Chapter 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 Epilogue

Their dark carnivorous features softened by wind and sand and salt water, the statues stood watch around the ancient structure by the sea. It was a brilliant day on the Black Sea coast, like a hundred million other sunny days that had baked the weathered sentinels. Weird crests and broken spines jutted from the gargoyles; the carved stones depicted creatures whose like had not walked the face of the earth for eons. Some of the black guardians had subsided several feet until all that remained visible were toothy heads poking up from the sand like fire hydrants. Even those still standing were no more than six feet high; perhaps the ancient sculptors had been wary of making the statues overly imposing.
The structure they guarded was a temple carved of black onyx, but the race of beings which had once worshipped there had long since departed. Perhaps their numbers had slowly dwindled as the earth changed around them, or perhaps they had fled into the encroaching sea to escape the hairy hominids migrating from the south. The architecture they created had once dominated the Asian continent, the black stone running red with terrible ceremonies and evil rituals. Now the lone survivor of this lost era was the small weathered temple brooding on the sand.
The builders of the temple had been of a race different from humans; the main entrance arch, shaped like a big sideways capital J, had not been designed with a plastic storm door in mind, at least not without a lot of bathtub caulk to ease the fit. The builders had not used woven reed doormats, as was evident from the depression they had worn in the single stone step leading to the sideways J. A woven reed doormat was now carefully in place, insuring that the stone beneath was worn no further, and also that less sand would get tracked inside. There were windows between the statues along the sides of the temple. These were rather incongruous in a temple where screaming live sacrifices had once been offered to horrible beings, but perhaps the logic was that since the temple was too small for a good sized crowd, spectators could stand at the windows and cheer from there. The windows were also arches in the shape of smoothly curved sideways Js, and they were now fitted with tasteful magenta and yellow curtains of a more recent design. The stone guardians of the temple had not seen much action in the past several thousand years. Now their faces were smoothed and some of their limbs were missing, but they still could muster up fierce glares for the man who performed a bizarre rite on the green brick circle between temple and beach.
He was wiry and not too tall, with short-cropped sunbleached hair and eyebrows that connected above his nose. His well tanned body was almost naked, and it glistened greasily in the heat. The man was, in fact, in the process of greasing his body with an aerosol can of shortening, and was carefully spraying his calves as the gargoyles watched. After greasing himself down to the feet, he gave himself a cursory rubbing to evenly distribute the oil. A drop of greasy sweat ran to the end of his patrician nose and fell, leaving a dark blotch on a green brick.
The man straightened and wiped his hands on his taupe Speedo suit. He set the nearly empty can of Pam on the edge of the green brick circle and walked to the center, where a large iron chain was coiled. It had become hot lying in the sun, but the greasy little man gritted his teeth and picked it up anyway. The Black Sea sun beat unmercifully on his body, but he had planned well; not only would the grease decrease air resistance, it would also keep his skin from drying out and facilitate the tanning process.
Something large slowly moved through the gloom within the ancient temple.
The man with the chain paused a moment, looking nervously at the shadows around the low entryway. He had kept his preparations in front of the temple as quiet as possible, hoping to avoid discovery by the shambling beast which dwelled within. Now, though, the time had come to throw caution to the winds. Bungston pressed the play button on a cute lavender bubble blaster near him, and then began to spin the length of chain around his head, gradually releasing more and more chain from the pile at his feet. The opening organ chords drowned out the whine of the chain cutting through the air. Something inside the temple moved again, but Bungston was preoccupied with keeping the ever-lengthening chain aloft and did not notice.
The hymn began, but apparently the bubble blaster had a fair bit of sand somewhere in the tape playing mechanism.
"Ye watha and ye harrrr wan..."

Finally roused by the noise, a great maroon figure shambled menacingly from within the temple, hesitating a moment in the shadows as if blinded by the bright sunlight. It was, in fact, blinded by the bright sunlight, and it rubbed at its eyes with the backs of its forepaws. The shaggy humanoid leaned against a statue and watched the vague circle of spinning chain, gradually growing to near the size of the green brick circle Bungston was standing on.
"Horrorshow chain you got there, me droogie," it commented in a voice like a blender working on pea gravel.
Bungston did not respond, allowing the choir to scratch along uninterrupted from its little box. Panting slightly, he sang along with the chorus, matching their sand garbled tones perfectly.
"Bry cheruhhhk, sarapan thrownummum. kufvzzzt."
The shaggy beast was displeased with this incomprehensible reply, but kept quiet. It was getting more and more difficult for the thin tan man to keep the chain in motion; a considerable length was now airborne. Dripping with sweat and grease, Bungston continued to perform his ceremony.
"Raisin glad chain. Hallelujah."
The monstrous hairy figure watched as the chain began to assume the shape of a spiral around Bungston. It furrowed its thick brows. That wasn't supposed to happen. Chains and snakes and things like that always stretched out straight when you spun them.
Bungston was now aware of the spiral and began to put his body into the effort, struggling to straighten the chain out as the trailing end lagged farther behind. He yelled a strange series of words at the chain wending its way around him.
"LINTY SOCK SLAP FLOG AND FLY DON'T GET ME WORMY PILING DRIVER SQUIRMY MANATEE AND BILIOUS EYE!"
A sombrero decorated with wax fruit appeared obediently at his feet. He kicked it out of the way with a breathless snort of disgust. "Come on, come on..."
The bubble blaster continued the hymn, and Bungston continued to sing along, although his words were now punctuated by grunts of exertion.
"Cryo dominum, hungh! prinom, parrharrr...hungh!"

The furry mutant had gone back into the ancient temple, and now it emerged bearing a sponge rubber football carefully studded with cloves in geometrical patterns. It watched bemused at the improbable spiral wending its way around the frantically gyrating man who was still doing his best to sing. "Virdooo archangll angl core! Come on!" A spiral indeed. Such things should be prohibited by the laws of physics, and Napoleon was just the lawman to prohibit them. Casually, the mutant tossed his clovy football into the air. "Hallelujah, hallelujah..." The spongy projectile caught the sun at the top of its parabola, hesitating as if to contemplate the whirling links below it. "Hallelujah, hallelujah..." The football reached its inevitable decision as its mutant origin ducked back into the temple/cabana. "Hallelu--uuu---jah!" At the climax of the hymn, the football dove into the fast-moving spiral of metal. Napoleon, now inside, could only listen to Bungston's shrieks and wails as the chain thrashed catastrophically about him.
