat.

“I apologize,” said Randy. “As soon as Denise killed the Ice Queen. Her ice castle nearly killed us when it collapsed. I reckon it's back to being as warm and pretty as it was before she ever set foot on it.”

“You cannot possibly believe this,” Rothgar pleaded to Captain Longfellow. “A simple-minded human and a fat dwarf could not possibly have challenged the Ice Queen of Nazere's power.”

“I'm pregnant, motherfucker,” said Denise. “And I fucked that ice bitch up.” She turned to the captain. “Not only is Nazere now a fine plot of land to settle down on, but it's also got some history behind it. I reckon it could turn into quite the tourist destination. Maybe even a thriving seaport one day. A man who got in on the ground floor staking his claim there might retire very comfortably.”

Captain Longfellow swished his drink around in his mouth before gulping it down. “Aye, he might.”

“Captain, please!” said Rothgar. “You can't –”

The captain shut him up with a look. “But how do I know ye don't be filling me with fanciful fish tales? Mayhap ye never did make yer way to Nazere, and this be a ploy to trick me into taking ye there on yer mad fool's errand?”

It seemed preposterous to Randy that the captain still held on to doubts about their claims, but he supposed that was no more preposterous than the claims themselves. He had no idea how to convince him.

“So this Nazere,” said Jay. “This was a tropical island that got taken over by some Ice Queen, right?”

“That be correct,” said Captain Longfellow. “And once a ship be trapped upon her icy shores, ye can all but forget about seeing those sailors again. Those few who leave the island aren't the same men as they were when they arrived there. Her magic changes ye, and I intend to have me wits about me when I be burning in the fires of the Abyss.”

Jay nodded. “That's fair. Nobody wants their mind fucked with. I get that. But how close do you need to get to the island before you can see the ice or feel the cold?”

Captain Longfellow shivered. “I've felt the unholy chill of that island on more than one occasion when I mistakenly believed me course be far enough away. It feels like an icy hand gripping yer very balls.”

Randy and Denise exchanged a glance. It was cold, sure, but the captain was clearly taking some dramatic liberties.

“Then I don't see the problem,” said Jay.

“Ye don't see the problem?” Captain Longfellow bellowed. “Have ye got whale sperm in yer eyes?”

Jay grimaced. “I don't think so.”

“Did I not make plain enough the danger?”

“You did. All I'm saying is that we can get close enough to tell whether or not Randy and Denise are telling the truth without getting close enough to be trapped, can't we? You just said yourself that you've passed close enough to feel the queen's magic, but you lived to tell the tale. Is there any reason we can't just turn around at the first hint of a chill in the air?”

The captain stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment. “Ye make a fine point, African.”

“My name is Jay.”

“We can't very well continue our course to Lymn. Not with all these bard-worshiping fools seizing ships from the ports.”

Rothgar's lips tightened at the captain's insult. “If you give his song a chance, you would understand.”

Captain Longfellow stood up and opened his cabin door. “Alexei! In me quarters at once!”

Randy leaned toward Denise and Jay. “Katherine and the others should be in Nazere by now. We got to tell them about all this Jordan Knight stuff when we get there.”

Denise shook her head. “Goddammit, Randy. Why the fuck you think I brought up Nazere in the first place? I just passed up the chance to watch you fight that fuckin' captain.”

About a second after Captain Longfellow returned to his chair, Alexei was standing in the doorway.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Our plans have changed. We need to set a course for a new destination.”

“I understand. Where are we going now?”

Captain Longfellow flashed Randy a quick grin and wink before answering his first mate, as if to say, “Watch this.”

“Nazere.”

Alexei stood there for a second with his eyes bulging and mouth agape. He looked at Randy, then Rothgar, then back to the captain.

“Humblest apologies, Captain. But did you say... Nazere?”

“Ye heard correctly.”

Alexei swallowed, then composed himself. “I will give the order, but I cannot guarantee the crew will obey me.”

Captain Longfellow grinned. “Nobody never said being a first mate was easy. Imagine what it be like to be a captain.”

“I do, Captain. Each and every day.”

“Then let us see if ye have the chops for it. Give the order.”

“Yes, Captain. Right away.” Alexei stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Randy waited for him to shout the orders, but no shout came.

“You could have explained the precautions we're planning to take,” said Jay.

“Aye, I could have,” said the captain. “But what good would that do me?”

Jay shrugged. “It might prevent a mutiny. I don't know about any of you, but I haven't heard any orders being given, and you wouldn't believe how fucking good these ears can hear. For all we know, your first mate thinks you've been brainwashed by us and this dwarf. He could be organizing a posse to come take you down right now.”

“Ye speak no falsehoods, young African.”

“Jay.”

“A captain must trust his crew, and that trust must be reciprocated. It need be earned on both sides. But a ship's crew be as fluid as the sea we float upon. Some men perish. Others settle down with some tavern whore. And still others move on to other ventures. With every harbor we stop at, we lose some men and gain others, not all of whom we know we can trust to follow orders. It be times like these that test a man's mettle and loyalty. I would not send Alexei out there if I didn't know in me heart that he'd take a harpoon in his poop deck for me. Mayhap he be plotting against me, or mayhap the reason we don't hear him bellowing out orders like a gods-damned buffoon is that he too has those under him whom he trusts more than others. When it comes time to deliver an order like this one, it be wise to have as many on yer side as ye can.”

“So you purposely withheld reassurance that we weren't sailing to certain death because you want a portion of the crew to resist?”

“Sounds daft when ye put it like that, but yes. When the seas get rough, it be best to know who will have yer back. Chum the waters with the rest of them.”

Five minutes and a couple of grunts and splashes later, Alexei reappeared in the doorway.

“We've lost two men, Captain. And we've set a course for Nazere.”

Chapter 43

With one arm still shoved firmly up the chicken's ass, Fazul clapped his other palm on top of the bird, spreading his fingers as wide as they would go across its buttered and herbed skin.

“Propylene Glycol Alginate!” he said, shortly before his hand burst into flames.

“SHIT!” said Chaz. “Help! Julian, do something!”

“What's all the fuss?” demanded Felania as she waddled back into the kitchen. “Hush, or you'll wake the baby.”

Fazul stared curiously at Chaz and Julian as he continued to rub his fiery hand all over the chicken skin, which was turning golden and crispy. With his other arm, the one fisting the chicken, he was slowly pumping deeper, then pulling back out in a way he shouldn't have felt comfortable doing with his wife standing in the same room. It sure as shit made Chaz feel uncomfortable.

“Mayhap the two of you do not take well to teleportation,” he said. “The sudden change of night to day can be disorienting for some.”

“We're fine,” said Julian. “We were just a little surprised when your hands caught on fire.”

“I would have guessed you were a spellcaster, the way you dote on that talking bird of yours.”

“I am. A sorcerer, actually.”

“A dabbler, you mean.” Fazul's tone was snide and dismissive. “The forces that make up the fabric of this universe are complex and powerful. Magic is not a toy to be fiddled with by those who cannot be bothered to devote the time and study to understand it. You would do better to pursue your career as a clown. As flat as your jokes may fall, they will do far less harm than the reckless wielding of arcane power.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Julian just a little curtly, his Diplomacy roll clearly right on the edge of success. “I will take that under advisement.”

Fazul removed his arm from the chicken, revealing that his other hand was also on fire. It made sense that he'd want to make sure the bird was thoroughly cooked inside and out, and it made Chaz feel a hell of a lot better about that slow and sensual fisting motion he'd had going on.

“How dare you insult my cooking, woman!” Fazul beamed down at the chicken. “Have you ever laid eyes on such a fine bird?”

Felania smirked. “I'll admit it looks better than the charred leather and bones you cooked up last time.” She eyed Chaz and Julian up and down. “These must be special guests indeed.”

Fazul went to the basin to wash his hands. “They are. We have much to celebrate tonight, and mayhap we can convince our special guest to play us a song once our bellies are full.”

“I'd love to,” said Chaz. He was almost prepared to agree to suck a dick if it got him closer to tearing into that chicken.

“Ganny! Lidon! Findle!” Felania shouted. Chaz thought she was casting a spell until her three oldest kids came running out of their room. “Wash your hands. It's time for supper.”

Ravenus staggered out behind them, his feathers sparkling with purple glitter and his beak painted cherry red.

“Ravenus!” cried Julian, running over to scoop up his familiar. “Are you okay? What did they do to you?”

“I would prefer not to say, sir. I've never felt quite so... violated.”

“She's called Princess Blackfeather,” said the daughter. “Isn't she pretty, Daddy?”

Fazul beamed at his daughter. “Indeed she is, Ganny. You did a fine job with her.”

Ravenus ruffled his feathers. “Please, sir,” he pleaded with Julian. “Please don't leave me alone with –” He stopped and tilted his whorish red beak up in the air. “Whatever is that delicious smell?”

“Chicken?” said Julian.

“I thought so!”

“Wait a second. After all the gross things I've seen you eat, are you telling me you actually find the smell of roasted chicken appealing?”

Ravenus looked down at the chicken on the table. “Of course not, sir. That smells absolutely disgusting.” He squirmed his way out of Julian's arms and flapped down onto the rim of the viscera bucket. “Is this for me?”

Julian looked to Fazul for an answer.

“I was going to bury it in the garden, but Princess Blackfeather can have it if she wants it.”

“It's Ravenus,” Julian corrected him. “And he's... never mind. Go head, Ravenus.”

Fortunately, Chaz didn't have to suffer the echoing slurps and scrapes of Ravenus inside the entrails bucket for very long. Their hosts led them back into the main room of the house, which also served as its dining room.

The meal was even more delicious than Chaz had anticipated. He'd never had a clear idea as to what exactly porridge was, aside from the dish of choice for fictional anthropomorphic bears, but he wolfed down two bowls of it before he tore into a chicken leg. By the end of the meal, though, he determined that his own hunger had been the secret ingredient that had made the meal taste so good. Once his belly was full, he nibbled at what was left of his chicken, finding it bland and dry.

He hadn't intended to get too drunk too fast, both because he knew he would be expected to perform after dinner and because the wine they were serving wasn't very good. It was sweet and kind of syrupy, like cheap vodka mixed with the juice in cans of fruit cocktail. But it got that dry chicken down his throat. By the time his plate was clean, he had a solid buzz going.

“Do you like the wine?” asked Fazul, who had been pounding it back since he finished fisting the chicken. “Felania makes it from wild berries that the children collect.”

“It's delicious,” said Julian, who was still on his first cup. “Great job, kids.”

The kids were drinking what looked like the same thing but poured from a different pitcher. Chaz guessed it was unfermented juice from those same berries.

He hadn't paid attention to which pitcher Felania had been pouring her own drinks from, but her cheeks were rosy and she didn't seem quite so confrontational as before.

“So I hear you are this amazing performer,” she said to Chaz. “Please, enchant us all with this great talent of yours.”

Fazul wiped wine and chicken grease from his beard. “Felania, dear. You are being rude. These men are our guests.”

“We are partners in business now, are we not? Is it unreasonable that I would want to see what my dear husband has invested our children's future in?”

Despite the fact that, monetarily, Fazul hadn't invested jack shit into the partnership, Chaz thought it was a reasonable request. “I'd be happy to –”

“I've not seen all the whores or late-night games of Golden Dragons.”

“Felania, please!” snapped Fazul. “The children!”

The children's heads turned left and right as their parents shouted at each other as if they were enjoying a tennis match. This was clearly not their first such altercation, and must have passed for entertainment in a world without television.

“Oh, I've seen the children all right.” Felania gulped down what was left in her cup, then hurled it across the table at her husband. “I see them every day. Every scraped knee, every soiled diaper, every runny nose. I see it all, while you fondle loose women the same way you fondled that chicken!”

Chaz was relieved that he wasn't the only one to have picked up on that imagery. He reached down for his lute case, hoping to lighten the mood before the argument escalated any further.

Fazul slammed his fist down on the table. “I shall not be insulted like this in my own house!”

“Not for very long,” said Felania. She swiped her daughter's empty cup and filled it from the wine pitcher. “I know you've got more Teleport spells tucked away in that wicked mind of yours. As soon as I fall asleep, you'll be back on the Crescent Shadow, buying drinks for harlots and pleasuring yourself to Live Nude Gnomes!”

Fazul turned to Chaz. “Please accept my humble apologies. My wife does not handle her drink well. I pray you ignore her rantings.”

“I can smell them on you,” said Felania. She waved her cup under her nose and inhaled. “My father kept gnomish servants for fifty years when I was a child. Do not think I don't know a gnome twat when I smell one.”

With that, the wine was officially ruined for Chaz. He strummed his lute and worked in a Sleep spell as he began to sing Forever in Blue Jeans.” The youngest of the three older children, sitting nearest Chaz, collapsed face-down in his nearly-empty porridge bowl.

“That is lovely,” said Felania as Chaz continued to sing. “I've never heard anything like it. Is this that new style of music rumored to be coming from the Barovian peninsula?”

Julian smiled. “I very seriously doubt that.”

The second eldest son was the next to drop, and the daughter's eyelids were getting heavy. But Felania remained wide awake as she drank her wine and enjoyed Chaz's song.

“What is Blue Jeans?” she asked. “Is that the eternal resting place for followers of this New God I've heard so much about?”

Julian smiled, then opened his mouth to answer, but Chaz nodded. It was easier this way.

“Yes,” said Julian. “That's exactly what it is.”

Felania nodded in time with the music. “It sounds like a lovely place.”

THUNK!

The daughter's face hit the table pretty hard when she finally went down.

Felania looked at her stepdaughter face-down on the table, then broke down in tears. Chaz thought it was a bit of an overreaction. The girl would be okay. He kept playing and singing.

“Forgive me, Fazul!” bawled Felania. “I love you! Please don't leave me!”

Fazul smiled warmly at her. “I shall never leave you, my love.”

“I'll be a good wife from now on, I promise! I'll do whatever you –” Felania's cup clattered on the floor, spilling what little wine remained in it as she finally joined her stepchildren in magical slumber.

Chaz ended the song. “Jesus Christ. I thought she'd never go down.”

“She shouldn't have,” said Julian. “Elves are immune to Sleep spells.”

“Shit. I wish I'd known that before I... Wait, then why did she...”

“This was no effect of magic,” said Fazul. “As I mentioned before, my wife... she does not handle her drink well.” He shrugged. “But it makes no difference. Let us be grateful for a moment's peace. Who would like another drink?”

“I think we've all had enough to drink tonight,” said Julian.

Chaz didn't appreciate being spoken for. “I wouldn't mind another cup. I was taking it easy because I knew I'd have to perform. But I'm actually starting to get a taste for this stuff.”

Julian kept his focus on Fazul. “Let's get something straight. We're business partners, and we have an arrangement.”

“Why do you speak to me in such a manner? You are a guest in my house, and I have held up my end of the arrangement. You carry the evidence next to your testicles.”

“That's only half of what we asked for.”

Fazul grinned at him. “Please, friends! Stay with me and drink tonight. Nazere will still be there in the morning.”

“Yeah, Julian,” said Chaz. “What's the hurry? Chill out and have a drink.” He was no more thrilled to be spending the night in this lunatic asylum than Julian, but that was nothing a gallon of wine couldn't fix.

Julian narrowed his eyes at Chaz. “We have friends to meet in Nazere, and I have something I'd like to get off my chest.” He pointed at his crotch under the table where Fazul's view was blocked. “Other people may also be looking for those friends as we speak... or for us.”

Julian seemed to be going heavy on the innuendo, but Chaz didn't think he was picking up everything he was trying to say.

“And we'll get there,” he said. “Like my man said, Nazere's not going anywhere. What difference is one day going to make?”

“Listen to your friend,” said Fazul. “Relax and have some wine. As a user of magic, you understand that I must take time in the morning to prepare my spells.”

“Bullshit,” Julian said sharply. “You can't hide your shenanigans from your wife, and you can't hide them from us. You've got more Teleports in that head. She knows it, you know it, and we know it. You're waiting for us to pass out so you can go back to the Crescent Shadow right now, aren't you?”

Fazul opened his mouth to speak, then broke eye contact. “I have only one more Teleport spell prepared for the day, and I have a prior engagement on the Crescent Shadow.” He looked pleadingly at Chaz. “But it is not what you think.”

“Gambling and whores?” Chaz guessed.

Fazul sighed and shrugged. “Very well. It is what you think. Please do not judge me, for I am weak.”

“We're not here to judge you,” said Julian. “Apart from our business partnership, you're free to do whatever you want with your life. But what happens when your wife wakes us up in the middle of the night asking us where you are? Who you're with?”

Fazul's face reddened. “Are you threatening me, elf?”

“No, I'm not threatening you! I just don't want to be in that situation.”

Julian made a good point. Sleeping in a stranger's house with his fucked-up family was awkward enough without being responsible for ineffectively covering for him while he was out banging whores.