A short while later the wizard entered the temple, his body decorated with several vivid red stripes. Napoleon was sprawled across a sandy beige couch, and he looked up from a back issue of Tiger Beat to nod at the wizard's entrance.
"Fine looking welts there Bung," he rasped. "I don't know about this tape player stuff. You do better on your own,"
Bungston let the pulverized remains of the little lavender tape player fall at Napoleon's feet; it seemed the bubble blaster had taken the brunt of the chain's kinetic energy. The welted wizard stomped around the cabana yelling his frustration. "I raise you from a pup, feed you, worm you, and what thanks do I get? This!" He shook a largish piece of the shredded foam rubber football in the mutant St.Bernard's face, liberating several cloves to fall and lodge in the thick fur there.
Napoleon shook his huge head slowly.
"Bung, you saw how it was making a spiral. That's not right. Centrifugal force and all."
The wizard waved his hands in anguish. "That's an imaginary force Nap!
Imaginary! You mutants never..."
Napoleon had risen from the couch and now confronted Bungston. "How come you were fooling with the chain in the first place, hmmm?"
Bungston fell silent. In truth, he had thought that despite the fact that his chain was in no way like a helicopter rotor, somehow by spinning it fast enough and throwing in a little magic he could leave the ground and fly. It might have happened; he had pulled off much stranger things. But if Bungston were to tell his shaggy mutant what his intentions had been, the big dog might possibly snicker at the wild scheme (unbearable in itself), then realize that Bungston had intended to go to some populated area without him and cram himself with food. No doubt the mutant would put sand in Bungston's makeup kit or do something equally distasteful in revenge. The greased wizard mumbled a reply while rummaging through his frontal lobes for a convincing lie. "Whaaaat?", rasped Napoleon, leaning closer.
"I was trying to summon up... a cake! A cake for us to eat!"
The mutant St. Bernard gaped in shock. There had been no food except nutmeg in the temple cabana for some time, and while nutmeg was tasty and beloved by man and dog alike, it had precious little nutritive value. "A cake..."
Bungston saw a good guilt wound in the making and went for it with vigor. "Yep, a cake, a huge one! For you and me to share! It was going to be mammoth! Taller than you are! Frosting! And you spoiled it! You wrecked it! You!"
Napoleon moaned, his shaggy head packed with visions of a seven foot cake. "What flavor?" he rasped weakly.
Bungston thought fast. "Chocolate... and hash! A giant chocolate hash cake!"
The mutant wailed forlornly, casting himself on the gritty flagstones at Bungston's feet. "Oh pleeease pleeease you gotta try it again! I'm so sorry I'll help anything try again!" Bungston spurned the harshly rasping pleas, raising his impressive nose in disdain as he thought furiously. The idea of a giant chocolate hash cake appealed to him. Maybe there was some way...
The wizard seized a torn wad of foam football between his bare toes and pushed it into the mutant dog's slobbery mouth. "Ok, go get whatever is in the refrigerator." Napoleon hastened to obey.
Bungston walked over to the sacrificial altar, maneuvering around a precarious stack of 72-rpm records, a bushel basket of hockey pucks and two stuffed and lacquered crocodiles locked in a death grip. He leaned against the altar thoughtfully. It had been a massive pain in the butt when they had first moved in, converting the beachside prehuman temple into a cabana. The block of stone was too weighty to be moved without a crane, and Bungston had a bad feeling about what might be underneath it; he had read plenty of stories featuring altars that lift up to reveal a bucketful of creepy abominations underneath. All stones had creepy abominations under them, he mused; a law sort of like centrifugal force. And then as if having a big block of stone in the center of the living room wasn't bad enough, from time to time the altar howled like a legion of the damned. At first Napoleon had kind of liked it; the damned were usually on key and he could howl along if the spirits moved him. But eventually Bungston could take no more and had glued on a remedial legion of acoustical tiles, which muffled things nicely, but made the altar even bigger. The welted wizard kicked the puffy lump of tiles, adding another toe mark.
Napoleon hustled back into the living room carrying a half-full bag of sauerkraut, a can of Cycle-3, and a cold bottle of Rose's lime juice. His efforts out in the sun had made him thirsty, and Bungston took a quick swig of the cloying juice. Thoroughly cloyed, he poured the remainder into the bag of sauerkraut. Following a vague instinct to mix together all available ingredients, he also dumped the dog food into the sauerkraut bag then shook it fiercely. The wizard then pinned the bag to an acoustical tile with his can opener. Napoleon did not seem in the least disappointed by the bag of stringy brown mush; he waited avidly a few yards away. Bungston drew himself to his full unimpressive height and grabbed a big spatula to add emphasis.
CRUD ME NEED ME SHOVE ME SEEDY MONKEY BUMPS AND LUMPS OF BEAN CURD WORM TURD MEALY FIRM AND SQUEALY STOLE MY SOCK AND HAM HOCK REELING KNEELING KNEADER LOVE ME FEED ME!

A puff of vapor erupted as something happened to the bag. Bungston waved it away with the spatula. There were some brownies there, and the wizard gingerly took a bite. They definitely contained herbs, but he couldn't determine what sort of herbs they might be. It wasn't a seven foot high hash cake, but it was mostly chocolate and it tasted OK. Transmutations had never been his forte.
Chapter 2

When Bungston returned from the bathroom, there was only one brownie left, and no mutant left at all. Maybe the magically altered food had had some sort of an ill effect on the bipedal St.Bernard and altered him into an unrecognizable form. The wizard looked suspiciously at the solitary remaining brownie, but decided it was probably not the big mutant. Most likely Napoleon had fled in fear upon realizing he had eaten nearly all of the newly transmuted food. Bungston rolled up the Tiger Beat magazine into a loosely cylindrical instrument of vengeance, but then changed his mind and threw it back onto the magazine heap. It wasn't really Napoleon's fault there was no food in the cabana; big dogs ate a lot, and because of his appearance he generally had bad luck with farmers and foodsellers. Bungston grated some nutmeg with his nifty nutmeg grater, then doused his lone brownie with the pungent dust and popped it in his mouth. Something had to be done about the food situation, and Bungston was just the capable, superbly skilled guy to do it.
Coastal weather had been cruel to the vintage railway gun Bungston kept in the woods near the cabana; it was rusty and spotted and all the fuel oil had long since dried into a gooey blob in the tank. The wayward wizard eventually found his pet mutant propped up against an imposing statue about five feet high which had retained part of a long nose or beak. Bungston poked Napoleon with his muscular big toe, and the mutant almost tipped over. "Hey shagboy, you look happy. Brownie filcher."
Napoleon's eyes were rheumy at best due to his St.Bernard heritage, and they were extra bloodshot now. He removed his rawhide chew toy from his mouth and spoke very slowly. "Mmmnn. Plenty tasty brownies. Thanks." He then remembered why he had fled, and became somewhat more alert. "Ah, but your magic must have gone bad somehow. Not bad taste, because the two or three I ate were good. Those two or three were good." The mutant watched Bungston to see if he caught the implication of two or three, then painfully organized the rest of his thoughts. "But all of a sudden the others just... um, disappeared. Turned into air, probably. Except for one." The mutant's chainsaw-like growls reeked of guilt; his canine heritage made him absolutely incapable of telling a convincing lie.
Bungston let it slide, his mind occupied with the intricacies of his food finding mission. "OK Nap, all is forgiven." Napoleon was surprised at the wizard's unusual leniency, and waited for the reason. "How about you push the railway gun into place while I chase the storks out of it? I'm going on a voyage."
The burly canine wiggled deeper into his sandy depression in the shade of the statue's beak. Always lazy, he was well nigh immobile when full of food, and he didn't want to help. He craned his shaggy head to look at the rusty barrel projecting above the treetops behind the cabana. "I don't know, Bung. You should probably just leave it alone. It's pretty old, and it's pretty phallic."
Bungston lifted half of his monobrow. "You're not going to help because you think it's phallic? You're just lazy because you ate those brownies."
Napoleon nodded. "Yeah. I mean no! Just for that I'm not going to help." Relieved of the burden of further speech, he rolled his maroon mass out into the sun and left Bungston to wrestle the cannon into position himself. The storks seemed to have left of their own accord, leaving only an easily discarded nest of twigs in the cannon muzzle. The wary wizard felt a brief tinge of paranoia, wondering if the storks had known something he didn't, but then he put it out of mind.
Bungston had discovered some time ago that being fired from a large gun is one of the fastest and most pleasant ways to travel, so he had salvaged the old cannon and hopped it up to be ultra powerful. The railway gun put tremendous rifling action on any projectile, making the flight smooth and accurate, with none of the nauseating thermals and dips of ordinary flight. The rifling action did tend to make one dizzy, and so Bungston had invented the Human Cannonball Helmet. This ingenious device rotated the head of the human cannonball at a speed exactly equal to the rifling action put on by the cannon, but in the opposite direction. This resulted in a stationary head and no dizziness, although sometimes the side effects might require the services of a good chiropractor to correct. Unfortunately, this particular railway gun had been abandoned by the Nazis for another reason; the projectiles never hit their targets. Actually the projectiles did hit their targets, but just not at the same time the Nazis were around; one monster shell wreaked havoc on a convention of Byzantine wine dealers, but most had just dug huge craters in the woods. The railway gun was an uncontrollable time travel device. This was the reason that Bungston wanted to invent a helicopter; when you flew with the railway gun you never arrived on time. But food was food, and had been for as long as Bungston could remember so wherever he landed he was bound to find some tasty stuff. Getting back might be a problem, but hey, he was a wizard. Bungston smirked at the thought of his wizardness as he applied a little more aerosol Pam where his sweat had slicked it off. His Voyageur pack was always useful for quests, so he fished it out of the cabana and stuffed a few necessary items inside. Then he tucked a rubber mallet in his belt just in case, slipped greasily into his Human Cannonball Helmet, and clambered down into the yawning barrel, displacing several spiders as he went.
With a muffled thump he was off in a cloud of smoke and what it takes. The earth rotated beneath him. Bungston watched the sunlit sea pass by below, confident that he was too small and smooth for Soviet radar to detect if the Soviets had developed radar in whatever time period he was in. Chances were the Soviets themselves hadn't even developed.
The windborne wizard was distracted from his musings by some action ahead, and squinted through the telescopic visor of the Human Cannonball Helmet. It looked like there was a battle happening on the land he was quickly approaching, which was the spit of land between the Black and Mediterranean Seas. Sure enough, it was Achilles kicking the butts of some poor Trojan toads and laughing as javelins ricocheted off of his godly tough hide. Bungston grimaced at the blatant unfairness of it. Even as he watched, the Greek loosed a few more knees, compelling their owners to bite the earth. Bungston would be over them in a few seconds, but he was already groping at his belt for his rubber mallet to deliver justice from above. If there was one thing the wizard could not abide, it was unfairness, and he corrected injustices just such as these wherever he could. The mallet had become a chicken, no doubt because of his rapid temporal shift. Cursing relativity in general, Bungston ducked his head and lost altitude precipitously. He started the chicken swinging as he dove. As Bungston neared the ground, the chicken arced under and caught Achilles beneath the chin with a rubbery slap, transferring a great deal of kinetic energy. All the Trojans and a lot of Greeks cheered, and Bungston just had time for a high five from Aeneas, which also probably packed quite a lot of kinetic energy. Then Bungston raised his head and spun back upwards over the Greek encampment and the Mediterranean.
"Defender of the weak and ungodlike! Protector of the feeble!" Bungston steamed up the visor of his Helmet bellowing the various honorifics that the Trojans would no doubt sing about him around their fires tonight. When he finally overcame his self-satisfaction he realized that not only had he granted unto Achilles a lot of his impetus, but had lost valuable altitude. There was no way he was going to make it across half the Mediterranean to Italy, and Bungston doubted whether he could even manage to stay airborne long enough to reach Greece. He attempted to become more aerodynamic, thus reducing gravity's pull.