“I'm starting to warm up to Julian's point of view here,” he said. “What he's trying to say is that you should save your whoring money for more gambling.”

“WHAT?” shrieked Julian. “That is absolutely not what –”

Chaz shut him up with a look, then walked around to Fazul's side of the table. “There are women on Nazere right now. Friends of ours.” Technically, none of what he'd said so far was a lie. “Think about it. We'll bring a few jugs of wine along, get fucked up, sing some songs. We'll be out there under the stars with the waves crashing on the beach.” He put his arm around Fazul's shoulders. “And the best part is, you've got RazzmaChaz as your wingman.”

Fazul sipped his drink thoughtfully. “That does sound nice.”

“Doesn't it?” said Julian with just a slight hint of sarcasm and scorn.

“Very well. Gather your belongings, and I shall retrieve my finest bottle of spirits. How many glasses should I bring?”

Chaz shrugged. “Bring one for yourself if you want to. I don't need anything too fancy. I'll just hold on to this cup.”

Fazul ducked behind a bar which stood where a television might in a modern living room. He produced a fancy-looking blue liquor bottle with silver writing that Chaz couldn't read. Next to it, he set down three shot glasses shaped like the torsos of naked women.

“I meant for the ladies, of course. We men can sit around a table, casually speaking of war and tits while we pour cheap wine down our gullets from common cups. But I've found women prefer a touch of class and sophistication. It provides for them the illusion of being less whorish.”

Julian stared at the tits on his shot glass. “Class and sophistication. Gotcha.”

“Six glasses should be fine,” said Chaz, blurting out a random number to hasten their way through this part of the conversation before Julian was unable to keep his thoughts to himself. There might be six women on the island. The only one he could think of that was definitely single was Rhonda. And if Fazul wanted to hit that, he'd be better off keeping all the booze for himself and chugging it straight from the bottle. “Julian, would you care to join me in fetching your familiar?”

Julian nodded grimly, then followed Chaz into the kitchen, where Ravenus lay on the table next to the overturned bucket.

“Shit,” said Chaz. “Is he okay?”

“He's fine.” Julian took the towel next to the washbasin and wrapped Ravenus in it. “He's just sleeping off a big meal.”

“Do you think you could ease off the attitude in there?”

Julian glared at him. “What attitude? I've barely said a word.”

“You're the one with the big hardon for Nazere. All I'm asking you to do is be nice until we get there.”

“I'm trying, but that guy's such a creep.”

“Just take it easy, huh? Have a drink or something, and let's get through this.”

“All right.” Julian tucked his swaddled sleeping bird under his arm, then led the way back into the living room where Fazul was enjoying a glass of his fancy blue-bottled liquor as he studied a large age-yellowed map unrolled on the bar.”

“What's that you're looking at?” asked Chaz, trying to contain his impatience.

Fazul looked up from his map. “I am locating Nazere.”

“Locating?” said Julian. “You mean you don't even know where it is?”

“Of course I know.” Fazul gulped back his shot, ran his tongue along the rim of the glass, then pressed it upside-down on the map. When he removed it, his saliva formed a perfect circle around a small unlabeled speck of land in the middle of a large ocean. “There it is. Nazere.”

Chaz studied the map for some hint that differentiated that speck from any of the others nearby, but nothing jumped out at him. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Fazul nodded, then frowned down at his map. “Fairly certain. I have never actually been there before.”

“That's going to affect your accuracy, isn't it?” said Julian. “I mean, in addition to you being drunk. Are you sure you're okay to teleport?”

Fazul laughed and waved dismissively at Julian. “Have no fear, elf. I am fine.”

Chaz could smell the liquor on his breath from across the bar. He'd gotten into cars with drivers in worse condition before, but he almost always regretted it during the drive.

“What's the worst that could happen?” he rationalized aloud. “We arrive at the wrong island, sleep it off, and try again in the morning.”

“Or we turn up in the middle of the ocean,” said Julian. He glanced warily at Fazul. “Or worse, half a mile above it.”

Fazul started pouring himself another shot. “Stop worrying so much. It is not good for your health.”

“Stop that!” snapped Julian. He snatched the drink away and sucked it down, then grimaced. “Jesus Christ!”

Fazul shook his head and sighed. “You remind me of my wife.” His eyes and grin suddenly grew wide. “Speaking of bitches, let us make haste to these island whores!” He corked his bottle, then packed it and the six shot glasses into a satchel, which he slung over his shoulder. Then he reached across the bar to Chaz and Julian. “Ready?”

If they didn't go now, Chaz wasn't sure they'd ever go. Julian was cracking, and Fazul was beginning to antagonize him even further. If the situation escalated, they might have far worse problems than having to swim a mile or two to Nazere. He took Fazul's hand and looked at Julian.

“Come on, man. It's time to go.”

The look Julian gave him was all too familiar. Do I get in the car with the drunk asshole at the wheel, or do I hang out alone in the empty parking lot of the closed bar with my dick in my hand? There was a clear right choice and wrong choice, but the wrong choice was a lot less complicated. Or at least it seemed so after spending the whole night getting shitfaced.

Julian sighed, then took Chaz's and Fazul's outstretched hands.

Fazul glanced down at the map one more time, nodded, and belched, which did little to reinforce Chaz's confidence in him.

“What's happening?” said Ravenus, peeking out from Julian's robe. “Why am I terrified? What are we doing?”

“Hush, bird!” snapped Fazul. “You will wake my wife!”

Ravenus peered up at Julian. “What did he say?”

Julian shushed him. “Let him concentrate.”

Fazul closed his eyes and faced upward. “Nazere!”

*

An instant later, Chaz was drenched in water and surrounded by darkness. For a second, he thought he was in the ocean, but the muddy ground beneath his feet was solid. It was pissing down rain wherever they were, but they were alive and on land.

“HA!” cried Julian. “We made it! We're here!”

Fazul surveyed the darkness doubtfully. “This is Nazere? Where is all the ice and snow?”

“We told you,” said Chaz. “It all melted. That's why it was safe to come here, remember?” He was even more relieved now. If Fazul brought them here thinking that the island was still under the control of the Ice Queen, he was even drunker than Chaz had thought.

“Where are the women?” Fazul took his bottle from his satchel and took a swig straight from it. “I see only rain and mud.”

“You didn't specify where on Nazere you wanted to be,” said Julian. “We're lucky to have hit the island at all in your condition.”

Chaz looked around, but he couldn't see farther than ten feet in any direction because of the rain. “So which way do we go?”

Julian shrugged. “When the rain lets up, I'll send out Ravenus. In the meantime, it's an island. We'll pick a direction and stick with it until we hit the coast, then go around it until we find some sign of the others.”

Chapter 44

“I don't know if it's worth all this effort,” said Tony the Elf when he caught up to Katherine and Tanner. “I mean, we'd all be a lot safer if we stayed together on the beach. The only reason we're dividing into two camps is to accommodate Mordred.”

Katherine glanced back to make sure Mordred was out of earshot. The two dwarves carrying the palanquin they'd made by attaching two skinny tree trunks to his chair were way back there.

“Accommodate him? He'll still be tied to a chair. Plus he'll be in pitch black darkness at the bottom of an abandoned mine shaft. That's hardly very accommodating. We're not even scratching the surface of humane. I just want to be able to take that shit bag off his head without him being able to figure out where he is. It's literally the absolute least we can do for him.”

“Who cares? It's Mordred. Think about who he is, what he's done to us. Tanner, he actually murdered you. What do you think?”

Tanner shrugged. “I pulled through. Mayhap I won't shed too many tears at news of his passing, but I wouldn't wish my worst enemy to suffer having to wear a bag of half-orc shit on his head.”

“He isn't suffering!” said Tony the Elf. “Not unless he chooses to. That was the whole point of the bag. He has other avatars to occupy. Keeping him out of this one keeps us safer. Never mind all the climbing up and down we'll have to do just to feed him.”

Katherine turned on him with a hard glare and swallowed back the urge to smack him with the shovel she was carrying to scoop up Mordred's shit. “Don't worry about it, Tony the Elf. I'll take care of the feeding.” She glanced back to make sure the others were still far enough behind. “It sucks that we have to keep this asshole tied to a chair with a shitbag on his head, but that's a choice we who have assumed leadership positions have made to keep our people as safe as we can. I know I'm not the only one of us who thinks we're treating him inhumanely. You're closer to them than I am. Tell me it's not true.”

Tony the Elf sighed and nodded. “There have been some grumbles. But I'm on your side. I understand that sometimes you have to do shitty things for the greater good.”

“I don't want there to be sides. What if they decide to revolt and free Mordred entirely, hoping that he'll show mercy on them at our expense? Removing the bag should satisfy most of the grumblers. And keeping Mordred down in a mine will keep them from thinking about him all the time.”

“Out of sight, out of mind.”

“Exactly,” said Katherine. “Everybody's a little on edge, and we're playing a waiting game right now. The best thing we can do is try to keep everyone as calm and positive as possible.”

Tony the Elf started walking again. “That makes sense. I didn't know you'd put that much thought into it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I didn't mean it like that. There's a lot at stake here. I just didn't want to think you were acting on some kind of mercy impulse.”

Katherine laughed. “I don't get those kinds of impulses very often. I guess I'm kind of a bitch that way.”

When they arrived at the mine entrance, Katherine cast a Light spell on a small chunk of charred wood from the previous day's fire.

“Tanner, why don't you make sure the others know how to get here?”

Tanner gave her a smile and a bow. “As you command, Captain.”

She vastly preferred his company to Tony the Elf's, but Tony the Elf was starting to question her judgment again, and now wasn't the time to make him feel like an errand boy that she wanted to get rid of.

“Do you mind helping me secure the rope before the others get here?” she asked Tony the Elf.

“As you command, Captain.” His smile and bow perfectly mimicked Tanner's mock subordination, but lacked his charm.

Katherine climbed down the log they'd set up as a ladder, and Tony the Elf followed after her. The log was slippery and the floor was muddy due to last night's rain, but neither presented too big a problem. They'd just have to be careful when lowering Mordred.

The problem came about halfway to the vertical shaft that was to serve as Mordred's new home for the foreseeable future. The tunnel was flooded again.

“How did this much water get in here since yesterday?” said Katherine. “It was barely raining.”

Tony the Elf dipped his fingers in the water, then touched them against his tongue. “There are probably a bunch of low-lying areas nearby still flooded from the melted ice. The island hasn't had time to normalize its proper evaporation cycles. That might make the whole island more susceptible to flooding.”

“I guess.” That sounded like a stretch of an explanation to Katherine.

“And then there's the spell you cast yesterday.”

“What spell?”

“The entrance used to sit on a small mound,” said Tony the Elf. “And the structure had a sloped roof to allow rain to run off the sides. You kind of undid all that with your mud spell yesterday. You destroyed the structure and turned the mound into a bowl.”

That explanation seemed a lot more feasible.

“Shit.”

“Sorry,” said Tony the Elf. “I don't mean to put all the blame on –”

“I can take criticism when it's warranted,” Katherine snapped at him. “If I fuck up, I need you to let me know. I can't do my job if you feed me the bullshit you think I want to hear.”

“That first theory wasn't bullshit. It was just maybe not quite as large a contributing factor as the second one.”

Katherine smiled and patted him lightly on the cheek. “Just don't be afraid to be honest with me, okay?”

“You got it,” said Tony the Elf. “Now that you've requested it, I'm positively itching to point out the next time you fuck up.”

“Good.” Katherine dunked her Bag of Holding into the water. “We can still clear this out and get Mordred down here today. We'll keep an eye on the water levels until we can rebuild the mound and roof.” When her bag was filled to capacity, they'd cleared quite a bit more tunnel. She led Tony the Elf back to the entrance. He climbed up, and she tossed the bag up to him. After he drained the water, they went back down the tunnel for another bagful.

By the time the others arrived with Mordred, they'd cleared almost all the way to the shaft. The process went a lot faster now that they were able to relay the bag back and forth, keeping Tanner permanently down in the shaft to fill the bag and Tony the Elf outside to drain it.

The two dwarves who'd hauled Mordred there likewise hauled one of the larger and heavier beams down the tunnel to the shaft. Katherine had them set it down against the wall opposite the shaft opening. She tied one end of the rope to the beam and tossed the other end down the now completely drained shaft. Tanner climbed out and pulled the rope out after him.

Katherine nodded her satisfaction. Shimmying up and down that rope every day to feed Mordred would be a pain in the ass, but he would be safely out of sight and mind.

Getting Mordred through the shaft hole proved the biggest challenge of all. He wouldn't fit while he was tied to the chair.

“We'll just have to untie him, lower him down, and retie him,” said Katherine.

“I don't like the sound of that,” said Tony the Elf. “What if he chooses that moment to inhabit this body?”

“There's four of us, and he'll still have a shitbag on his head. We'll beat the snot out of him until he goes unconscious again.”

“Why don't we use the Bag of Holding?” asked Tanner.

Katherine considered it. “That's not a bad idea.”

“I cannot rightly take credit for it, Captain. We've used it in these circumstances many times before.”

“Does that count as a fuck-up?” asked Tony the Elf.

Katherine smiled at him. “Not one you get to bring up unless you were the one to suggest the alternative.”

Before long, they had Mordred secured to his chair at the bottom of the shaft, and Katherine felt extremely satisfied to finally be able to take the shitbag off his head.

“We'll give this a good wash tonight,” she said. “We'll make a celebration out of it and treat ourselves to a double portion of Captain Logan's booze.”

Chapter 45

“I can't,” said Denise, staring glumly into her bowl of diced raw fish. “I just can't no more.”

Randy wasn't exactly enjoying his meal either, but it was sustenance. It was late at night and everyone was a little cranky and tired of eating the same thing day after day. The captain had only brought enough food with them to get to Lymn, and this detour meant they were at the mercy of what the sea would provide. Today's catch hadn't been great, but Randy was grateful for something to fill his belly.

Like anything in life, he enjoyed the parts that were enjoyable and endured the parts that weren't. Happy Cock's fried chicken was delicious, and he'd thoroughly enjoyed eating it. The fish wasn't so great, but it wasn't like they were being forced to eat a bowl of rat turds and razor blades. The best thing to do was get it down as quick as possible and go to sleep with the anticipation of what wonderful experiences tomorrow might bring.

“It ain't so bad,” he said through a mouthful of mushy tasteless fish. “And it's good for your brain. It's got, like, omega oils or somethin' in it. You might have genius kids.”

“You don't get it, Randy. The way nature works is that the kids tell me what's best for them. That's why I got all these weird cravings. My babies need pickled eggs and chocolate right now... and bourbon.”

“Just hold tight,” said Randy. “Maybe they'll have something other than fish to eat on Nazere. Or we might be able to find some herbs and spices growin' wild that we can add to the fish.”

Denise's eyes lit up. “Spice! I had the goddamn answer in my pocket this whole time!” She pulled something shriveled and yellow out of her pocket. It looked like a used condom that had been left out in the sun. After a moment, Randy recognized it as one of those salamander tongue peppers from Happy Cock. Denise must have swiped some of them when they left. It had withered during the trip, and she crushed the whole thing into her cup of fish.

Randy grimaced at her grimy hands and the thought that the inside of her pocket was almost certainly even grimier.

Jay's eyes widened as he stared at Denise crushing the pepper. “You might want to take it easy with that.”

“You might want to mind your own goddamn business, Keebler Kinte. If you wanted some of these peppers, you should have thought of that when we was at the restaurant.”

Jay sighed. “I guess you're right. I was out of line. Enjoy your fish.”

“Don't you worry about that. I'll enjoy the fuck out of them.” Denise picked out a piece of freshly peppered fish and popped it in her mouth. “Oh my God. The difference is night and day. I feel alive again. I feel like... Damn, that's got kind of a kick to... Son of a bitch, that's hot!”

Jay laughed as sweat ran down Denise's reddening face.

“Denise?” said Randy. “Are you okay?”

Denise nodded while taking a few deep breaths. “That shit's hotter than the sweatiest taint in Hell, but damn if it ain't good.” She popped two more chunks of fish into her mouth.

Satisfied that she knew what she was doing, Randy didn't feel bad about joining Jay in laughing at Denise's pain.

“LAND HO!” called out the sailor manning the crow's nest.

Captain Longfellow looked up from his bowl and spat out a gob of half-chewed fish. He might have his own private cabin and private stash of booze, but Randy admired him for eating on deck with his crew and sharing the same humble meals.

The captain stood up and went to the railing along the bow, peering into the darkness. “Well I'll be damned to the depths.” He turned to his crew. “Get off yer arses! Lower the sails! Drop anchor!”

His crew happily abandoned their meals and hopped to action.

“How can y'all see anything at this time of night?” asked Randy as he joined Captain Longfellow at the bow.

The captain pointed. “Look there.”

Far off in the distance, Randy could barely make out a small flickering light. “Is that a fire?”

“Aye.”

Randy didn't want to get his hopes up, but he was excited about seeing his friends from the Whore's Head. “How do you know it ain't another ship?”

Captain Longfellow shook his head. “Too steady. Besides, no other ship's captain would be daft enough to sail so close to Nazere.” He looked down at the water. “That is, unless what ye say be true. We ought to be up to our arses in snow and ice by now.”

“I could go for some of that,” said Jay from Randy's other side. “I'm sweating my balls off.”

Captain Longfellow turned to Randy. “So ye really did it? Ye faced down and defeated the Ice Queen of Nazere.”

Randy nodded respectfully. “That we did, Captain.”

“We've had our differences, lad. But I'll give credit where it's due.” He grabbed Randy hard in the crotch. “Ye got coconuts of solid iron!”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Randy, wishing that the captain would remove his hand from Randy's coconuts.

“Randy ain't did shit!” said Denise, waddling up toward them. “It was my idea that killed the Ice Queen. How about having a grab at these titties of solid iron?”

The captain grimaced but thankfully let go of Randy's balls. “Ye all did a fine job. We'll send a landing party come sunup. Until then, I recommend ye drop a line in the water and try to pull in a –”

“AAAAUUUUUGGGHHHH!” cried someone from the ship's rear. It was immediately followed by two similar cries of pain.

“We're under attack!” said the man in the crow's nest. “We've been boarded! They're coming from – Ungh!” An arrow to the neck cut short the rest of what he was going to say, and he fell out of the crow's nest and crashed through the railing on the port side of the ship before splashing into the water.

The sounds of a largely one-sided battle intensified, with a lot of screaming and minimal clanging of swords. Whoever was attacking had caught them completely by surprise. Captain Longfellow's crew in the rear were likely as ill-equipped for battle as the crew here on the bow, only a few of whom were armed with daggers.

“Stand yer ground!” shouted Captain Longfellow. “Let them come to us. They can only come single file on either side of the ship. Grab what weapons ye can and prepare to fend them off one by one.”

“I humbly request permission to board, Captain,” said a not-at-all-humble-sounding voice from the yard just below the crow's nest. Randy couldn't make out more than his shape against the light of the waxing moon.

“Logan,” snarled the captain as he sneered up at the smug-looking invader. “Ye have me permission to take me ship's bowsprit up yer arse.”

The man named Logan smiled. “Charming as always, Captain Longfellow. I apologize for this intrusion. I hope you'll forgive me.”

“After I rescued ye from the tits and talons of those harpies? I'd no sooner forgive ye than I'd forgive yer whore mother for not drowning ye as soon as she seen what a black-hearted, yellow-bellied, perkerless abomination she'd shat out of her gangrenous twat!”

“Goddamn,” said Jay. “Did you have that prepared?”

“I sincerely wish it had been anyone else's ship I was forced to raid, but I'm in a bit of a bind. A half-elven druidess relieved me and my crew of our weapons, including my father's sword.”

Captain Longfellow looked impressed. “The Sword of Dammon?”

“Indeed. It has called to me ever since we've been separated, and I followed it here. You can imagine my surprise to find Nazere freed from the Ice Queen's curse.”

“Aye, I was surprised meself.”

“Our current situation is regrettable,” said Logan. “I needed to re-arm my crew before invading the island, but I can see how you still might see this as an irreconcilable betrayal of your trust.”

“Yer gods-damned right, I see it as such!”

Logan smiled sadly. “If my father taught me anything, it's that if you're going to betray, betray all the way. So I'm afraid I shall be commandeering your ship as well. For old time's sake, I would like to extend you the courtesy of allowing you to surrender peacefully.”

“A fine gesture,” said Captain Longfellow. “And I would like to extend me cock in the empty eye sockets of yer severed head. Why need we fear a crew who surrendered to one half-elven whore?”

Logan's smile turned into a sneer. “The captain has made his decision,” he called down to his crew.

Randy put his hand on his sword. “You stay behind me, Denise. I'll protect – Denise?” When Randy looked back to address her, she wasn't standing where she had been just a second ago. Scanning the bow, he spotted her back near the bottom tier of the cabins, sneaking behind the nervous crew as she gulped back their cups of watered-down rum to calm the heat from all the spicy fish she'd eaten.

“ATTACK!” Logan commanded before Randy was able to take even a single step toward Denise.

“Denise!” cried Randy, trying to get to her. But half of Captain Longfellow's crew crowded behind her to defend that side of the ship.

Fortunately for Denise, but unfortunately for the rest of the crew, Logan didn't concentrate all of his forces on either side of the deck as Captain Longfellow had anticipated. Some men attacked there, but quite a few men stormed down from the cabins, landing on the largely undefended middle of the bow deck.

Randy and Captain Longfellow fought off the first wave of pirates, but more rained down faster than they could fight. Once Jay managed to pick up a dropped sword, he joined in the fray, but was only marginally helpful. They were getting overwhelmed. Randy felt a little uneasy about asking Jesus for another favor, but then realized that he didn't have to. Jesus had already provided him with the solution he needed.

“BASIL!” he shouted.

The next wave of pirates to leap down from the cabins were surprised to find that they'd landed on top of a pissed-off celestial basilisk. Not appreciating being jumped on, Basil immediately bit the arm off one pirate and swung his tail at another. Jay ducked just in time to avoid the tail-flung pirate sailing over his head, screaming until he hit the water.

Several members of both crews hopped the railings and jumped into the water voluntarily. They were brave men on both sides, each one prepared to take a sword in the gut for their respective captain. But there was something about being turned to stone by a giant lizard that put a proper fear of death in them.

“What be the meaning of summoning this beast on me deck?” Captain Longfellow demanded as he shielded his eyes from Basil's gaze.

“I thought he could help us.”

“It ain't Randy's fault y'all get so worked up about a fuckin' lizard,” said Denise. “I reckon he just saved you a shit ton of –”

“Denise!” cried Randy as one of Logan's men jumped out of the shadows to chop her from behind with an axe. “Behind you!”

“Huh?” Denise turned around to take a chop to her chest instead.

SSSSHHHHHZZZZINGGGG! A brilliant flash of white light lit up the sea for a fraction of a second.

Instead of slicing open her rib cage, the axe and its wielder flew backward, smashing through the railing on the other side of the ship, then splashed down into the water.

“I'll be damned to the depths,” said Captain Longfellow. “She really do have titties of solid iron!”

Denise looked down at her chest. The axe had left a tear in her shirt, which she tore open further, revealing her hairy and pregnancy-engorged but completely unscathed breasts.

“Behold, my magical titties!”

Those crew members who hadn't abandoned the fight when Basil appeared turned to look at Denise's bare chest, but they cringed and kept their distance. Even Logan peeked down from where he was perched, then re-shielded his eyes more fervently than when he only had Basil to worry about.

“Abort the mission!” he called to his crew. After securing his crossbow to his belt, he pulled a blue amulet out from under his shirt and clutched it with one hand as he grabbed a rope on the ship's rigging with the other. “Onward to Nazere!” He swung from the rope off the side of the ship and splashed down into the water.

Randy frowned in confusion. “That was kind of an underwhelming exit. Is he planning to swim there?”

“His ship will be nearby,” said Captain Longfellow. “The cowardly sea slugs sailed close enough to us in the cover of darkness to board. It be close enough to swim back to.”

Looking down at the water, Randy saw that Captain Longfellow's men were climbing back on board the Maiden's Voyage, but Logan's men were merely treading water.

“They don't look like they're swimming nowhere.”

Captain Longfellow shook his head. “Madder than a sack of rabid manatees, every one of them. Now get this big scaly brute off me deck before I –”

“UUUUUNNNNNNNGGGGG!” cried Denise, both palms on her bare belly. Her babies were squirming so hard that Randy could see lumps moving under her skin. “It's happening!”

“Take it easy, Denise,” said Randy. “What's hap– Oh no! It's happening?”

“You're goddamn right it is! I shouldn't have eaten that fucking pepper. Get me a doctor. This dam's about to –”

A gush of fluid splashed the deck under Denise's skirt.

“Mercy of the gods!” said Captain Longfellow. “Was that...”

Denise nodded. “I think my water just broke.”

Randy escorted her out of her puddle and helped her gently to lie down on her back. “Somebody boil some towels or somethin'.”

“We can't do this here,” said Denise, panting heavily. “No offense, Randy. But you don't know shit about birthin' no babies. Fuck, you ain't even never seen a vagina up close.”

“We're gonna get through this, Denise. Don't you worry. You're protected by the gods, remember. That's why that axe couldn't hurt you.”

“Do you remember that holy bitch's exact words? I'm giving birth to fuckin' bug people. What if it's in their nature to claw their way out of the mother. Maybe that's the reason that scorpion whore wanted a different host to carry her kids in the first place. They'll rip me to fuckin' –”

“Basil!” shouted Randy when he saw his special mount lapping up Denise's amniotic fluid. “Stop that!”

Basil looked up briefly, then resumed licking the deck.

“Oh I'm sorry, Randy,” said Denise. “Is my goin' into labor boring you?”

“Of course not. I just –”

“Mercy of the gods!” cried Captain Longfellow.

Randy looked up. Logan was ascending from the water on top of what looked like a giant stationary wave, grinning as he continued clutching the blue amulet that hung around his neck. The ship listed slightly toward him as more and more water rushed in from all sides to feed the rising pedestal.

“What is that?”

“It would appear you don't be the only one with an unusual pet,” Captain Longfellow said with awe.

“Again, dear Captain,” shouted Logan as he rose higher above them. “You have my sincerest apologies. But I shall need to borrow your landing vessels.”

The wave he was riding rose further out of the water and sprouted arm-like appendages from its sides. It placed both of its watery hands on one of the small landing boats attached to the side of the ship and started to pull.

The whole ship tilted sideways. Randy grabbed the railing with one hand and Denise's wrist with the other.

Basil groaned, slipped in Denise's amniotic fluid, and slid across the deck. He smashed through the railing, then fell over the side.

“BASIL!” cried Randy. He couldn't let go of Denise, but neither could he bear the thought of poor Basil drowning again.

When the water monster wrenched the landing boat free from the ropes and pulleys that were meant to lower it into the water, the Maiden's Voyage righted herself. Randy let go of Denise's wrist and ran to the other side of the deck, hoping to catch a last glimpse of the companion he'd once again failed.

He caught more than a glimpse.

“YAAAAAAAAAAAA!” said the basilisk, staring back up at him as he stood on the surface of the water as surefootedly as if he were on his native desert sand.

“Basil!” Randy cried excitedly. “When did you learn how to do that?” Jesus must have included some premium options in Randy's Special Mount. That was thoughtful.

“Randy!” groaned Denise. “Help me! What do I do?”

Randy turned around and thought about births he'd seen in movies and TV. “You got to breathe and push.”

“NO!” shouted Captain Longfellow. “Not on me ship. Hold those little monsters inside ye until we can get ye to –”

The ship tilted hard again as the water monster grabbed another landing boat. Denise slid across the deck like a giant shuffleboard disk. She slammed into Randy, knocking both of them through the railing near the section Basil had destroyed.

They splashed down into the surprisingly warm water. For what little good it would do either of them, Randy grabbed Denise by the wrist again. He tried to kick, but he could feel himself sinking. As he sank below the surface of the water, his flailing free arm felt something else. Something slender and leathery, like maybe a dire walrus's penis or the tentacle of an elderly octopus. Hoping it was neither of those things, he grabbed it tightly.

When he looked up and saw the bottoms of eight glowing reptilian feet planted firmly on the surface of the water, he knew he was holding the end of Basil's tail.

Whether or not Denise knew what was keeping them from sinking, she climbed up Randy, using his shoulder and face as footholds, then out of the water onto Basil. Randy started to climb up after her, but Basil pulled him up and set him down gently on his back.

“Cripple the ship!” Logan commanded the aquatic monster he'd summoned. “But see that you don't sink it. We'll come back for it once we're properly armed again.”

The water monster swatted at the mainmast, smashing it to splinters and leaving it hanging limply tangled in the rigging.

“We'll be waiting for ye!” Captain Longfellow shouted up at him. “Go on and get yer balls back from the little girl who took them from ye, and we'll finish what we started here!”

Logan's crew had crowded into the two landing boats, and the water monster pushed them toward the island. As it moved into the shallows, Randy got a clearer idea of just how enormous this thing was. Vaguely humanoid in shape, it looked to be at least three stories high, almost as big as Jesus when he'd turned up in Cardinia.

“We got to warn the others,” said Randy.

“Good luck,” said Jay from up on the deck. “Your iguana is slow enough on land. That thing will be on the island before you're out of shouting distance.”

“Ye may have a chance,” said Captain Longfellow. “That be a water elemental. It can't stray far from a source of water. If yer friends be on the shore, they may well be fooked. But if they be inland, Logan's beast will have to wander around in search of a stream to follow. Ye may yet have time to warn them... for whatever good that will do.”

“We ain't got time to warn shit about shit,” said Denise. “I'm gettin' ready to pop out these motherfuckin' kids into the goddamn ocean. Get this critter moving toward that fire and hope there's a bunch of clerics cookin' S'mores or some shit.”

Randy wasn't sure which mission he should prioritize, but toward the fire seemed like a good direction to travel regardless of what he chose to do after they got there. He dug his heels into Basil's sides.

“Come on, boy. Let's go.”

Basil's walk-on-water speed was about the same as his land speed. While Denise moaned and groaned in her labor pains, Randy considered his options. It felt cruel to abandon Denise on the beach when she was about to give birth, but labor could go on for who knew how many hours. He wasn't sure if Katherine and the others had that kind of time before Logan got there with his giant water elemental and his gang of bloodthirsty pirates.

When they finally made landfall, there was nobody around the fire. The wood was only about halfway burned through, and there were a few extra logs piled up a few feet away. Judging by the long distance between footprints in the sand leading inland, Randy guessed that whoever was here saw the approaching water elemental and wisely ran away from it. That made his decision easier.

“I reckon the others might already know about Logan and the water monster, so I can stay with you.”

“That's real fuckin' great, Randy,” said Denise. “I wouldn't trust you to wipe my ass, much less deliver my babies.” She was sweating profusely now, breathing hard as she lay on her back in the sand where she'd tumbled off Basil's back.

“I can go see if I can find a cleric if you want.”

“Don't you fuckin' leave me!”

Randy was again unsure as to the best course of action to take. He didn't have any more confidence in his ability to deliver babies than Denise had. But with both options looking equally grim, he decided to honor Denise's wishes. “Okay.”

“You got to see me through this, Randy. I know you're dumber than a sack of slug turds, but you're all I got.”

“Don't you worry, Denise. All you got to do is push them babies out. If you get a little scraped up in the process, I got some healing magic in me. We'll get through this.”

Denise nodded, though her eyes betrayed the terror she was feeling. “Let's do it then. No more fuckin' around.” She pulled out two more withered peppers and shoved them both into her mouth.

“Denise!” said Randy. “I don't know if that's such a good idea.”

But Denise chewed on those peppers like they were the last two Slim Jims in God's whole creation. Her face became even redder as she started sweating enough to qualify as a water source to sustain Logan's elemental. After she swallowed, she actually looked relieved, as if she was savoring the pain in her mouth as a distraction from the pain down in her –

“Lord almighty!” said Randy when he spotted something shiny and black crowning from between Denise's spread open legs. “The first one's coming! Push, Denise!”

“YAAAAAA!” Denise cried out in a voice similar to Basil's. She panted and grunted, but the baby didn't budge.

“Come on!” Randy encouraged her. “You got this! Push a little harder.”

“I... got... an idea,” said Denise between pants.

“There ain't nothin' to think about. You just let nature take its course, and I promise you we'll –”

“I'm... really... angry!” Denise's thighs bulged so hard with expanding muscle tissue that Randy feared the baby's head would crack like an egg, but the gods held true to their word. With a grunt and a groan, she pushed until the whole slimy baby head was out, as well as enough of its shoulders for Randy to grab hold of.

The top half looked just like a human baby. Everything below the waist, as Randy had braced himself for, was distinctly more bug-like. The opalescent black exoskeleton was soft and pliable. Though it had claws and a stinger, they wouldn't tear through flesh any more effectively than a rubber eraser.

“Oh, Denise!” cried Randy, choked up with emotion. “It's beautiful.” He tucked the screaming baby in one arm and unsheathed a dagger with the other to cut the umbilical cord. “Welcome to the world, little...” He was about to say 'guy' when it occurred to him that he didn't know whether this was a boy or a girl. The parts which conventionally provided that information were presumably down in the bug half, and Randy wasn't familiar enough with scorpion anatomy. That announcement would have to wait. He held up the baby for Denise to see. “Do you want to hold it?”