Long shadowy creatures moved ominously under the water, too near for Bungston's liking. The wizard's righteous wrath, while satisfying, had eaten so much altitude that Bungston was going to crash into the sea. A squidlike creature followed the human projectile's passage with a lidless eye; Bungston gave it a wink to make it jealous. Maybe he could catch a ride on a beluga whale or some other fellow mammal. Bungston scanned the waves for a belugoid shape, but the shapes below him seemed to generally be of the ichthyoid persuasion. CHLORINE BORING ITS THE THING THAT WRINGS MY EAR! FLIP THAT MOPED ROPING MOOSE AND FED IT GREENS LOST HOPE POURING NOSEDROP HOSE WRAP TOES IN GEAR AND EIGHTEEN THOUSAND POUNDS OF POWER! POWER! POWER! A great decal-plastered form appeared in the air next to him, and Bungston grimaced as gravity accelerated it down and into the waves. The ridiculously overinflated tires prevented it from immediately sinking, and it remained bobbing in the waves as Bungston soared away and left it behind. He hadn't intended to summon a Monster Car Crushing Pickup Truck; it seemed like such a waste to dump it in the ocean, and in the Bronze Age where no-one would be able to drive it if it washed up on the beach in working condition. He had been trying for a sleek Jetski that would bear him over the waves, but big machines were always pretty difficult. The pickup did make a terrifically loud splash which scared the poop out of his submarine spectators, and so it all turned out OK. As the water rose to meet him, Bungston spread his arms and legs wide and skipped along the surface like a dried-up starfish.
Luckily he was no more than a mile away from an island, and the Human Cannonball Helmet turned out to be a decent propeller in a pinch. After arriving, Bungston knelt on the beach and began to make a schematic map to determine where he had landed. His fortuitously-shaped rubber chicken represented Italy, with the eyeball being Rome, Bungston's original destination. He had picked Rome for its long history of civilization and its good food; thus no matter when the railway gun sent him, he could eat well. Actually, pretty much the entire eastern Mediterranean had good food for most of recorded time, so no great harm done. Bungston squinted. Except Turkey. He didn't like Turkish food. A dead jellyfish represented Turkey; he was careful to move it into place with the well insulated rubber chicken in case the stingers were still active. Some scattered pebbles represented all of those little islands east of Greece, and a chipped clam shell was Greece itself. He used a little pink shell for Cyprus. "I'd eat a cyprus", Bungston said to himself. Cyprus sounded juicy, and with any luck he would be there. It was time to put his physics knowledge to work. He drew a line in the sand to show his original trajectory, figured in the torque imparted by the chicken's impact on Achilles, and drew a new line, which intercepted a pebble. He was not on Cyprus, but rather a little Greek pebble island. Relieved for no reason and weak from lack of food, Bungston stuck the Turkish jellyfish in his pocket for later and prepared to sleep by camouflaging himself. Operating on the shake-and-bake theory, Bungston rolled his oily body around in the sand, and when he had a thick coat of it, he flopped down on the beach and went to sleep.
Something tugged at an eyelash. Bungston squinted and snorted in his sleep, but the tug returned. A stealthily opened eye revealed a huge monster moving in for the kill. Bungston rolled frantically away across the beach, with an orange and black crab in hot and futile pursuit. The sun was already up, and the food pilgrim unpacked his costume. It was a shame he hadn't thought to bring any soap; the oil on his skin refused to rinse completely off, and he knew it would get nasty later in the day. The Egyptians greased themselves, thought the wizard in an attempt to console himself. If the first great civilization could get away with all-day artificial greasiness, he could too. Resigned to his slippery skin, Bungston put on his Inconspicuous Garb and walked inland in search of the market.
Fortune smiled upon the adventurous wizard this morning; not only was the market rather large, but the clientele was more varied than would be expected in this age of immobility. There were Greek traders and fishermen, swarthier-looking Turkish types, expatriated Trojans, and a few Scythians, along with smaller numbers of other nationalities. His blond crewcut concealed beneath a unremarkable brown cloth, Bungston moved through the market, scoping out the edibles. There were no canned goods, Bungston's food of choice, but this was doubtless because of the flimsiness of bronze cans. There were however, fruit and fish and other chopped up stuff that looked good. Bungston searched his pockets for something to trade. He had some nutmeg, but he wanted to save that. Then he found a Superball, still bright orange if a little linty; he didn't dress in his Inconspicuous Garb too often. The farmer nearest him was already watching the little colored mote intensely, and so the wily wizard casually strolled over, bouncing the ball against the dirt path as best he could. "Heh-heh-heh! Nifty ball, eh?" Bungston's Ancient Greek was quite good, but most ancient Greeks didn't go "heh-heh-heh". The farmer stared. "I'll give you this ball for... all of your fruit and some of that guy's fish" The fishmonger too was now watching this foreigner with the big nose and rubber ball, and the haggling commenced.
As the three men discussed the relative worth of the cartload of fruit, the fish and the ten-cent Superball, there was a commotion farther down in the market, which had become crowded as the sun rose higher. A man in shining steel armor and a spiked helmet was head and shoulders above the crowd and pushing his way toward Bungston. Shining steel armor was definitely not in vogue, leopard skins and bronze being more fashionable for self-respecting warriors of this era. The steel-clad man caught Bungston's eye and spoke. "Bungston Schagg! I have come for you!", he cried. He spoke in slightly accented English. Bungston bit his tongue in alarm, then hopped around in a tight circle grimacing and waiting for the pain to subside. The approaching warrior looked pissed as hell and was obviously not from the area. His skin was grayish and unhealthy looking, and despite his size he was lean and poorly muscled. A surge of paranoia bit in to the base of the worried wizard's brain. A hit man. Who could possibly know where he was, and want to sent a hit man after him? The man was forging a path through the uncooperative crowd, so Bungston pressed the Superball into the hand of the farmer, quickly filled a sack with fruit, and turned to take off.
He was too late. With one hand on his shortsword, the armored warrior shouldered his way between a pair of passing eunuchs and confronted the fruit-laden Bungston. The metal on his armor looked brand new, but the leather pieces were moldy and decrepit. The warrior drew his eyebrows together fiercely. "Found you!" Bungston saw a small group of coiffed and bejewelled women walking rapidly past and with lightninglike speed, snaked his hand around in front of the gaping fishmonger and latched on to a full handful of bejewelled butt. The owner shrieked indignantly at the same moment as Bungston, with his other hand, whipped a rubber chicken from under his robes and threw it at the spiked helmet of the foreign soldier. As the stale-smelling warrior grappled with the rubber bird impaled on his head, the two eunuchs he had shouldered aside joined another one farther back in the defense of the decorated women, whom, as Bungston had hoped, they were guarding. They saw a large and bizarrely dressed foreigner with a fake chicken on his head, assumed he was the guilty party, and three fat men converged shouting on the confused warrior. Bungston slipped away as the commotion increased and several marketplace enforcer-types began to purposefully approach.