“FUCK YOU!” shouted Denise as she pounded the sand with her fists, still in her Barbarian Rage. “MORE!”

At first, Randy was confused by that last part, thinking it was a continuation of what she'd started with. Then she saw another scorpion baby head crowning.

“You're doing great, Denise. Just keep goin' like you're goin'.” Randy wished he had a towel or a blanket or something to set the baby down on. As sticky and slimy as it was, he hated to set it down in the sand. But he didn't have a choice. The next one looked like it was getting ready to pop out of Denise like a champagne cork. He set the kid down and prepared to receive the next one.

They got into a rhythm. Denise screamed and hollered through it all, but she was pumping out those babies like a Pez dispenser. Randy barely had time to slice through umbilical cords and set babies down in the sand before the next one was halfway out.

Finally, the last baby was delivered, and Denise deflated back down to her pre-Rage size with a long sigh and fart.

Randy took a welcome moment to breathe as he held the screaming child to his chest and patted it on the back. Thank goodness the rest of them had calmed down. He couldn't imagine what eight screaming scorpion-people babies would sound like. Hopefully this one would soon calm down like its brothers and –

“Oh no!”

All the babies were gone, except for the one Randy still held. Basil stared at it expectantly, then let out a huge belch. It smelled like afterbirth.

“What is it?” said Denise, propping herself up on her elbows. “What's wrong?”

“Basil,” said Randy, trying as hard as he could not to cry. “Go on back to the Celestial Plane.”

“The fuck's the matter with you?” asked Denise. She looked to her left where Basil had just disappeared, then to her right. “Where's all my babies?”

Randy was too overcome with grief to speak. He held out the one surviving baby.

Denise sat up and accepted the child, holding it at arm's length like a piece of abstract art he was trying to make heads or tails of. “Is it supposed to be this ugly? You reckon it's retarded or something?”

Randy shook his head.

“Where the hell's the rest of them?”

“I'm so sorry, Denise!” cried Randy as sobs and tears poured out of him.

“Goddammit, Randy. Can I not enjoy the birth of my own children without all your drama queen bullshit? Stop making this about you and show me the rest of my cockroach kids.”

“They was coming out so fast, one right after the other. I forgot he was there.”

“Who was there?” asked Denise, impatient and irritable. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Basil,” said Randy. “He ate the rest of your babies.”

“Damn.” Denise took a moment to process the horrifying news Randy had just dumped on her. “That's kinda fucked up, Randy.”

Randy burst into a fit of sobs again. “I'm so, so sorry! I'll do whatever I can to make this right. I'll go on quests until I get every one of them resurrected.”

Denise grimaced at her one surviving child, still screaming. “Fuck that. My cooter's feelin' a little raw. How about you just slap a healing spell on me, and we'll call it even.”

“Of course I'll heal you, Denise.” He placed a palm on her knee. “In Jesus Christ's name, I heal you.”

Denise sighed with relief. “Damn, that feels good. Thanks, buddy.”

Randy couldn't help but feel that his sins had not yet been atoned for. “You really gonna forgive me? Just like that?”

“The way I see it, you did them kids a favor,” said Denise.

“How do you figure?”

“Say I got eight kids, but only two titties. Big as these titties are, they ain't enough to feed all those hungry freaks. How do I choose who gets to eat? Sooner or later, all of them would have died a slow and miserable death from starvation. Your reckless indifference to my children's lives spared them that agony.”

Randy frowned. “I guess that's one way of lookin' at it.”

Denise held up her baby. “But this little monster gets to suck from both barrels. It's gonna be a fat little fucker.” She pressed the baby's face against her left boob. “There. Drink some milk and shut the fuck up for a second.” Shockingly, the baby actually stopped screaming and started sucking on Denise's nipple.

Randy felt a little bit of warmth return to his heart. In spite of tragedy, there was this little miracle.

“Look at you,” he said, beaming at Denise through a mixture of sad and joyous tears. “Motherhood comes so natural to you.”

“Fuckin' hell, kid!” she said, cringing at the baby on her breast. “This ain't a goddamn contest. Pace yourself.” She pulled the suckling baby off and switched breasts. It started crying again during the transition, but was subdued as soon as Denise's right nipple was within reach.

Randy sniffled and tried to compose himself. “You given any thought as to what you're gonna name it?”

“I was thinking I'd wait until I knew whether it was a boy or a girl. But seeing as I don't have too good a track record tellin' the difference even with full-grown adults, maybe I ought to just pick a name that can go either way.”

“That makes sense.”

Denise winced as the baby sucked hard on her nipple. “What do you think about Fatty?”

Randy frowned thoughtfully. “Is that... short for something?”

“Naw. Just plain Fatty. I figure if it turns out to be a boy, a name like that will toughen him up. Get him picked on at school and shit so that he has to learn to defend himself from an early age.”

“What if it turns out to be a girl?”

“Then she'll always be mindful of her weight.” Denise smiled down at her baby. “Ain't that right, Fatty?”

Chapter 46

Since she'd removed the shitbag from Mordred's head a couple of days ago, Katherine had taken on the role of his primary caretaker. Not because no one else was willing if she chose to delegate that unpleasant task, but more to set an example for her crew, and to show them that their captain wasn't above pulling her own weight and getting her hands dirty.

She also appreciated the solitude. The shitbag burning ceremony hadn't been as enthusiastically received as she'd expected. The people who'd been grumbling about their inhumane treatment of Mordred weren't a whole lot less grumbly, and now there were grumbles from people who feared that the shitbag had been the only thing keeping him in check, and that it was only a matter of time before he got loose and killed them all. The two shots of booze she'd rationed didn't help matters. It wasn't enough to get really drunk from, but rather just enough to make them feel like getting really drunk.

Not long ago, a bungle like that would have been really discouraging, another excuse to not expect too much from herself in the future. But after the string of wins she'd racked up lately, those excuses no longer held water.

What did hold water, however, was this fucking mine. Mordred's shaft had remained dry in spite of the rain because the small lip at the bottom of the shaft's entrance kept water flowing down the main tunnel. But the water level was rising, and if it rose past that lip, Mordred's shaft would fill up in a matter of minutes. Being tied to a chair would almost ensure a horrible drowning. The thought of it sent a shiver through Katherine as she breathed in the damp earthy mine air and walked in the dim light of the rock she'd enchanted before entering.

“Shit,” she said when she saw how high the water had gotten from last night's rain. It was only a few inches away from the shaft entrance. That was cutting it way too close. Getting the mine entrance repaired so that it kept water out instead of funneling it in would have to be moved higher on the priority list. For now, she'd have to fill and dump the Bag of Holding a few times to get the water level back down. But that could wait until after she finished her business with Mordred.

Shining the light into the shaft, she looked for any sign that water might have gotten in. It wasn't bright enough to see very far down, but she was encouraged at least that there was no water here at the top. She dropped the rock down the shaft and was further encouraged when she heard a thud instead of a splash when it hit the bottom. Using the rope secured to the log on the other side of the tunnel, she lowered herself down the shaft.

“How are we doing today?” she asked the catatonic dwarf tied to the chair when she got to the bottom of the shaft. “I trust you slept well?”

Mordred, unsurprisingly, didn't respond. It felt good to talk to someone who didn't try to hijack what she was trying to get off her chest with their own agenda. Whether they wanted something from her, or wanted to prop themselves up by teaching her some profound life lesson, or were simply waiting for an opportunity to make the conversation about them, Katherine often felt like people only paid as much attention to her as they'd need to barely pass a pop quiz on what she was talking about. It wasn't that she had some terrible secret she needed to vent, or that she thought she had it harder than any of the rest of the people Mordred had sent to this world. She didn't have anything at all specific she wanted to say, or anyone in particular she wanted to say it to. She only wanted someone to pay her the courtesy of listening to her with their undivided attention. Even if he was a fat hairy vegetable, Mordred would have to do.

Sitting down against the wall, she let the damp earthen floor soak through her jeans. It felt great.

“What is it with you guys and your world-domination fantasies?” Knowing he most likely couldn't even hear her, she continued without waiting for an answer. “Being a leader is harder than you might think. Sure, there's a bit of a power high when things are going well, but it can be a pain in the ass when any little thing is less than perfect. And I'm just speaking from being the captain of one little ship. You're looking to rule this whole world.”

Katherine laughed at the thought as she wiped her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

Mordred farted. It was unsettling, like he might be back in that body. But it was one of those things that happened occasionally. The engine was still running, after all, even if there was nobody behind the wheel.

“Your biggest problem is that you don't command any respect. That takes more than traipsing around in a goofy purple cape and acting like a condescending prick, and it takes more than power. Suppose you get your dice. What then? You get to play god over us all again? How'd that work out for you last time? No matter how powerful you believe yourself to be, we all know you for the insecure nerd that you are. However you try to justify it to yourself, I encourage you to step back and take an objective look at how fucked-up it is to imprison people in your little game so that they'll worship you or whatever. I've got news for you, asshole. It's never going to happen. Kill us if you want, but we'll never worship you, we'll never respect you, and we'll never stop fighting you.” She tried to think of a good way to end this little tirade. “Fuck you.” It wasn't poetic, but he wasn't listening anyway.

A long slender turd descended through the hole in Mordred's chair they'd cut out for exactly that purpose. Maybe, on some subconscious level, he had been listening, and that was his response.

Gross as it was, it was probably for the best that Mordred took a shit while she was there with him. She could scoop it into the Bag of Holding immediately, minimizing the time he had to spend in its presence.

“Let's get that cleaned up before I feed you,” she said, turning around to grab the poop-scooping shovel she kept propped against the wall.

Strangely, the shovel wasn't where she remembered leaving it last time she scooped up Mordred's shit. Maybe she was misremembering the last time. No, that didn't make sense. She leaned it against the same wall every time. There was only so much wall space down here. She turned around to check the wall behind Mordred, and her heart nearly stopped.

Mordred was out of his chair and on his feet, grinning at her as he held the shovel like a baseball bat.

“It's a cloak,” he said, then swung hard.

Silent.

Dark.

Oblivion.

Chapter 47

Stacy drummed her fingers impatiently on the Arby's table, staring out the window at the darkening street for any sign of Cooper, but staying keenly aware of where Dave was and what he was doing at all times. She kind of hoped he'd lunge at her again or try to make a break for it so she'd have an excuse to take out some of her pent-up frustration on him again.

She'd given him a chance to run when she escorted him to the bathroom to clean himself up after his little accident in the dining area by stepping out of sight around the corner of the building and hoping that he'd try and flee while he thought her guard was down. Whether he was wise to the trap she'd set, or he was just too chickenshit to seize the opportunity, he stayed put after exiting the bathroom.

Now, like then, Dave was a model prisoner. Sure, he glanced at the door a few times, but what prisoner doesn't pass the time of his sentence daydreaming about escape? Then again, those prisoners usually had walls and bars to keep those daydreams in their place. All Dave had was the threat of Stacy beating the shit out of him. She'd already demonstrated that was a formidable enough threat, but she was going to have to sleep at some point.

“I don't think he's coming back,” Dave finally said. “He probably got lost. Maybe we should go look for him.”

Stacy eyed him warily. “Whatever scheme you've got brewing in that thick head of yours, you'd better forget it.”

“I'm not scheming anything. I didn't run when you pretended to let your guard down while I was in the bathroom, did I?”

Well played, Dave. He might be a chickenshit, but he was a savvy one.

“No, you didn't. But I had full control of the situation then. Out on the street, there are a lot more variables at play. You'll be keeping your eyes open for an opportunity.”

“And what do you think the odds are of me successfully taking advantage of one?”

“Not good,” said Stacy. “Hence the warning.”

Dave shrugged. “Well, there you go. So why are we still discussing it?”

“Because I want to know why you've got such itchy feet all of a sudden. And don't even try to tell me it's because you give a shit about Cooper.”

“I'm more concerned about Professor Goosewaddle.”

Stacy laughed. “That's really sweet of you, but I think he can take care of himself.”

“That's not what I meant,” said Dave. “He's given me multiple warnings about coming here, and I'm more afraid of him than I am of you. One way or another, I'm going to be on the other side of that door when he and his sadistic bitch of  manager get back.”

He had a point there. Stacy didn't think Professor Goosewaddle would hurt her, but there was something about that Jennifer girl. If Stacy had to rank every Arby's manager she'd ever met by how much she'd like to back them into a corner, Jennifer would rank dead last.

“Let's go,” said Stacy. “But remember, you're on a short leash.”

“Yeah, yeah, I've got it.” Dave waddled past her and out the door. He must have been more right than Stacy had given him credit for, because Paul and the goblin staff breathed a collective sigh of relief as they said goodbye to her.

Dusk was setting in, and the rest of the shops on the street were shutting down for the night. As nice as that first familiar whiff of Arby's curly fries had been upon first arriving there, Stacy was now happy to escape the scent of them. The cool evening air outside was refreshingly free of non-hydrogenated corn oil.

As they walked up the street, Stacy soon realized that Dave wasn't the ideal traveling companion when she was trying to cover as much random ground in as little time as possible. Was he trying to drive her mad with impatience? Or was he just genuinely this slow? He was like a ninety-five-year-old man trying to drag a wheelless school bus.

She stopped, which didn't feel like much of a change. “This isn't working. We need to come up with something better.”

“What have you got in mind?” asked Dave. The unspoken message was, “You're dragging me along against my will, so don't expect a whole lot of help from me.”

“Cooper knows I was expecting him to come back. If he's lost, as you suggested, he'll eventually think to ask for directions. So it makes sense to stay close to Arby's, where we parted ways.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Dave. “Just as long as we're not actually inside it... or loitering too close.”

Another thought occurred to Stacy. “Then again, he's been gone so long that he might think I've given up waiting on him to come back and look for me elsewhere.”

“He might. So I guess that puts us back at square one.”

“Not really,” said Stacy. “As far as I know, there are only two landmarks in this whole city he would think to look for me. Arby's and –”

“No,” said Dave with sudden assertion in his voice. It seemed an odd time for him to put his fat little foot down about something.

“No, what?”

Dave's assertive expression wavered into confusion. “No, ma'am?”

Stacy rolled her eyes. “No, I mean what are you saying no about?”

“You were about to suggest the Whore's Head Inn, weren't you?”

Stacy shrugged. “Yeah. So?”

“Was that your little plan all along?” Dave's tone was accusatory. “Frank put you up to this, didn't he?”

“Frank? What does Frank –”

“Did you send Cooper ahead of us to start digging a hole?”

“Dave!” said Stacy. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“If you want to kill me, you can do it right here on the street. I'm not letting you lure me into Frank's little trap.”

“Nobody wants to kill you, Dave. Look, I know you had it out with Frank, and he probably doesn't want to see you any more than you want to see him. Maybe you could just wait outside while I run in and see if Cooper's there.”

Dave laughed. “Nice try, cunt. But I'm not about to –”

CRUNCH!

Stacy rubbed her fist where it had smashed Dave's nose. It was a good kind of sore.

“FUCK!” Dave honked through his bleeding nose. “What was that for?”

Stacy couldn't believe he had the audacity to ask the question. “What the fuck do you think?”

“So it's okay for you to set me up to get murdered and tossed into a shallow grave. But if I call you a name, I'm the asshole?”

His raving paranoia sounded crazy to Stacy, but she could see that he truly believed she was trying to set him up. And given that, she believed that he'd fight her here on the street rather than follow her to the Whore's Head.

“We'll stay here then,” she said. The sun had completely set, and the faint magical light from the streetlamps was becoming more pronounced against the darkening sky. At the rate they were going, she had little confidence that they'd be finding Cooper today. “We'll get a room and stake out Arby's until I can think of a better idea.”

Dave rubbed his nose as he nodded to an inn across the street. It had a quaint charm that was a lot more welcoming than the Whore's Head Inn, but lacked the flashiness of the grand hotels on the Crescent Shadow strip. “I've stayed there before. It's reasonably priced.”

“First, we need to get some supplies.”

“What kind of supplies?”

Stacy headed for the other end of the street where the more mundane shops were. The magic shops near Arby's probably had exactly the sort of thing she needed, whatever that turned out to be, but not likely at any price she could afford. Once she found Cooper, they could keep an eye on Dave in shifts, so she didn't want to blow a whole lot of money on keeping him contained tonight.

There was no point in keeping her intentions a secret. Being resigned to being her prisoner for the time being anyway, Dave might even volunteer some insight on how to best get the job done.

“If we're going to spend the night together, I'm going to need some assurance that you won't act on any bad ideas you might have while I'm sleeping.”

A flicker of annoyance showed on Dave's face, like he hadn't exactly been counting on being able to try anything when she fell asleep, but he hadn't ruled it out either... until just now.

“You could lock me in a cage,” he offered. “That's how they usually handle this sort of thing on TV.”

“That inn you stayed at. Do the rooms come with cages in them?”