After reaching the forest, Bungston climbed a handy tree and pondered this latest development while munching some grapes. Someone had sent this belligerent guy after him, and somehow they had known right where he was. It reeked of magic. "MAGIC DIPSTICK HAT TRICK CARSICK DATERAPE DUCTTAPE NEOLITHIC GRAPE APE!" The grapes in the bunch he was holding sprouted spindly arms and legs and began to mill around on his branch. Bungston couldn't find the heart to chew up such cute little gnomes, and dug in his sack for another bunch. But it seemed that the grapes in the sack had also been converted into Welchkins, so he freed the whole lot of them and grated some nutmeg with his nifty nutmeg grater for use on a pear. Who would want him badly enough to track him down? Bungston could think of lots of people who might want to track him down. He loved to spoil sad endings, and it seemed there were lots of people who thrived on sadness, so any one of them could be vindictive enough to hire a sorcerer to locate him. He really should find the man in the armor, magically immobilize him somehow, and question him. It would be a snap for a wizard of his caliber. Bungston smiled smugly, pondering his caliber. Now that he thought about it, maybe he had inherited some money and all he had to do was spend one night in a haunted house to get it. Bungston pursed his lips. Napoleon really enjoyed haunted houses, so that would be fun, but it seemed unlikely that the executors of a will would track him to the ancient world. He sighed and hung from the branch, then dropped, accidentally landing on a squealing Welchkin which had climbed down to the ground. "Waste not, want not, I guess" The squashed Welchkin tasted really good, and Bungston surreptitiously glanced around to see if there were any more nearby. Fortunately for them there weren't, so the wizard contented himself with a nutmeg between cheek and gum and went out to the quay to wait.
Nothing could be worse than a slave galley. Bungston lay in the sun toying with a midget lemon and watched a shipload of galley slaves who were also lying in the sun, but seemed more into it. They were a scrawny bunch, covered with welts and sores, undernourished and with dark rings under their eyes despite their excellent tans. Every few minutes their driver would rouse himself and lash out with his whip at some unfortunate, for no apparent reason. Bungston wrinkled his nose in disgust. He didn't know the nationality of the slave driver but guessed Turkish because of his general antipathy for Turks. "Hey, buttface!", he yelled in Turkish. "If you were half a man you'd be nice to those slaves!" It was dubious logic, even to Bungston, whose standards were low. The slave driver looked up snarling, but then grinned obsequiously and laid aside his whip.
Bungston snorted in pride. That had been easy; probably it was the patrician nose that did it. The wizard fingered his patrician nose appreciatively, and was about to begin some more serious nose fingering when he smelled a familiar musty odor; he was already rising to his feet when a bony hand fell on his shoulder. The armored warrior scowled a terrible scowl, displaying the grayest skin Bungston had ever seen on anything not made of stone. Bungston slowly retreated as the man's fingers twitched in a complex pattern over his sword. "Ok dude, what's the deal? How do you know who I am? Who the hell are you? Do you still have my rubber chicken?"
The warrior puffed up his chest. "I am Robigus!" He seemed about to say something else but at that moment an elderly fellow stalked up, shrilly demanding what business the two men had on the dock. The man appeared to be the harbormaster, and there were several more armed men standing on the shore and watching carefully; the warrior who called himself Robigus was facing the sea and could not see these. Before Bungston could placate the old man, Robigus fiercely shoved him and sent him flying off the dock. The galley slaves cheered hoarsely, and Bungston thought it was pretty funny too. "Belabor me no more, squeaky...er, fungus!", bellowed the warrior at the senior citizen thrashing in the water.
Then, bizarrely, Robigus wrapped an arm around Bungston shoulders. "Fresh!" Bungston slapped him for this impromptu display of affection, then turned to dive off the end of the dock as the armed men came swarming up to deal with Robigus.
As Bungston turned there was a tremendous splash out in the water. Humming loudly, a huge golden coil erupted from the depths, slowly pivoted, and flew through the air at the dock. It was about ten feet long and flew as if it were being screwed into the air by some giant invisible corkscrew. The armed Greeks dropped their spears and fled at the sight of the eerie spiral hovering unsupported over the boats. Robigus recaptured Bungston by an ankle as the latter dove off the dock, but misjudged the wizard's weight. He was pulled in himself, losing his helmet en route. The golden coil descended into the water around the two men, enveloping them inside itself. Strangely, no water entered the segments of the coil which were now submerged.
Bungston, unused to being swallowed up by giant sculpture, began to yell above the hum of his prison. "COIL BOIL AND MR. BUBBLE PADDLE HANDLE FOIL THE THROBBING..." Robigus clapped a hand over the wizard's mouth, but not before one of the oars of the slave galley heaved itself up and into the coil, catching Robigus in his armored midriff. A group of slaves yelled and tried to retrieve their oar, but to no avail. Prevented from smooth rotation by the oar, which was stuck on one side in the boat and on the other against Robigus' armor, the coil's humming began to raise in pitch and the coil itself began to shake menacingly, kicking up a fine froth. Struggling in the cramped quarters, Robigus labored to push the end of the great oar out, while Bungston tried to push himself out. Bungston knew from many movies that things that hummed louder and higher and shook menacingly usually blew up after a little while, and here there was no highway patrol to rescue him. Suddenly the oarlock snapped and the oar broke free from the slave galley. The coil lurched into motion again with an excess of stored energy, swinging the paddle up, around, and into the pier with tremendous force, splintering paddle, pier, and probably some of Robigus' ribs from the look on his face. Freed, the coil plunged back into the ocean, bearing the men inside it.

Chapter 3

The humming machine moved smoothly through the water, going deeper and deeper. Inside its confines there was a little light, apparently emitted by the coil itself, but soon it became too dark to see out. Although there seemed to be a permanent bubble inside the strange vehicle, the coil was a scant four feet across, and the air soon took on Robigus' musty odor. Both men squirmed constantly in an effort not to be flipped over by the rotations of the coil. They bounced into each other and into Bungston's soggy Voyageur pack; quarters were close for two and a half. Eventually a small hook on Robigus' armor caught a golden strut and the warrior spun around with each rotation. Bungston watched with interest, then put on his Human Cannonball Helmet, seized a piece of coil and spun also. The ride was boring after that; the only thing to watch was the grimly spinning warrior opposite him. Then Bungston realized that Robigus might get sick, and that would be plenty nasty, considering the close quarters and the centrifugal force.
The whirling wizard began to shout as Robigus watched helplessly. There was a pleasantly pungent odor, and then a metal tube appeared inside the coil, enclosing both men. Bungston scrambled to screw on the clear plastic lid as the tube fell behind the submarine coil, then jerked as the tow rope pulled taut. The wizard looked around in the near darkness, pursed his lips in appraisal, then tilted his head smugly at Robigus, who was properly amazed. "Waste of a good stoagie, though", commented Bungston suavely through his now stationary Helmet. He also mentally congratulated himself for the tricky tow rope, which he had gotten on the first try.
Back at the prehistoric cabana, Napoleon could wait no longer. He had slept for as long as he possibly could until his canine instincts roused him and told him to hunt for food. Yet in Napoleon's mutant brain laziness still had the upper hand over instinct, and he had managed to wait for Bungston a little longer by making a mangled ruin out of his rawhide chew toy. After a few hours it was pretty chewed out (though as soon as it dried it would be as good as new.) Napoleon licked the brownie pan clean for the umpteenth time, then walked out to the green brick circle and drew a long deep breath. "um... HAYSTACK CATSPRAY...HAT TRICK GREENBAY!" A gentle breeze ruffled his fur, but this happened often when the shaggy mutant went outside. "WONTON POMPOM TERIYAKI FIREBOMB MEATBALL FREEFALL RIBS BURGERS DOUBLE FRIES! WITH BARBECUE SAUCE!" Again his spell had no effect but to make him drool copiously, and this was probably due to thoughts concerning barbecue sauce. He just didn't have the talent for the right talk at the right time that Bungston did. Stomach growling, Napoleon went in to get a flashlight, then used it to search under the edges of the cabana for crabs. He could cook a crab stew. When his search turned up no edibles, he went down to comb the shoreline, keeping the flashlight handy to bludgeon anything ornery into submission. Napoleon had just seized a hapless horseshoe crab and was considering eating it raw when something big flew up out of the water only yards away from where the mutant was standing.
Napoleon turned and scrambled for the cabana as the humming golden coil shot through the air after him. When it was obvious he would never reach the cabana in time, he hurled the horseshoe crab at the approaching alien device only to have the critter pass unimpeded through the rings and land in the water. He swung the flashlight valiantly, but to no avail. "BUNGSTON! HELP ME!" he howled desperately as the coil encircled him and bore him away. Little did he know Bungston and Robigus had just fallen prey to a pernicious coil themselves.
Unlike those two, however, Napoleon found the ride quite enjoyable once he had resigned himself to it; his ample fur made him slippery enough that he always stayed at the bottom of the compartment, and using the flashlight he could make a headlight and see into the dark water surrounding his glowing cage. He could not hear the rush of the water which he knew must be passing by the coil at great speed. Perhaps the hum of the mysterious machinery drowned out any other noise, but more likely it was some sort of force field, reasoned the mutant; something pushed back when he tried to push a leg beyond the confines of the coil. This also meant that despite his best efforts, he was unable to grab any pupils from the schools of sushi through which he passed from time to time. Napoleon later became fond of the force field when a dimly seen sinuous creature came out of the darkness to glide next to the coil, watching the shaggy seven-foot morsel cowering inside. Napoleon switched off the flashlight and enjoyed the ride.
After a while Napoleon's carriage angled upwards and the water outside grew lighter. Mutant and machine burst out of the water into a parabola over the shore. The coil gently tilted and decelerated into a beautiful landing, then screwed itself completely into the sand, leaving its passenger standing upright on an overcast beach. Napoleon stretched and took a look at his surroundings. The rather stony beach gave way to a dense forest of scruffy pines and bushes. The sky was heavily overcast and the ocean was choppy. All in all not the vacation paradise he was accustomed to, thought Napoleon, but a change was interesting. The less voluntary, the more interesting. Then the other coil burst from the ocean, and Napoleon turned to watch its landing.
The tube attached to the glowing coil read "Vega y Mendez" in waterworn letters, and it trailed clumsily behind the coil as both emerged from the water. As the machine tilted and slowed out of its arc, the tube overshot it, upsetting the delicate equilibrium of the system. What resulted was a sort of "crack the whip" game, with the two men hunched in the far end of the tube the part that gets cracked. The coil, now facing back toward the ocean, swung its trailer around in a huge semi-circle. The end of the tube bashed into the beach with a resounding popping noise, digging a pretty crater and splitting the metal up the side in the process. The coil then slowly dragged the tube around in circles on the beach.
Napoleon jogged alongside the damaged coil chewing the line tethering it to the tube with his powerful teeth. It was salty but not too bad. The rope severed, he grabbed the heavy coil as best he could and set it on its end, whereupon it gratefully sank out of sight into the beach. Then the industrious mutant turned his attention to the cigar tube. Transparent material seemed to be oozing from the fissure in the end. Always wary of jellyfish and amoebas and such, Napoleon approached with caution, but after closer scrutiny it turned out to be bubble-sheet packing material. Napoleon hated the stuff, because his digits were too thick and awkward to pop the little pods. There was a feeble movement under the plastic, so Napoleon tugged out all of it within reach, then cautiously peered into the stinky tubular compartment with his flashlight.
"Nap, is that you? Get this thing open!" It was his master's voice. Napoleon set a paw on either edge of the rent metal and heaved mightily. After two or three tries the tube split almost down to the middle, and the two men inside clambered out. There were reams of bubble-sheets inside. Robigus stood, gave a perfunctory glance to the nearby maroon mutant, and then wobbled a short distance away before collapsing on the beach. Bungston was still sitting by the tube trying to remove his Human Cannonball Helmet. Napoleon aided him with vigor. Once free, the woozy wizard opened his mouth and removed a soggy nutmeg with deep toothmarks, then flopped on his back and watched the thick gray clouds. "Whoah! Lucky thing I got those bubble deals in there in time or you could roll us and smoke us right about now!"
Napoleon prodded the tube with his foot. "You know, Bung," he rasped in his chainsaw voice, "I just got the coil. No trailer at all. It wasn't that bad a ride; it picked me right up from the cabana. I wonder why you got this pipe thing and I didn't."
"Playing favorites, no doubt," replied the wizard. Napoleon caught a tasty smell mingled in with the strange aroma emerging from the broken tube. Digging revealed a dripping bag in among the plastic sheets. Bungston looked over from his sand heap. "Oh, yeah, help yourself." The fruit had become an amalgam of skin and pulp, but at least it was mostly seed free; the starved mutant set aside his usual antipathy for fruit and dug in with relish.