Dave sighed. “Not typically, no.”

“I'm not hauling a dog kennel back there or anything. Who knows what kind of weird sex stuff the manager would think we were getting into?”

“What about a rope? You could tie me up.”

Stacy smiled to herself. That Dave was quite the slippery fish. He proposed a plausible but impractical method of containment, then followed it up with a more practical and seemingly plausible alternative.

“I could do that,” Stacy said slowly, pretending to consider his suggestion. “Oh, but then you could just change forms and easily escape the knots.”

Dave looked down at his feet. “Oh yeah. I guess that's true.”

“If we got a room on the top floor, I could tie you up suspended outside the window,” said Stacy.

“Why would you do that?” Dave asked, his eyes wide with the horror of her suggestion.

“To discourage you from wanting to escape the knots, of course.”

“That wouldn't discourage me. I have Damage Resistance to everything but silver or magical weapons. Hitting the street would barely affect me at all.”

It was interesting how cooperative he was suddenly being. His fear of heights was apparently greater than his desire to escape. Stacy had no intention of suspending him out the window, but it was fun to watch him sweat.

“I could put some silver coins on the ground directly below you.”

“People would pick them up!” Dave wasn't even trying to hide his panic now.

“I'll throw some dirt over them. No one will know they're there.”

“I'll tell them!”

Stacy smiled down at him. “Not if I gag you.”

“But, but...” Dave scrambled to think of something to counter that with, but he was thinking in the wrong direction.

“Relax, Dave,” said Stacy. “I'm not going to suspend you out the window. That probably wouldn't play well with the authorities.”

Dave breathed out a sigh of relief. “That's true. There's almost certainly a law against that.”

“So I was thinking I might suspend you from the ceiling instead.”

“Oh no!” said Dave in mock fright. “I might fall a whole four feet.” Then the fake concern on his face turned genuine. “Hang on. Are you talking about suspending me over a chamber pot or something?”

Stacy laughed. “Shame on me for not thinking of that, but no. That would be really gross, but not necessarily a strong enough deterrent if you had your mind set on getting into mischief.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

Stacy shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Let's find out.” She walked into a shop called The Best Defense. The sign featured a multitude of weapons, ranging from daggers to crossbows to large-bladed axes.

The inside of the store lived up to the sign's promise. Beyond the mere everyday needs of a small army, the inventory featured some exquisite instruments of death and dismemberment on its walls. Weapons with names such as Soul Spiller, Bloodline Ender, and Paste Maker were displayed reverently in glass cases, more like museum pieces than items anyone who did their own murdering could hope to afford.

“Ask me about shields or helmets,” said the muscular, leathery-skinned woman behind the counter as she casually cocked a crossbow. “You'll win a free bolt.”

Stacy smiled. “No, I get it. The best defense is a good offense.”

The shopkeeper sighed like she'd been waiting her whole life for someone to say those words to her. “People can be so stupid.” She held up her crossbow. “I tell you, there are times when I want to put one of these straight through a customer's head, just to see if it makes any difference.”

“Can you really blame them, though?” asked Dave. “I mean, if you're in the market for armor, and you see a sign about defense...”

The woman leveled her crossbow at Dave. “Turn your head to the side and line up your ear holes, and I promise this won't hurt a bit.”

Dave grimaced as he tried to lean out of the crossbow's line of fire. “Is that how you treat potential customers? I think I'll take my business else–”

“Dave,” said Stacy. “Shut up.”

When she was satisfied that Dave wasn't going to continue, the woman laughed and uncocked her weapon. “The name's Myrna. What can I do for you?” she asked, addressing Stacy.

“First, I'd like to know if you have a silver-bladed dagger.”

Dave gasped behind her.

“For self-defense,” Stacy elaborated.

“Defense,” said Myrna snidely. “Seems there's been a lot of folks looking to defend themselves with silver ever since the king put a bounty out on wererats.”

That was an interesting bit of news, but Stacy reasoned that asking for further details would come off like she was trying to double down on the lie. So instead, she lied.

“Okay, you caught us. I've never been a bounty hunter before, and I was a little embarrassed to admit what we were doing.”

“As well you should be.” Myrna pulled a dagger out from under the counter and placed it in front of Stacy. “Look at that blade.”

Stacy stared at the shiny serpentine blade, taking what she felt was an adequate amount of time to appreciate the craftsmanship, so as to not insult the shopkeeper. “It's very nice.”

“It's very short,” said Myrna. “Wererats are nasty creatures. Are you quite sure you want to get so close?”

“I appreciate your concern, ma'am. But I think I can handle a wererat.”

“One wererat, sure. They're weak and cowardly creatures. Even the fat little girl behind you might handle a single wererat.”

“I don't have to take this shit,” said Dave, stepping out half a foot from behind Stacy. “I'm all man, lady!”

Myrna laughed. “You smell like you shit yourself in fear when I pointed this little crossbow at you.”

“That was from poison,” Stacy corrected her. “And he did it a little while ago.”

Dave sighed. “Thanks, Stacy. Way to have my back.”

“My point is that wererats seldom travel alone,” said Myrna. “Where you see one or two standing out in the open, you can bet there are five or six more lurking in the shadows nearby, lying in wait of some overconfident bounty huntress and her pet walrus to come within striking distance.”

“I'm a dwarf!” said Dave.

“Shut up, Dave,” Stacy snapped, then turned back to Myrna. “I'll take the dagger. Do you have any silver caltrops?”

Dave disguised a laugh as a throat-clearing. “Come on, Stacy. They don't make silver caltrops. Think about it for a second. Silver is expensive, and caltrops are made for the sole purpose of throwing away.”

Stacy gave him a glare that she hoped would remind him of what she was currently purchasing, and why.

Myrna laughed. “I can see why you bring the dwarf along.”

Dave offered Stacy a smugly apologetic shrug. “I've been playing this game a while.”

“If you're planning to run away,” Myrna continued, “it's wise to leave someone slower, dumber, and fatter behind to be turned.”

Dave suddenly looked a lot less smug. “Seriously, lady. What the fuck did I ever do to you?”

Myrna poured a sack of caltrops out onto the counter. “Silver-tipped.”

Stacy leaned in to examine them. They were mostly black iron, but the very tips of them shined with silver.

“Is that really enough silver to be effective?”

“The tip is the only part that counts,” Myrna explained. “The rest of it is structural support. Trust me, when those flea-ridden rodent people step on one of these, they'll limp back to their feces-slathered sewer nest to lick each other's wounds.”

“That's not how –” Dave caught himself. “You know what? Never mind.”

Myrna smiled at him. “And don't you worry, Pork Chop. They're only five silver pieces more expensive than standard caltrops, so you shouldn't have to miss too many meals.”

“I'll take the dagger and the caltrops, thank you,” said Stacy. As much as she was enjoying watching Dave get flustered, she didn't know how much more abuse he could take before he lost his shit and ratted out on this woman.

“You've been good sports,” said Myrna. “The caltrops are on the house.”

Stacy smiled. “That's very kind of you. How much is the dagger.”

“Three hundred twenty-two gold pieces.”

Dave snorted out a little laugh.

Stacy saw Myrna's generosity with the free caltrops in a new perspective. There were few circumstances more embarrassing than trying to buy something that was way more expensive than she'd guessed it would be. She'd been in this situation too many times back in the real world, mostly at craft fairs, where they don't put price tags on their stuff. When they'd tell her the price, her face and heart would freeze. She knew they knew it was out of her range, but what could she say? “Oh? You believe the time, talent, heart, and soul you put into this piece of art is worth that much? I personally valued it at a tenth of that.” They knew she was thinking it, of course, but she couldn't insult them right to their face. Inevitably, she'd pull out her credit card and say a silent prayer that she wasn't too close to her limit. Then she'd change her mind and pray that the card would get rejected, which would allow her to roll her eyes and blame it on the bank, saving face and leaving without the piece of junk she really didn't want anymore.

This was one of the few more embarrassing circumstances. Myrna was looking at her like one of those craft fair people who could somehow see straight into her finances through the hopeless expression on her face, but there was no credit card to bail her out. She couldn't even write a bad check. All that she could do was admit that she didn't have the money, and that she severely undervalued Myrna's wares.

Or she could try the Bluff skill.

She took out her coin purse and poured five gold pieces and an assortment of lesser coins into her hand.

“Oh no!” she said. “Would you look at this?” She held the coins out to Dave, who looked embarrassed for her. “I must have left my regular coin purse back at the hotel.” She smiled at Myrna. “This is the one I keep for... um... snacks.”

Dave let out another snort behind her.

Stacy did her best to ignore him. “While I'm here, I might as well take the caltrops. I'll come back later for the dagger.”

“Of course,” said Myrna. “That will be one gold and five silver.”

Stacy picked the coins out of her hand and placed them on the counter. “There you go.”

Myrna nodded slightly as she scooped the caltrops back into their sack and set it down in front of Stacy. “I have another dagger. It's silver-tipped, like the caltrops.” She reached under the counter and produced a much less impressive-looking blade. “It will only cost you two gold pieces. And of course, it would save you that trip back to the hotel.”

If the first dagger Myrna had presented had a name like Night Cutter or Eviscerator, the one she now placed before Stacy would probably be called Stabby. It was perhaps the most utilitarian cutting instrument she'd ever seen. She almost felt obligated to apologize to whoever she had to attack with it. Hell, she'd be embarrassed to cut open a box with this thing. That said, she was buying it to use on Dave. If he made her use it, that was on him. Myrna had come through for her. Why couldn't the craft fair people ever offer her an out like that?

“Thank you,” said Stacy. “That's very thoughtful of you.” She swapped two gold and what was left of her pride for the shoddy blade and started heading for the door.

“There's a reason the king has put a bounty out on wererats,” said Myrna as Stacy and Dave stood at the threshold. “Some of them have armed themselves with strange new weapons. From what I've heard, they're mechanical in nature.”

Stacy nodded. “I've heard the rumors, too. We'll be careful.”

Myrna shrugged. “I've given you all the warning I can. What you choose to do with it is your business. My business is weaponry. If you do manage to pull off some miracle and survive an encounter with the rats, I would pay handsomely to get my hands on one of these new weapons. I have a gnomish acquaintance I'd like to have take a look at it.”

Stacy felt a wave of dread. “You want to reproduce them.”

Myrna smiled. “It's only a matter of time before someone does.”

“You're probably right. We'll keep that in mind. Thank you.” Stacy dragged Dave out the door.

“What's the hurry?” whined Dave as he stumbled out onto the street after her.

Stacy pushed him toward the inn. “Just one more thing we've got to take care of now. Not only do I have to figure out what I'm going to do with you, and where the hell Cooper ran off to, but now I've got to find a way to get all those guns you and Tim brought into this world off the street before people figure out how to start making more.”

“First of all, that was all Tim. I had nothing to do with the guns. Secondly, what makes you think it's your responsibility to singlehandedly steer the course of this world? Where do you get the hubris to think that you even can? Myrna's right.”

“About you being a fat cowardly piece of shit?” That might have been a little harsh, but Dave was poking his pudgy little fingers into Stacy's last nerve.

“About the inevitability of this happening whether we want it to or not. Imagine how much money we could make by getting in on the ground floor of the gun industry. We'd be more powerful than kings!”

“Waddle your ass inside, your majesty,” said Stacy, indicating the front door of the inn across from Arby's.

She paid a gold piece for a room on the top floor with a view of the street and strict instructions not to be disturbed.

“Why... did it have... to be the... top floor?” panted Dave after two flights of stairs. “You're not going to hang me out the window, are you? Because –”

“Vaulted ceilings,” said Stacy as she nodded approvingly at the large beam running along the center of the ceiling in their room.

Dave laughed. “Just like a woman. All this shit going on, and you're worried about the interior décor of this shitty inn.”

Stacy pulled a coil of rope out of her bag. “This is more about function than form, but thanks for making me feel a little better about it.” She held one end of the rope and tossed the coil over the beam. “Come on. Let's get you hoisted up there.”

“What?” said Dave, looking a lot more interested in the vaulted ceilings than he was a few seconds ago. “You're seriously going to suspend me from the ceiling?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were joking about that.”

“I've had a long day, and I'm a little irritable right now. Not in a very jokey mood.”

Dave rolled his eyes, but waddled toward her. “We've already been through this. You know I can escape the rope, and you know a six-foot fall isn't going to kill me.”

Stacy tied the rope around Dave's ankles. “I wish you'd get it through your head, Dave. Nobody's trying to kill you. If you would have come with me to the Whore's Head, we could have locked you in the cellar like civilized people, and you wouldn't have to go through this.” When she was happy with her knot, she stood up. “You should probably sit down.”

Dave sat down. “But if the fall isn't going to kill me, then what makes you think I'm not going to run the second you fall asleep?”

Stacy started pulling hard on the other end of the rope, and Dave started ascending feet first.

“First of all,” she said as she heaved. “You won't know when I'm asleep. I'll be wearing a Cloak of Elvenkind and night vision goggles. I'll see you, but you won't be able to see me.” She pulled the rope twice more, then rested when her face was level with Dave's upside-down face. “And second, if I am asleep when you attempt your daring escape, I'm counting on your screams to wake me up when you land on the caltrops.” She gave Dave's horrified face a pinch on the cheek before hauling him up the rest of the way.

After Dave's rope was tied off and the caltrops were spread on the floor below him, Stacy put on the goggles she'd taken from Dolazar, and the cloak given to her by Mayor Merriweather.

“Sorry it has to be this way,” she said to Dave as she lay on the floor mat that served as a bed in this place. “We'll see if we can't work out a better arrangement tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.”

The mat wasn't cushioned at all, little more than something to separate the sleeper from the floor. Still, she was tired enough to sleep in a bathtub full of angry porcupines right now. Unfortunately, that wasn't a luxury she could afford. She felt good about the rope and caltrop setup, but it certainly wasn't a foolproof containment system by any stretch of the imagination. Given five minutes and the motivation to do so, Stacy was sure she could figure out a way to escape it.

Dave didn't have Stacy's high Intelligence score, but he had a lot more than five minutes to work with, and plenty of motivation.

She stared at him for a few minutes, then silently got up from her mat and tiptoed to the window. Arby's was still open, but there was no sign of Cooper outside. Where the hell had he run off to. She hoped he hadn't gotten himself arrested or something. One more item on the list of pain in the ass things she had to take care of, and without so much as a wink of –

“Stacy?” Dave whispered.

Stacy jumped, and had to press her lips together to avoid instinctively answering him.

“Stacy? Are you awake?”

She turned around, relieved to see that he wasn't looking her way. He was staring at the mat.

“Stacy, are you there? I have to pee.”

If he really needed to pee, he wouldn't bother whispering. He was trying to get some kind of reaction out of her to see whether or not she was sleeping. The question was, what did he intend to do now that he thought she was.

Dave twisted and jerked his upper body, struggling to rotate counter-clockwise until he was finally facing her. It took all of her Will to keep herself from gasping.

Had he spotted her? Did he know?

He turned to the door, and Stacy let out a silent sigh of relief. He hadn't been looking at her. He was looking at the window she was standing in front of, checking out the exits, mentally preparing his escape.

“Silence,” he whispered. There was a sudden and barely perceptible void of sound from his side of the room now. No breathing or creak of rope against wood. He mouthed a couple of words after that, presumably to make sure his spell was working.

It was definitely a wise first step. He was by no means the stealthiest person in the world. But that didn't solve the problem of the caltrops. How did he intend to –

Oh, no. Dave, you're not going to...

The sweat running up his face. The tightly-shut eyes. The already-pained grimace. He was absolutely going to.

Taking the shape of a dire rat, he disappeared into his clothes as his feet slipped out of the rope's knots. Stacy winced as he landed hard on the caltrops, then rolled and flailed like a man on fire as they tore through his clothes and bloodied his fur. His screams certainly would have woken half the city if he hadn't magically silenced himself. When he finally rolled away from the caltrops, he changed back into his normal form.

Naked, panting, and bleeding from several deep puncture wounds, he clapped a hand over one nipple and said something that Stacy couldn't understand at the angle she was watching from. His caltrop wounds closed, though the streaks of blood on his pasty white skin remained.

He got to his feet, eyes raging with fury. Though his footsteps were silent, Stacy could feel them as he stomped toward the mat with clenched fists.

His angry gaze shifted from the mat to the knife beside it, which Stacy had left there to help sell the ruse. It was conceivable that she'd hold it while she slept, but she thought that seeing it there on the floor would remove any doubts as to where she was.

He changed into his hybrid rat-person form, then got down on his hands and knees. Leaning in close to where he thought she was, he sniffed the mat. Quickly at first, then longer deeper sniffs, like he was savoring her scent. He even opened his pointy-toothed rat mouth like he wanted to bite her. Then his hand moved quickly to catch a tendril of drool before it would have landed on her, and he pulled back.

Good call, Dave. You might have gotten in a bite, but it wouldn't have ended well for you.

He changed back into his dwarven form, picked up the dagger, and got back on his feet. Holding the dagger like an ice pick, he raised it like he was going to plunge it straight into her. That's when his penis started to extend.

Stacy watched with disgusted fascination as Dave jerked himself off over where he thought she was sleeping. She couldn't make out all the words he was shouting as he furiously tugged himself, but she made out a few whores, bitches, fucks, and cunts. Was this what Dave was like behind closed doors? Or was this the wererat talking?

Then another thought occurred to her. If he tried to ejaculate on her, which very much looked to be his intention, it was going to spray all over the mat, and he'd know she wasn't there. That wouldn't necessarily be the end of the world, but as long as she was resigned to pulling an all-nighter, she was hoping that she'd at least be able to tail him and see what he did with his newfound freedom.

If she was discovered, it would be a good idea to strike first and hard with some hits that told him she wasn't fucking around anymore. With him in possession of the dagger, the only things in this room that could deliver that kind of message was the caltrops. If she held them the right way, she could position one of the spikes between two of her fingers and deliver some painful punches to Dave without hurting herself too bad.

She was almost looking forward to trying it out, but Dave turned at the last second and squirted on the wall near the mat. It made sense. As much fucked-up satisfaction it might have given him to deliver his payload on her, it wasn't the safest way to wake up a badass bitch who could kick his ass.

His deed done, Dave put on his shredded blood-stained clothes, packed up as much of Stacy's shit as he could quickly gather, and left through the door.

Stacy gathered what he'd left behind, which pretty much amounted to the rope and caltrops, then looked out the window. When she spotted him on the street, she slipped out the door nearly as silently as he had, and followed him into the night.

Chapter 48

“I don't think this is the right island,” said Chaz. It was pissing down rain, and they'd been trudging through this soggy shithole of a forest for hours. It must have been morning, because he could now see about twenty feet of puddles and dead forest in every direction. Everything was brown and wilted. The rain did little to cool his skin, seeming to mingle with his sweat rather than wash it away. The oppressively humid air and stench of rotting fish made breathing difficult. He felt like he was walking through Cooper's anus.

“This is the place, all right,” said Julian resolutely, as if he could make it true by believing it hard enough. “I'm sure of it.”

“I am sure, too,” said Fazul. “One hundred percent.” He glanced at the bottle in Chaz's hand.

Chaz took a swig from Fazul's bottle and handed it back to him. “You mean you really want it to be. Neither of you has ever been to Nazere before. How can you be so sure?”

Fazul looked to Julian for a response, which didn't inspire much confidence in Chaz.

“Look at the trees,” said Julian, squinting up through the rain. “They're all dead, even the ones still standing up. Not a single green leaf on any of them.”

Chaz followed his gaze. The trees were just as Julian described. “Okay, so this place sucks. That doesn't mean it's Nazere.”

“It's been frozen for decades, and only recently thawed out. That would explain the devastation.” He gestured to the forest floor. “Look at these saplings growing everywhere. Give this island a few years to get back on her feet, and it'll be the tropical paradise it used to be before the Ice Queen got here.”

Fazul nodded and took another drink from his bottle. “But where are all the women? Why have we not seen your friends yet?”

“The mud is slowing us down,” said Julian. “And we don't know where they are, or even where we are. Plus, it's still early in the morning. Everybody's probably still asleep. Keep your ears open. They should start stirring before – Look!”

Chaz and Fazul froze and stared excitedly in the direction Julian was pointing.

“What is it?” said Fazul. “Do you see the women?”

As hard as he squinted, Chaz could also find nothing to justify Julian's excitement.

“What are we supposed to be looking at?”

“There's a stream,” said Julian.

Chaz sighed. “Oh good. I was just thinking I'm not wet enough.”

“The others will have had to seek out a source of fresh water, right? I'm willing to bet this stream will lead us right to them.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Chaz grudgingly admitted, though he still couldn't bring himself to share Julian's optimism. He stared doubtfully at the swiftly running water when they approached the bank. It was wider than he expected, and presumably deeper. More like a small river than a stream thanks to the heavy rain. “Do we search upstream first, or downstream?”

“Given how little information we have, I'd say one is as good as the other.” Julian picked off a piece of bark from a small log. “Rough side, we go upstream. Smooth side, we go downstream.” He flipped the bark in the air. It landed in the water, which whisked it quickly out of sight.

“Downstream it is,” said Chaz.

Julian frowned. “I'm pretty sure it landed rough side up.”

“Indeed it did,” said Fazul. “I saw it.”

Chaz picked up the log Julian had taken the bark from. “I don't give a fuck how it landed. We'll cover twice as much ground with very little work searching downstream first.” He handed the log to Julian, then found another one for Fazul. For his own buoyancy concerns, he would rely on his pixie-crafted lute case. He took it off his back, hugged it, and jumped.

“Chaz!” cried Julian.

If he followed that up with anything, it was lost when Chaz splashed down in the water. He knew he'd made the right decision when he was submerged in the cleansing coolness. He was tired of walking and sweating and generally feeling shitty. This water was invigorating. His ass bounced lightly on the sandy creek bed, then his air-tight lute case brought him up to the surface like a fishing bobber.

Putting his feet down, he found the water to be up to his nipples. He was about twenty feet downstream of where he'd jumped in, but the strong current wouldn't allow him to stand there for long. Julian and Fazul stared at him like dipshits holding their logs on the bank.

“Come on!” he called out to them through the rain and rush of running water. “What are you waiting for?”

Julian took a step closer to the edge. “I'm just not sure how wise it is to give up control of our movement to the whim of the current. What if there's a waterfall or something?”

“Fuck waterfalls!” said Chaz. “It's not that strong. I'm in complete contro–oh shit!” The current swept him off his feet, then around a bend. He lost sight of Julian and Fazul, but they could probably still hear him if he shouted loud enough. “Have a nice walk!”

“Dammit!” he heard Julian shout. “All right, we're coming!” The next thing he heard was Ravenus squawk before two big splashes.

Chaz dragged his feet along the creek bed until he spotted Julian and Fazul drifting around the bend. Ravenus, who had been sleeping under Julian's clothes, was now perched on his shoulder.

“There he is!” said Ravenus.

“I see him.” Julian sounded annoyed.

“What's wrong?” said Chaz. “Doesn't the water feel good? Chill out and enjoy yourself for once in your –” His feet lost contact with the bed, and he rapidly drifted away from Julian and Fazul with increasing speed. To his right, he saw that another stream merged with this one, and they combined to make a respectable-sized river. “Shit! Julian!”

“This is exactly the sort of thing I was worried about,” Julian groaned as he and Fazul got propelled into the churning, swifter currents. “We're completely helpless. We have no idea where we are or what's waiting for us just around the next –” His face froze mid-word.

As much as Chaz didn't want to listen to any more of Julian's bitching, this was not the most opportune time for him to behaving an aneurysm.

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Shut up. I hear something.” Julian's lips slowly broadened into a smile. “It's them! The Whore's Head gang!”

“Whores?” said Fazul, his interest suddenly piqued.

Julian pointed to his right. “They're over there somewhere.” His finger drifted back as the current took him past whatever he'd heard.

“What were they saying?” asked Chaz, feeling vindicated about his idea despite not being able to discontinue drifting further downriver.

“I couldn't make it out exactly. They sounded scared and panicky.”

“Oh. That's probably not good.” Chaz turned to face the direction they were heading and looked for something he could grab on to. The river wasn't enormously wide, but the current kept them right in the middle of it. He felt like if he made a good enough Swim check, he could reach the bank, but that would involve letting go of his lute case. It shouldn't be too hard to throw it onto the shore ahead of him, but if he failed that Swim check, he'd be up a different creek entirely.

Fortunately, an alternative presented itself in the form of a sickly-looking vine hanging from one of the lower branches of a large dead tree on the bank. He hoped it was stronger than it looked.

“I'm going to grab that vine!” he shouted back to Julian and Fazul. “Take my hand as you pass!”

Julian and Fazul nodded, then Chaz turned back around to catch the vine.

It hung slightly to the right of his path, so he had to kick like a bastard, but the effort was worth it when he wrapped his fingers around it.

“HA!” he cried triumphantly.

SNAP!

CRACK!

CREEEEEEEAAAAAAK!

“FUCK!”

The branch that the vine was suspended from snapped off and hit the water right next to Chaz's head, which was startling enough. But when the whole tree started falling, Chaz was grateful that his crotch was submerged in water.

“Get out of the way!” cried Julian. “Go under!”

Chaz hurled his lute case toward the shore as hard as he could, then dived under the water. He didn't get too far before the falling tree knocked the shit out of him, but it was far enough to survive the hit.

Squirming his way back to the surface through the dead tree's branches, he found most of them snapped right off. This big bastard of a tree had probably died years before the Ice Queen arrived.

“Julian!” he called out when he surfaced. “Fazul?” He couldn't see either of them in the water, and he really hoped he hadn't killed them.

“Over here,” said Julian. He and Fazul were standing on the bank. Fazul drank deeply from his bottle, and Julian held up Chaz's lute case. “Nice work. Now get your ass moving.”

The tree had fallen all the way across the river, which probably accounted for Chaz still being alive right now. The bridge it formed wouldn't last long. The trunk was rotted to the core, and had large cracks in several places from the fall. He scrambled along it as quickly as he could to join Julian and Fazul.

They trudged through the mud, following the river back the way they'd come from. Chaz did his best to mitigate the squelching of his boots so that Julian could listen for their friends' voices, but all that seemed to do was slow him down.

“Can you please just send your bird out to find them?” pleaded Chaz. “We know they're not far.”

“Exactly,” said Julian. “So it's not worth taking the risk.”

Fazul snickered. “You are too protective of your familiar. What is the point of having one if you keep it so close to your chest at all times?”

“We've had some bad experiences in the past. I just want to keep him safe.”

“Safe from what? He'll be in the air. For all we know, this place could be crawling with gorillas and leopards and shit. We could be putting ourselves all at risk by not finding the others as soon as possible. Or we might be putting them at risk by not showing up as soon as possible. You said yourself they sounded scared and panicky about something.”

“So they'll be that much easier to hear if you shut up and let me –” Julian's head turned sharply away from the river. “That way. They're over there.”

There was no running to be done on this muddy ground, but they trudged as fast as they could. Before long, Chaz could hear voices ahead of them.

“That sounds like a large proportion of men,” said Fazul.

Chaz wasn't ready to flat out tell him they'd deceived him. A wizard of his level might be helpful when dealing with Mordred. He thought up another plausible stretch of truth.

“Well, you know what happens when word gets out about a place.”

Fazul took another swig from his bottle, noticed Chaz staring, then curtly shoved the cork in it. Chaz couldn't blame him. He was missing out on Crescent Shadow hookers to trudge through the rain.

Maybe a song would cheer him up. The Whore's Head folks could probably do with a little spirit lifting as well. He took out his lute and began to strum.

“Hot August night...”

“THERE!” cried a distantly familiar voice before an arrow thudded into a tree next to Chaz's head.

“Stop!” demanded a more familiar voice. “Hold your fire!” It was Frank. “Who's out there?” he called in their direction. “Step out of the trees slowly with your hands up.”

“They've already started shooting at us,” Chaz said to Julian. “Maybe you should do the talking.” He looked back at Fazul. “These are our friends, so please don't kill anyone.”

Fazul agreed, and Chaz and Julian walked out of the clearing with their hands raised high.

“It's just us, Frank,” said Julian. “We're unarmed.”

Five elves had bows nocked and pointed in their direction. Frank stood in front of them, squinting at Julian and Chaz. He had a bit of a tan and had less of that Hitler-in-the-bunker look in his eyes that Chaz associated with him. The sunlight had done him some good.

“Julian?” he said. “Chad?”

Chaz sighed. “It's Chaz.”

Frank waved down the archers behind him. “Lower your weapons.” He turned back to Chaz and Julian. “How the hell did you get here?” Frank turned to Chaz. “What's with the getup? You look like Elvis fell in the toilet on his way out.”

“We teleported here.” Julian stepped aside to reveal Fazul. “This is our friend, Fazul.”

“Are you sure that's his name?” asked Frank with a heavy dose of innuendo in his tone. “Are you sure it's not something else? Perhaps something that starts with M?”

Julian laughed. “It's not Mordred. We actually had a run in with one of Mordred's avatars on the Crescent Shadow. Fazul teleported us to safety.”

“That was very generous of him.” Frank's tone hadn't changed. “It's not often I hear of such charitable deeds done for complete strangers asking nothing in return.”

“He's a fan of my music,” Chaz explained. “We've entered into a business arrangement. We're breaking into the entertainment industry.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “That's just dumb enough to be believable. Sorry for the cold reception. Our crew on the beach just arrived with some disturbing news. You didn't happen to see a forty-foot-tall creature made out of water, did you?”

“No,” said Chaz. “I don't think so.” Julian and Fazul both shook their heads.

“I'm telling you what I saw,” said one of the elves who had been pointing a bow at them. “I wasn't the only one.”

The other elves agreed.

“I believe you,” said Frank. “I just don't know what it means or what we can do about it.”

Rhonda stood up from the rock she was sitting on and joined them. “Creatures like that usually have some kind of weakness related to what they're made of.”

“That's right!” said Julian excitedly. “I heard about one made of fire that was instantly destroyed when it was doused in water.”

“That probably won't work in reverse,” said Rhonda. “But yeah, that's the idea. What would a water creature's weakness be?”

Fazul frowned at Rhonda. “Is this one of the women I was promised?”

Rhonda glared at Chaz. “He was what?”

“I didn't promise him anything!” said Chaz. “I simply stated that there were women on this island, which is a fact.”

“Woman,” said Fazul. “For I see only one. And though she may be the size of four, that doesn't count as plural.”

Rhonda started to stomp closer, but Julian waved her back. He turned to Fazul.

“I know you've had a lot to drink, but I can't let you talk about one of our friends like that. It could affect our professional relationship.”

Fazul laughed. “I have fulfilled my end of the bargain, elf. Our professional relationship is sealed.”

“Stay focused, everyone,” said Frank. “This is exactly the sort of squabbling that always gets us caught with our pants down. We can settle this after we tackle the bigger threat headed our way. Now what's the best way to fight water?”

Chaz tried to think of something, but the only thing that came to mind was napkins. He kept that suggestion to himself.

“Baby aspirin?” suggested Julian, drawing everyone's stupefied eyes his way. “People take that to decrease their risk of heart attacks. It thins the blood. Maybe it would do the same thing to water.”

Chaz didn't feel so bad about his napkin idea now. “How much fucking baby aspirin do you have on you?”

“None. That was just a thought. There must be other things that thin water.”

“Earth?” said Rhonda.

Julian shook his head and looked down at his muddy boots. “If anything, that only makes water thicker.”

“I wasn't following up on your brilliant baby aspirin idea. I was thinking that maybe there's some kind of paper rock scissors relationship in this world between the classical elements. Earth, fire, air, water. We know water defeats fire. If we rule out fire, does earth or air seem more likely to defeat water?”

“It doesn't matter,” said Chaz. “What the hell are we going to do? Throw dirt at it? Blow on it really hard?”

“What about electricity?” said Fritz, the little gnome who'd crafted Cooper's dildo stake.

Frank nodded. “Good suggestion. Do we have any electricity?” He scanned the crowd of shaking heads.

“It's too bad Randy's not here,” said Tony the Elf with a slight chuckle.

“Hey, y'all!” Randy called out. He and Denise were approaching from the other direction. Denise was cradling some kind of slimy black bug and shielding it from the rain.

“Jesus!” said Frank. “Where did you two come from? How did you get here?”

“By boat,” said Randy. “Thank goodness we found you in time. There's a big water elemental headed this way.”

Frank nodded. “We've heard. Tony the Elf thinks you might be able to help us with that.”

All eyes turned to a petrified Tony the Elf.

“I was just making a joke.”

“Well what was it?” asked Frank. “Maybe there's something to it that we could bounce other ideas off of.”

“I was going to say he could make flour fall down from the heavens and turn the water elemental into a giant wad of dough.”

Randy shook his head. “No. I can't do that.”

Tony the Elf sighed. “I know. Like I said, it was a joke.”

“It weren't a very good one,” said Denise.

Frank cringed at her. “Should I even ask what that thing is you're carrying?”

“This is my baby. It's name is Fatty.”

“Adorable.”

“There was supposed to be seven more, but Randy fed them to his lizard.”

If anything could divert everyone's attention from Tony the Elf's lame joke, it was that.

“I didn't feed them to him!” said Randy, looking like he might burst into tears. “It was an accident!”

Everyone continued to stare at Randy in stunned silence.

“This must be another of the beautiful island women you spoke of,” said Fazul. “She has more hair on her tits than I have on my face.”