When Bungston caught his breath he joined his mutant in a meal of mush. Robigus the warrior soon joined the two, apparently having recovered completely. "You are Napoleon the Mutant, I take it," he said, haughtily indicating Napoleon with his chin.
Napoleon grunted and continued to put away the mush, but Bungston sat back against a rock and regarded the armored warrior solemnly. Not only was the leather on his armor in bad shape, noticed the wizard, but his sandals were falling apart too. In fact, all of Robigus' clothes except for the metal parts looked like someone had carted them down into a Florida basement and left them for a year or three. "Ok, Robigus, you seem to know all about us, but all I know is your name." Napoleon raised his dripping muzzle and cleared his throat pointedly. Bungston instantly became an epitome of social grace. "Oh, excuse me! Robigus, this is Napoleon, my comrade and pet. Napoleon, this is Robigus..." Bungston looked questioningly at the warrior, who shifted his weight back and forth.
"uh, Robigus alone will suffice." Napoleon extended a matted paw soaked with juice and pulp, and man and mutant let Robigus understand by their attitudes that he was compelled by common courtesy to shake it. He shook it. Napoleon and Bungston leaned back against the rock. "Maybe you'd like to tell us something about yourself", rasped Napoleon, playing along with Bungston.
Robigus hemmed and hawed a little, then suddenly collected himself. "Come with me," he commanded with renewed bluster. "I shall speak as we march." Napoleon opened his eyes to their rheumy widest to show how impressed he was, but the armored warrior was already striding towards the woods, and all the mutant received for his trouble was some windblown grit. Rubbing his eye with the juice-free back of a paw, he ambled gamely after Robigus. Bungston grabbed an armload of the plastic bubble-sheets and ran to catch up.
The threesome trudged along a looping path through the dank forest. It took a while before Bungston realized that the path actually was looping, but all of his persuasive power could not make Robigus skip the loops and just go straight. Napoleon shamefacedly mumbled his support for the course Robigus chose, and so Bungston turned his abilities elsewhere. It did not take long to start Robigus talking. "In truth, I am the emissary of Her August Majesty, Queen Z, Sovereign Ruler of Avalon."
"Avalon, eh?", murmured Bungston. "Where exactly is Avalon?"
"You are on the island itself," proclaimed Robigus grandly if evasively. "Queen Z has always been impressed with the idea of Valhalla, a place where great warriors are collected to feast and fight and womanize for eternity. Many years ago she accidentally arrived here and found the island uninhabited except for a few fairies. She decided to use her great magic skills to set up a place similar to Valhalla but with warriors gathered from the four corners of the globe."
This caught Napoleon's attention. "There are really seven, you know," he informed their escort in his painful-sounding rasp. "I've been to five myself and I've talked to a guy who's been to all seven." Bungston pondered briefly where a globe would have any corners, much less seven. He decided to ask his apparently expert mutant later and turned his thoughts to this Avalon situation. If Valhalla was where all the great warriors went, he wondered, what sort of warriors did Queen Z find to populate Avalon? His question was interrupted by a muscular young man and a lady who were passing in the opposite direction. The man looked Mayan or at least South American, but was dressed in a thick trenchcoat with a quiver of arrows laced into the belt and his bow and spears over his shoulder. The woman wrapped in one of his arms could have been a cheerleader at any Midwestern high school, with big hair and a wide rosy face. "Hullo Bob." The Indian nodded to Robigus as he passed, and the armored warrior's gray face was split by a huge grin, as if pleased to be recognized.
"Hello Zit!", he said.
Bungston waited until the two were so far down the path that the cheerleader girl could no longer twist her neck to stare at Napoleon, then asked Robigus who that had been. "A famous warrior named Zit who wears a trenchcoat?"
Robigus immediately resumed his grim demeanor. "Yes, indeed. He won the trenchcoat in fair combat with a man named Marlowe. His true name begins with the letter X, and is difficult to pronounce, so most call him Zit, just as some here call me Bob. Among friends, these are not ignoble names." Robigus said this last rather forcefully, and Napoleon and Bungston were quick to agree that Bob was not ignoble in the least. More and more at his ease, the warrior continued. "But yes, he and his comrade were great heroes in the land they hail from. Somewhere in the newly discovered part of the world, I believe."
The path opened into a what would be a pleasant enough glade, were it not for the gloomy skies and the rather brisk wind. Several tall black menhirs rested in a circle delineating the boundary between forest and meadow. Napoleon walked closer to one of the stones, pulled by his curiosity and natural canine attraction to such objects. He was close enough to notice there were worn inscriptions on the face of the menhir when he spotted a tiny figure sitting on top of the stone. It was about a foot tall and gnarled like an apple left on a radiator. The little creature looked down at the great shaggy beast impassively. "Bung! Bung! Look at the little man!", yelled the mutant.
"I'm not a little man, stupid, I'm a fairy." The object of Napoleon's scrutiny leapt a prodigious leap down from his perch and confronted the mutant, then stalked around the menhir in a huff. Napoleon carefully followed him, but the fairy was nowhere to be found. The stone seemed solid enough. Napoleon snorted in mystification, then shambled away to catch up with the other two.
Robigus had continued with his explanation as he walked. "None are certain just where Avalon is geographically. Queen Z arrived here ages ago, and there has been no contact with the outside world except at her will, by means of the wrapped carriages like the one that brought us here."
"Yeah, I meant to ask about that. I've never seen anything like your flying spring machines. What's the deal?"
Robigus made a visible switch into storytelling mode. "Long ago, there was a civilization who lived deep in the oceans and seas. This nation was spread throughout the world, and through their science they made the wondrous machines you speak of. Queen Z discovered that in addition to these machines, this lost people built great portals on the ocean floor that cause anything moved through them to be transported in an instant to another place or time. Indeed, you and I traveled through one of these portals, although it was too dark to see. All I may say is that by dint of her powers, Queen Z made these machines serve her instead of their creators."
Napoleon caught up in time to hear the last few words. "Dint? What's a dint? I'll put a dint in both of you guys!"