“Who the fuck asked you, Rasputin?” said Denise, then her disgusting bug baby started crying. “Aw shit. Now you done it.” She held out the baby to Randy. “Stop crying and hold Fatty. I'm gonna teach this motherfucker a lesson on how to talk to a woman.”

“Will everyone please shut up?” Frank shouted so loud it even stopped Denise in her tracks. Her baby, however, only cried louder. “Would it kill you people to stay focused for more than twenty seconds? There's something big coming after us, and I think it's a pretty safe bet Mordred's behind it.”

“No he ain't,” said Denise. “It's just some fuckin' pirate captain who's pissed on account of Katherine stealing his daddy's sword.”

Frank's people murmured like what Denise said made sense to them.

Frank breathed a sigh of relief. “That guy. Okay, maybe we can get through this with a little Diplomacy. We'll get Katherine to give back the sword. We'll give back the other weapons we took. Hopefully we can part ways peacefully. Where is Katherine, anyway?”

“Oooh,” said Fazul. “Who is Katherine?”

Everyone looked around. Eventually their gazes all fell on Tanner, the half-drow who she'd been hanging around with a lot lately.

“I haven't seen her,” he said as he laced the front of his pants and yawned. “But then, I only just woke up. Maybe she went down to feed Mordred.”

“I assure you,” said a voice that ran a chill up Chaz's spine. “I am quite capable of feeding myself.”

Mordred, the dwarven Mordred from Glittersprinkles Grove, stood nakedly at the edge of a strangely smooth crater in the ground.

Fazul leaned close to Chaz. “That pit the naked man just climbed out of. Is that where you keep the whores?”

Chapter 49

“Where is Katherine?” Tanner demanded stomping toward Mordred. “What have you done with –”

“SILENCE!” Mordred hit Tanner with a spell that shut him up and dropped him to his knees with a squelch. “Your little girlfriend is taking a nap. I was kind enough to offer her my own accommodations.” He turned to address the rest of the crowd with more confidence than his naked hobo appearance should have allowed for. “You don't know how much it pleases me to find so many of you here at...” He squinted through the rain in confusion. “For the life of me, I don't recognize this place.”

Fazul raised his bottle joyfully. “We are on Nazere!”

All the gasps and glares suddenly directed at Fazul made it impossible to deny his claim.

“Would you please shut the fuck up for five minutes?” Chaz whispered to him.

Mordred chuckled weakly. “Nazere? That's impossible.” The scowl on his face as he looked around again suggested that he knew it was true. “Where's all the ice and snow? What happened to my Ice Queen?”

“We sent that frosty bitch to warm herself up on Satan's cock,” said Denise.

“You did what?” Mordred's confused expression turned to rage. He pointed a finger at Denise's feet, causing saplings to grow into green and purple vines that wrapped around her arms and legs. “I had plans for her!”

While Mordred was distracted with Denise, Tony the Elf scooted close enough to Chaz and Julian to whisper.

“If Mordred knocked Katherine out or tied her up or something, all this rain is going to drown her down there. I'm going to back away and try to sneak into the mine behind Mordred. I need you to keep him facing this way.”

Chaz and Julian nodded, then Tony the Elf backed away and ducked down. Against his better instincts, Chaz couldn't resist glancing back. Tony the Elf had disappeared. That was some good rangering.

“What are you doing, Mordred?” asked Frank in a tired tone. “That was a great trick with the vines, but we have you vastly outnumbered. Why not just give up quietly, and we'll try to make things more comfortable for you in the future.”

Mordred grinned at him. “Your offer is most generous, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass.”

Frank sighed. “What's the alternative? You can't possibly take us – NO!”

Mordred turned around just in time to catch Tanner lunging at him from behind. Tanner's dagger, which would have skewered Mordred's left kidney, instead plunged into his belly. A painful wound to be sure, but not likely a fatal one.

Grabbing Tanner by the throat with both hands, Mordred squeezed until Tanner's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head and he finally let go of the dagger. Tanner squirmed, kicked, and tried to pull Mordred's hands away, but Mordred was easily the more powerful of the two of them.

“Be... still!” Mordred groaned as they struggled, and Tanner stopped moving. He released his hold on Tanner's throat, letting his limp body splat face-down in the mud, then winced as he yanked the dagger from his gut.

“He was acting on his own,” said Frank. “The rest of us still want to resolve this peacefully.” He took a step forward and displayed his empty hands. “Isn't that right?” He got a few nods in response, but most of the crowd didn't even seem to be paying attention to him. Their faces were difficult to read. Some looked dumbfounded, like they couldn't believe they had gone so far just to surrender now. Others seemed more annoyed or frustrated, like they knew they could take this hairy bastard if they all went at him together, but they knew that trying to lead that kind of charge would only see them face-down in the mud next to Tanner.

“My blood has been shed!” shouted Mordred, raising an open hand  that dripped with blood from his belly wound. “The time for peaceful resolution has passed!” He planted a plump dwarven foot on Tanner's back, then pulled his head up by the hair.

“Tanner!” cried Randy. He set Fatty on the ground, then ran at Mordred, drawing his sword.

Mordred flicked Tanner's dagger at him, and swiftly growing vines grabbed Randy by the ankles and suspended him upside down. Randy tried to take a swing at them, but other vines caught hold of his wrists.

Satisfied that Randy was secure, Mordred unceremoniously sliced Tanner's throat from one side to the other, dropped his face in the mud, and spat on his corpse as his blood pooled out to mingle with the rainwater.

Several people in the Whore's Head crowd screamed, but not one of them besides Randy had done anything to stop him. Chaz hadn't either, of course. Tanner was a cool enough guy, but he was an NPC. Besides, everything had happened too quickly for him to have made any difference.

“Jesus, Mordred!” cried Frank.

Mordred caught his breath and grinned, in spite of the obvious pain of his dagger wound. “I appreciate the heads up, Frank.”

Frank wiped the rainwater from his face and frowned, no doubt feeling the burn from more than one pair of eyes judging him for throwing Tanner under the bus. “You know we need you alive.” That was clearly meant for anyone who was judging him as much as it was for Mordred. “No more killing.” He took a tentative step forward, glancing side to side to see if others were following him. A few were. “It's over, Mordred.”

“Oh Frank,” said Mordred with mock sympathy. “I don't believe you understand how powerful I've become. This is far from over. We're only beginning.” He cocked his arm back like he was about to cast a spell at them, but Fazul interrupted with a shriek.

“Look!” He was pointing at Tony the Elf, approaching the hole behind Mordred. “Another one!”

Goddammit, Fazul.

“Horse!” Julian whispered, and a large white horse appeared behind Mordred, blocking his line of sight to Tony the Elf. “That's right, Fazul,” he said loud enough for Mordred to hear. “Another horse.” He chuckled to himself. “This guy sure does love horses.”

Fazul gawked at Julian like he was the drunk one. “No. I was talking about the approaching elf.”

Mordred rolled his eyes and sighed at Julian, then plunged Tanner's dagger into the horse's throat. It sprayed pink mist on Mordred, which coalesced into a coating of red blood on Mordred's pale face, chest, and arm. That lasted only a few seconds, then the horse winked out of existence as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving Tony the Elf exposed on the other side of the hole.

“Goddammit, Fazul!” said Chaz and Julian.

“What?” said Fazul. “I thought we were trying to save the naked dwarf.”

Mordred cocked back his arm to cast a spell at Tony the Elf but took four arrows and a Magic Missile in the back before he could get it off.

The elves who'd been ready to fire on Chaz and Julian when they stepped out of the woods, nocked second arrows, and took aim at Mordred, who was on his knees, howling in pain. Rhonda likewise had another Magic Missile hovering beside her, ready to blast him. Chaz had to hand it to them, the Whore's Head crowd looked after their own.

“Hold your fire!” said Frank. “Come on, Mordred! Don't make us finish the job. Put down the dagger and surrender, and we'll heal you. Nobody wants to hurt anybody. We all just want to go home.”

Mordred dropped the dagger, and Frank breathed a sigh of relief. But Chaz had an uneasy feeling as Mordred's howls of pain slowly morphed into maniacal laughter.

Mordred turned around and thrust both hands at his attackers. Frank, Rhonda, all four elven archers, and five or six other people in their vicinity were constrained in vines before anyone could fire a shot. Rhonda, at least, was able to release her Magic Missile, which caught Mordred in the chest.

It left a lemon-sized scorch on his horse-blood-slathered skin but didn't put him down.

Tony the Elf made a break for the hole, but Mordred had apparently been anticipating that. A single vine reached out, grabbed him around one ankle, and hoisted him into the air.

“Come on, Mordred!” said Tony the Elf. “I wasn't even going after you. Katherine's going to drown down there if I don't rescue her!”

“Good!” Mordred snapped back. “I look forward to seeing her brother's face when he finds out.” He winced as he got to his feet. “Let that be a lesson to the rest of you. You are alive right now because I allow you to live. But a man only has so much patience. He can only take but so much abuse before someone needs to be made an example of. You can think of Katherine's death as a sacrifice if you like. If it keeps you from trying anything stupid, it might very well save your life.”

“Bullshit!” Chaz shouted before he could stop himself. Oh well, no point in stopping there. “What kind of example is that? All you're showing us is that you don't have the balls to kill anyone directly.”

Mordred laughed and gestured down at Tanner's dead body. “What do you call that?”

“He's an NPC, a toy in your sandbox. And letting Katherine drown where you can't see her is about as ruthless as changing the channel when ads for those starving kids in Africa comes on. Sure, people might die because you don't give a shit, but it's hardly a measure of the stones in your sack.”

“So you're saying you'd be more impressed if I took a more proactive role in her demise,” said Mordred.

“That's right. Otherwise, we see you for what you are. A fat, sniveling coward.”

“How is this helping?” Julian whispered.

Chaz didn't have an answer for that. If Mordred went down into the mine to bring Katherine back up, the rest of them might have time to... That's as far ahead as he was currently able to think. He was counting on other people to pick up some of the slack.

“I suppose I can't have my subjects think me a coward,” said Mordred. “How's this for proactive?” He stomped hard on the ground with his left foot, causing the muddy earth to split open, forming a small crevasse that stretched from the hole he was standing at the edge of past Chaz and Julian and into the woods behind them. It was a powerful a display of his control over nature, but Chaz wasn't sure what it was meant to accomplish... until he heard the rush of water approaching from behind him.

If Chaz's goal was to buy Katherine more time, he'd just fucked it up severely. He had a pretty good idea of how Frank must have felt a few minutes ago with all those stares burning into him. There was only one thing left to do. Double down on black and give the wheel one more spin.

“That's not proactive at all,” he said to Mordred. “It's just more efficient cowardice. It's ripping the Band-Aid off so you don't have to stomach the pain for as long. Somehow, you've managed to make yourself look like even more of a pussy.”

“Dude,” whispered Julian more intensely. “I'm not sure what you're going for here, but –”

“If you want to set an example,” Chaz continued, “you bring her up here and do her like you did Tanner.”

“CHAZ!” Julian was no longer whispering.

Mordred smiled at Chaz. “How about I meet you in the middle. We'll keep Katherine where she is, but if no one tells me where my dice are in the next five minutes, I'll do you like I did Tanner. Will that sufficiently demonstrate the stones in my sack?”

Shit.

That was a curve ball that Chaz hadn't been expecting. “Not really. I'm just a bard. Katherine's a lot tougher than me.” The words pouring out of his mouth were like diarrhea of lameness.

“Everyone calm yourselves!” Fazul slurred. “Cease this senseless bickering at once. The solution here is an obvious one!”

All eyes turned to him. Even Mordred was curious enough to entertain a listen.

A horrifying thought suddenly occurred to Chaz, but before he could do anything, Fazul continued.

“Julian has your die in his pants.”

“GODDAMMIT, FAZUL!” said Chaz and Julian.

“Stop yelling at me!” Fazul shouted at Chaz. “He was going to kill you. I have an investment to protect!”

“Is it true?” asked Mordred, staring at Julian with hungry eyes. “Do you have my dice?”

“No,” Julian said unconvincingly. “Of course not.”

“Don't lie to your old friend, Mordred.” He waved his hands at Julian. “Show me.”

Julian's head wobbled like he'd just woken up from a dream, then he reached into his pants. “Okay.” He pulled out the shiny black die.

There was another wave of gasps from the crowd. Several people were shouting for Julian to run. Others, who recognized that Julian must be under some kind of spell, shouted for Chaz to tackle him.

Chaz tried to grab Julian's wrist, but he was yanked off his feet by a vine. Like Tony the Elf, he was now suspended upside-down by one foot.

“Bring it to me, friend,” said Mordred. “It's mine, after all.”

Julian nodded. “That's true.” He looked up at Chaz. “I'm sorry, but this doesn't belong to us. We were wrong to take it.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Chaz shouted back at him. He knew Julian wasn't crazy. He was under a mind-control spell. But he couldn't be completely under it. As shitty as his argument was for returning the die to Mordred, he was at least trying to rationalize it. Maybe a strong enough counter-argument could make him – No, fuck that. A counter-spell!

His hands were still free, and he was still holding on to his lute. He'd never played while upside-down before, but he'd played while drunk quite a number of times. How different could it be?

While trying to think up some appropriate lyrics, he strummed his lute strings until he found a tune he liked.

I hate to alarm you,

But Mordred has charmed you.

Julian stopped walking toward Mordred and turned back to Chaz. “No. Mordred's my friend. He wouldn't do that.”

“That's right, Julian,” said Mordred. “I've always liked you best. Remember how I coached you along when you first got here?”

Julian nodded. “I remember that. He was kind to me, even after we all treated him like crap. And then I had the nerve to steal his dice. What was I thinking?”

Ravenus peeked out from under Julian's clothes. “Are you quite sure, sir? I don't pretend to understand the nature of these dice, but we've invested a significant amount of energy thus far to prevent this from happening.”

“Listen to Ravenus!” shouted Frank. “Ravenus, stop him! He's acting under Mordred's control!”

Julian shook his head like he was trying to get the first bit of ketchup out of it. “NO!” He frowned down at Ravenus. “What we did was wrong. Mordred's a good guy. We were jerks to him.” He turned back to Mordred and started walking again.

Chaz had planted a small seed of doubt in his mind. He needed to continue the song.

You're under his spell.

He cast and you fell

Short of what you needed to roll in order to keep him from being able to harm you.

Fuck, that was terrible.

Julian turned around again, but this time meeting Chaz's gaze with a harsh glare. “You're the one trying to cast a spell on me! You and your bard magic. I've had this sort of magic cast on me before. I almost lapped up a lion-man's jizz, so I know what it feels like.” He scowled hard at Chaz. “You might have had me if not for that last horrible lyric.” After giving Chaz the finger, he started closing the distance between himself and a very smug-looking Mordred.

Last chance. Come on, Chaz. Make this one count.

I'm trying to warn you.

He's mentally disarmed you.

Can't you see that he's pissed?

If you fail to resist,

We'll all buy the farm, Ju.

“Jesus Christ!” said Denise. “What the fuck was that, you antisemitic prick?”

“What?” Chaz replayed that last line in his head. “No! That was supposed to be short for Julian. I needed a rhyme!”

Julian didn't bother turning around this time as he gave Chaz the finger again and continued walking toward Mordred.

“That's it, dear Julian,” said Mordred, beckoning him closer. “Hand over the die, and I'll remember this when I return to my – AAAAAHHHHHH!” He bent backward in pain as a crossbow bolt appeared suddenly in his belly. He glared at Chaz, as that's the direction the bolt had come from, but Chaz was still holding his lute. All he could offer by way of explanation was a shrug.

A few more bolts and arrows flew out of the woods, three of which hit Julian, dropping him about ten feet away from Mordred.

“Master!” Ravenus cried. “Someone help him!”

Wild barbaric shouting rang out from behind Chaz, the same direction the arrows had just come from. When he managed to turn around a little, he saw a band of screaming, tattooed, half-naked men brandishing short swords, scimitars, rapiers, and hand axes and running his way.

“Who the hell are these people?” demanded Mordred, scowling and sounding more annoyed than frightened.

They might have had more luck if they'd stayed hidden and fired from behind the trees; Mordred had them all tangled in vines with a few waves of his hands.

“That's the crew from the ship that attacked us last night,” said Randy.

Fritz gasped. “That means the elemental won't be far behind.”

“Their captain wants his sword,” said Tony the Elf, trying to reason with Mordred. “If you go down and get her, he'll probably let you live.”

Mordred laughed. “What need have I to fear some soggy old ship's captain? I created him. It is he who should fear – Holy shit!” He gawked at something Chaz couldn't see.

Before Chaz could muster the energy to swing himself around again, he noticed a puddle of water spreading directly below him, headed for the clearing. It was as if the very earth had pissed itself in fear of whatever Mordred was staring at.

Fazul stared down at the water rushing past his feet, then up at whatever was causing it, and finally at Chaz. “Good luck, friend.” He muttered an incantation and disappeared.

“Goddammit,” said Chaz. He wriggled violently and swung himself around to find a gargantuan mass of water flowing toward him. It was like a sentient tidal wave... with arms... and kind of a face... and a little guy riding on its shoulder? “What the fuck is that?”

The vine holding him up wouldn't allow him to remain facing the wave for more than a second. Swinging back around, he saw Mordred frantically searching Julian's dead or unconscious body.

“Where is it?” he cried. He clawed his fingers through the mud near Julian's hand that had been holding the die but didn't turn anything up.

Ravenus backed away from him slowly, then flew up to a tree branch. “I have what you're looking for!” he shouted down at Mordred, who turned around to glare at him. “I've swallowed it. Heal my master, and I shall shit it out for you. Otherwise, I'll fly away and bury it where you'll never be able to –” He squawked loudly as a vine that had snaked up the tree caught hold of his talon. “Shit.”

“Silly bird!” said Mordred. “Who are you to make demands of me? I was too kind to you last time I caught you. This time, I will make you pay dearly.” He snarled in annoyance, then turned to face the forty-foot-tall living wave arriving on the scene. “But first I'll deal with this.” He peered up at the man riding on the wave's shoulder. “Who are you?”

“I am Captain Logan of Seastalker. I have followed the call of my father's sword, and I am here to claim what is mine.”

Mordred rolled his eyes. “Get in line, buddy.”

“I demand you bring me Katherine, captain of Nightwind, at once!”

Mordred stroked his beard thoughtfully in a way that Chaz feared didn't bode well for Captain Logan. “I think I have a better idea.” He thrust both hands forward, shooting lightning bolts directly into the water monster's junk.

Captain Logan's screams were barely audible through the loud continuous crackle of electricity as lightning lit up the water monster's body like a giant bug zapper in a termite swarm. The screams only lasted for about five seconds, but Mordred kept pumping lightning into the monster until whatever force that had been animating it gave out, turning it into ordinary water, which came gushing down.

Captain Logan's charred remains landed with a loud splat in the mud, while the monster's remains swirled into the hole... until it leveled off. It had filled whatever the hole led down to, topped off the crater, and sealed Katherine's fate for good. Even without Mordred getting in their way, there was no way they could get down there to rescue her in time. Chaz hoped that she'd at least passed peacefully.

“MORDRED!” shouted Tony the Elf. “You son of a bitch! I'll kill you!”

Mordred sneered at him. “We shall see about that.” He pointed a finger at the base of the tree Ravenus was trapped in, and the earth beneath it liquefied. Then he turned dozens more nearby saplings to vines, all of which snaked up the trunk and began to pull.

Its roots unable to support it against the pull of the vines, the tree fell toward Mordred. Chaz hoped it might crush him, but he didn't even flinch as the trunk fell right beside him, Ravenus's branch a mere five feet away.

“Cough up the die, bird, or I'll tear it out of you with my teeth.”

Ravenus brandished his free talon like a knife-fighter, waiting for Mordred to move within reach.

Mordred sighed as he impatiently rolled his index finger. Another vine grabbed Ravenus, this time around the midsection. It wrapped around him and began to constrict.

Ravenus squawked until he finally began to gag, then threw up. The die fell to the ground at Mordred's feet in a puddle of bird vomit.

After picking up the die and rinsing it off in a puddle of cleaner water, Mordred climbed up onto the stump to address his soon-to-be reclaimed subjects.

“I look forward to running the game again, and I hope you will all be a little more adventurous from here on. It's no fun when you just sit in your inn and hide from the rest of the world. Get out there and enjoy yourselves. Are there any questions you'd like to ask before I return to Earth?”

“Fuck your mother!” said Denise.

Mordred frowned. “Was that a question?”

A bit of movement behind Mordred caught Chaz's eye. Tony the Elf had managed to wrest himself free of the vine that was holding him up, and he was sneaking toward Mordred, slowly pulling out his machetes.

“Well,” said Mordred. “If there's nothing else, I suppose I'll be –”

“I have a question!” said Chaz.

“Yes?”

Shit. Now he had to think of a question.

“What's your favorite song?”

Mordred squinted at him in disbelief. “What kind of question is –”

The still water covering the crater erupted as a giant shark flew out of it. Mordred barely had time to turn around before his head and dice-wielding arm were in the shark's mouth.

“Never mind,” said Chaz. “Wasn't important.”

The vine let go of his foot, and he landed in the soft mud. His costume was fucked.

When he stood up again, what remained of Mordred's body lay where he saw it fall. But instead of the shark he expected to see, Chaz saw Katherine standing over it. She was rubbing a giant purple bruise on the side of her face, and she looked like she was in a rotten mood.

“Katherine!” said Tony the Elf. “I thought you were dead!”

Katherine shrugged. “I almost was. I didn't think I was ever going to – Shit!” Her gaze was on Tanner's body. “What happened to Tanner?”

Tony the Elf shuffled his feet. “Mordred slit his throat.”

“Goddammit. Again?”

“Technically, the last time was your brother.”

Katherine sighed. “Just help me get him in the bag, would you?”

Chapter 50

“It sure is warm today,” said Cooper. Nabi had been quiet all morning, and he wanted to hear her voice in his head, just to know she was still with him.

“What the fuck do you expect?” Tim was riding on Cooper's back like both a real and metaphorical monkey. “We're in the goddamn desert.”

“I was talking to Nabi.”

“I figured as much, but you should be talking to me instead. I'm real, after all. And I talk back.”

“Why would I want to talk to you? You tried to cut off my foot, asshole.”

Tim sighed. “At least let me do something wrong before you get pissy with me about it. Whose foot did I actually cut off? Thanks to your skank whore of an axe.”

Cooper didn't bother to respond. He was as pissed at Tim as he was going to get. If he was going to shout at him, or punch him, or leave his crippled ass to die in the desert, he would have done it long before now.

“Don't worry, Coop,” said Tim. “We're due for a full moon tonight. By this time tomorrow, we'll be best friends again, and Knobby's the one you'll be ignoring.”

Cooper had never paid much attention to the cycles of the moon before, but he'd been noticing that it had been getting fuller the past few nights. Nabi had probably been noticing that as well, which would account for her being so quiet lately. She didn't want to talk about what they've both been thinking.

Don't listen to him, Cooper. You'll resist this. It's just a matter of willpower, and you have a strong heart.

He was happy to finally hear her, even if her words made him feel more hopeless. Looking ahead, all he could see was more sand on the horizon. He'd been covering as much ground as he could every day, hoping to find the edge of the desert. Even if, by some miracle, they found it today, the chances of them arriving at a village where someone had already prepared that belladonna shit and was ready to administer it to him... Well, those were smaller odds than his stupid brain could imagine.

“A strong heart doesn't cut it,” he said. “It all comes down to a random dice roll.”

“That's right, Knobby,” said Tim. “So suck it.”

Could he hear Nabi too? Or was he just guessing her part from the context of what Cooper had said? It didn't matter.

“Now's not a good time to fuck with me, Tim,” said Cooper. “I'm real fucking close to dropping your sorry ass in the desert and going on without you.”

“That's cool. I was going to hop off pretty soon anyway. The sun will be going down soon, and I'd like to put a little distance between us before you rat out and start losing your shit.”

Cooper dropped Tim and turned around to face him. “What the fuck, man? You've been planning to ditch me in the desert? Then why the hell have I been carrying you around this whole time?”

“Take it easy. I'm not ditching you. Far from it, I can't wait to watch. The first night someone turns, they'll attack anyone nearby, friend or enemy. They completely lose their mind. They've got no idea who they are or what they're doing. It's going to be epic seeing you flip the fuck out, frustrated that there's nobody around for you to kill.” Tim looked down at his half-foot. “Unfortunately, I don't currently have the spring in my step that I used to. So I'm going to turn invisible, stay a safe distance away, and watch you scream and howl and kick sand around until you pass out.”

“That sounds fucking awful.” Cooper didn't like not being in control of himself. Even with Nabi's good intentions, he was always uncomfortable when she took control of his will. “Did you kill anyone your first time turning?”

Tim laughed. “Fuck no. They put me in a cage. I woke up the next morning all bruised and sore, with my clothes all torn to shreds. It sucked.” He shrugged. “But it's really fun to watch a new guy turn. We'd get drunk and throw rocks and darts and shit at him in his cage, and he'd keep slamming his face into the bars trying to get to us. Good times. We'll set up something like that when we get back to civilization and start building our empire.”

Oh, Cooper. Please fight to resist this. I can't bear the thought of seeing you turn into such a... I don't even know if we have a word for it.

“Douchebag,” said Cooper.

Tim looked up. “Excuse me?”

“You and your rat friends throwing shit at the guy freaking out in the cage you locked him up in. You sound like a bunch of douchebags.”

“Oh come down off your high whore. Before you turned into such a big pussy, you would have thought that was hilarious. We didn't hurt the new guy. He has damage resistance. You can think of it like hazing a pledge at a fraternity.”

“That was exactly how I was thinking of it, shithead! Those guys were the fucking definition of douchebags. You don't remember Spring Breaks, when you used to complain that the Chicken Hut smelled like small dick and AXE body spray for days after they passed through?”

“That was a joke.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Cooper. I mean, what does small dick even smell like?”

“The dollar bills hanging out of your mom's work pants.”

Tim laughed. “I guess I walked right into that one.”

“I didn't turn into a big pussy,” said Cooper. “I didn't turn into shit. You're the one who's changed.”

“So I've gained a little empathy for people I used to unfairly judge. Is that such a bad thing?”

Cooper held Nabi close to his chest and stared at Tim. “You were never the most ambitious person in the world. Fuck, none of us were, except for maybe Julian. You never really had a solid idea of what you wanted to do with your life, or who you wanted to be. But you sure as shit knew what you didn't want to be, and it's exactly what you've become.”

“Thanks, Cooper,” said Tim. “That's some Hallmark Channel inspirational shit you just dropped on me. How's the menopause treating you?”

“Fuck you. If Old Tim was here, he'd kick your ass for letting him become such a douchey piece of shit.”

“And if Old Cooper was here, he'd...” Tim struggled to finish the thought. Cooper helped him out.

“He'd kick your ass for letting his best friend become such a douchey piece of shit.”

Cooper gulped down as much from the Decanter of Endless Water as his stomach would hold, then tossed it on the sand next to Tim.

“Nah, I'm good for now,” said Tim. “Maybe use it to hose out your ass or something. It's amazing how you still manage to smell so bad in zero humidity. Dude, where are you going?”

If he was going to turn tonight, he didn't want to give Tim the satisfaction of being able to witness it. If he didn't turn, he didn't want to spend any more time with Tim. He walked.

“I can't keep up with you!” Tim called after him. “I've only got one foot, for fuck's sake!”

Don't leave the decanter behind. You don't know how much desert remains.

“I'll take my chances. If I hear his voice again, I might kill him.”

Well, then let's do that.

“Nabi, I'm not in the fucking mood.”

About an hour passed before Nabi spoke again.

You could have taken the decanter. Why should you die while he lives? It makes no sense.

“I'm not going to let him die of dehydration. That's a pussy way to kill someone. If I was going to kill him, I would have fucking killed him. Either with you, or my bare hands... That's kind of why I had to walk away. I've been fantasizing about it a bit.”

I know. I've been listening to your thoughts.

“You don't understand, Nabi. Where I come from, we're not as quick to murder our friends when they turn into dicks. We just kind of part ways instead.”

I do understand. I've been doing some thinking as well, and I'm not sure I'll be able to kill you if you turn.

“That's, um... sweet of you to say.”

I want you to bury me in the sand.

“Why? Shit, are you fucking dying?”

No, Cooper. I'm not dying. I don't want you to bury me deep. Just enough so that I won't be able to see you. If what your friend says is true, I can't bear the thought of seeing you like that. Leave a marker on the sand above me so that you can find me again in the morning. But make it something small so that you won't notice it during your madness.

Cooper stared at the top quarter of the sun sinking below the horizon. He'd been walking westward, chasing it in the hopes that the few extra hours it gave him might have made the difference.

“I'm kind of scared, Nabi. I'd rather not be alone.”

I'm scared too. Scared of losing you, but also of what I might do to you. As I said, I don't know if I have it in me to kill you or not, and I would prefer not to have to make that choice. Please respect my wishes.

Cooper nodded, then swept the sand with his foot until he'd made a Nabi-sized hole. After placing her in it, he swept sand on top of her, then took a step back. If he blinked, he feared he'd never be able to find where he'd buried her again.

A teardrop hit the sand, followed by a big watery gob of snot. Great. At least the crushing loneliness he was suddenly overwhelmed with meant that nobody could see him crying like a little bitch.

As the sand absorbed his tears and snot, a tiny shoot sprouted up in their place and grew a single green leaf. That was enough for Cooper to be able to look away.

Digging through his bag for something more substantial to mark the spot, he found a copper coin. Figuring he wouldn't be scrounging for change while he was going apeshit with murderlust in the desert, he thought it would make a good enough marker. He placed it over Nabi, then backed away. He felt like he should say some parting words in case they never saw each other again, but he was no poet. He'd probably just throw up on her or something. Leaving his bag behind as well, lest he should decide he wanted to tear the shit out of it, he walked away until he could barely see it. He took one last look at the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of Uncle Ernie's Belladonna Farm, but only saw more sand. Sitting down on the cooling sand, he closed his eyes and awaited his fate.

Maybe the moon wouldn't have any effect on him if he didn't see it. Hell, maybe he could just sleep through the whole ordeal. He couldn't recall ever seeing a werewolf movie where the dude wolfed out in his sleep. It was worth a shot.

He turned over and lay on his belly, his head buried face-down in his arms. After a few minutes, he felt a strange sensation in his crotch.

Shit! It's starting!

Unable to resist, he rolled onto his side and took a peek, then breathed a long sigh of relief. It was just some stupid plant trying to grow out of the sand where he'd pissed himself.

After another half hour or so, he felt himself starting to doze off. Then he felt a tug in his gut.

“Fuck,” he said. That was no plant.

His asshole exploded like he'd been holding in shit for a week. Nabi had no doubt seen some grim sights during her time with him, but he was grateful that she couldn't see this.

Another tug in the guts.

Was this it? Was he turning? Or did this have to do with all the fruit he'd been eating for the past few days?

The pain grew in sharpness and intensity, radiating out from his gut to his extremities. He tried to resist it, contain it somehow. But it wasn't happening. His body was going to do what it was going to do, and he had no more control over the rest of it than he had over his sphincter. The dam was about to burst, and he was miles away from the nearest toilet.

Thankfully, he passed out.

*

Cooper woke up to a glaring late-morning sun. He felt hungover and hollowed out, as if he'd spent the entire night pounding back drinks and shitting himself. Beyond his usual layer of filth, he was covered with sweat and sand. But otherwise, he didn't feel much different than usual.

Had he changed? Or had he just had a bad case of the shits during the night. A quick glance at his surroundings confirmed the latter theory, but didn't necessarily rule out the former.

The sand was disturbed for thirty feet in every direction, as if aliens had descended on this very spot and had a dance party while he slept. Or maybe not aliens. Maybe it was those asshole wizards from the Crescent Shadow. That seemed like exactly the sort of thing they might do. He hoped it was them who had stepped in his dehydrated shit that was splattered all over the area.

Fuck this. He was fine. In fact, aside from a little soreness from a rough night's sleep, he couldn't remember ever feeling so good. Spotting his bag on the horizon, he ran over to get Nabi. Then they could get the fuck out of this desert.

Next to his bag, he spotted the coin Nabi was buried under and the dried brown remains of the little plant he'd snotted out of the ground. He got down on his knees and brushed the sand away with his hands. There she was, just where he'd left her. He reached down to pick her up, then hesitated. Something was different about her.

Or maybe not different. It was more like he could sense something in her that he'd never noticed before. Something malicious. He thought of all those hobos she made him murder, how much of a pouty bitch she was because he wouldn't let her kill Mordred. Fucking hell, she'd chopped off Tim's goddamn foot. What the hell was wrong with her? What the hell was wrong with him for not seeing what a fucking psycho she was before now?

A few days without alcohol had really cleared Cooper's head. Nabi was obviously a cursed magic item. Who knows how many of his friends he might have hurt if Tim hadn't taken him to the desert.

He scowled down at the axe and pulled his dick out. “Taste my knob, Knobby.”

It was easily one of the top five most satisfying pisses he'd ever taken. When he was done, the cursed axe was drenched from handle to blade, and the Fertile Desert sand had produced a large grape vine.

Cooper snatched a bunch of grapes from the vine and followed the sun eastward in search of Tim. He owed his best friend a big apology.

The End

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