The three were approaching a wooden lodge, and Napoleon's queries were interrupted by two people who were leaving the building. One was a clown with a bulb nose and an improbable crest of red hair cradling back of his bald white head. The other wore armor similar in make to Robigus', but decked all over with small rubber-bulbed horns like one might find on a kid's bicycle. The warrior's hair was very curly and almost white. He grinned a goofy grin and gave several honks on one of the smaller horns as he passed, and the clown chuckled evilly. Robigus' acted a little embarrassed but nodded in response, then increased the speed of his walk. "That was Semidall", he explained. "He really should be in Valhalla since he is a Norseman, but..."
Napoleon leapt to fill the pause. "Who was the clown?", he asked eagerly.
Robigus seemed genuinely ashamed. "That was Bozo. Ah, here we are."
As they walked up the stairs to the lodge both of Robigus' sandals gave at once, falling from his feet. Their leather straps had apparently rotted through, and Robigus picked them up and flipped them off the stairs. Napoleon shook his great head. "This place isn't going to be nice for long if you chuck your trash on the ground like that."
Robigus dismissed the complaint with a motion of his hand. "They will be gone in a few days. Now we will have an opportunity to change our clothing and wash before the feast with the Queen."

Chapter 4

There was nothing to complain about in their assigned rooms; each had a private bath and Napoleon's bed was round and sunken so he could sleep curled up as he preferred. The Queen had researched the twosome well. After washing up Bungston discovered there was even a little eye makeup next to the slimy green brand of deodorant he preferred. Mascara was a weakness of the wizard's; at first he just daubed a tad on, but then couldn't resist and went hog wild, rendering his unremarkable hazel eyes into deep seductive pools of blue-black. The clothes provided for him were comfy, if a bit conservative for his tastes. Since they had time before the feast, Bungston went to find Robigus.
Napoleon was nowhere around, so Bungston went to their escort's room alone. The room smelled of the not-too-unpleasant mustiness associated with Robigus. It was basically the same room as Bungston's, only with more things in it; a small statue here, a long Roman shield hanging on the wall, several spare pairs of sandals by the bed. The wizard suspected that this lodge was basically an upgraded Motel-6 for heroes. Robigus had just finished shaving, and looked at Bungston a little nervously, perhaps because of the mascara. He motioned Bungston to take a chair. "Robigus," began the wizard politely, "who are you? No offense, but I've never read any epic adventure tales about you."
Robigus nodded slowly and solemnly. "Yes, this disturbs me from time to time," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You see, in truth I am no a mere warrior at all, but a god." Bungston opened his eyes a little wider. He had been teasing a god! Then he got suspicious, and waited for Robigus to continue. "I am the Roman god of war and..."
Bungston leaned in closer. "Didn't catch that."
"Mildew! I was worshipped as the lord of war and mildew. Mostly mildew."
A hundred jibes leapt to Bungston tongue, but he refrained after a look at the warrior's face. Robigus was deeply ashamed of the fact that he was a mildew god, and even the wise-cracking wizard could break out the tact from time to time. "War and mildew, eh? Not too shabby."
"Well, in these later times only mildew. Once I was a mighty war god, but after a while Mars took full charge of that, the overbearing, er,..."
"Buttface," prompted Bungston.
"Yes, buttface!" spat Robigus vehemently. "And I was relegated to mildew. I was lucky, I suppose; many gods lost their status completely. Some even became saints. A mildew god gets a decent amount of respect. Unfortunately I cannot keep my clothes." Robigus ruefully indicated a pile of linen moldering in the corner. "I go through so many; this is why I prefer to wear armor at all times."
Bungston nodded. "Ever try synthetics?" The mildew god's expression was blank. "Nevermind. So, you can mildew anything you want?"
Robigus shook his head, always keeping a wary eye on Bungston. "I try to avoid using my power, in hopes that it will diminish..."
"Shut up! You can do something great like mildew anything you want and you want it to go away? I know people who would lop off a leg to be able to raise just a little corn smut, and here you can mildew stuff! C'mon, Bob, mold something up for me!"
Robigus frowned but nodded his head after some thought. He stood and drew himself up to his full height, fixing his gaze on an unused towel hanging across the room. With his furrowed brow and outstretched hand, the lean gray warrior truly looked godlike for a moment. There was a gust of damp air as the mildew god pointed toward the towel, and Bungston had a flashback to his dungeon-busting days. Then Robigus relaxed and turned to Bungston. The wizard went over intending to scrutinize the towel, but then decided he didn't really want to pick it up, and instead examined it from a distance. It looked as if a basketball team's communal towel had been neglected under a bathtub during the summer, then perversely folded and hung up for reuse. Bungston was mesmerized by the newly grown polyps and tendrils of mildew, and could not keep himself from taking Robigus' razor and shaving the towel. "Holy flaming buffalo balls! That's great! Can you mildew stuff that's alive?"
Robigus seemed uncomfortable. "Yes, though not easily. Yet Bungston, I dislike like to use my power overmuch, because though it is insignificant..,"
Bungston cut him off and proffered his own tan forearm. "Right here. A little mildew. Yeah, you know you want to!" Reluctantly, Robigus reached out to touch the wizard's arm, leaving a small oval patch of mildew behind. Bungston was ecstatic, looking from all angles at the mold on his skin. "Excellent! We've got to play a trick on Nap and mildew his fur good while he's asleep! That dildo mutant is always putting garbage in my bed; it's about time he got what's coming to him! Heh heh! He'll wake up a big ball of mold!"
Robigus shook his head firmly, then had to clutch at his tunic as the shoulder seams simultaneously gave way. His clothes were rotting off even as Bungston watched. "I should not have even done this much! Ah, now I must don my armor for the feast."
"Sorry Robigus. Ok, you could just take this mildew off my arm, then I'll go get Napoleon for dinner,"
Robigus was surprised. "Bungston, understand that I am the god of mildew. I cannot remove that." Bungston pursed his lips, but decided not to belabor the point. Back at his room, a thorough scrubbing and treatment with deodorant got rid of all but a vague gray stain. He briefly considered trying a little magic, but the six knuckles on his right ring finger were a constant reminder of the unreliability of his healing spells. It was feast time, and he went to fetch Napoleon.
He found the big dog in a chamber reminiscent of a YMCA rec room, with pool tables, foosball, and some old pinball machines. Napoleon was reclining on an overstuffed couch surrounded by blonde nymphettes. The girls looked like variations on a theme; they could have been a renegade pep club from New Oslo, South Dakota. Napoleon was growling out some grossly exaggerated tale that seemed to entrance the bevy of cuties; one had a little brush and was working over the matted fur on the back of his neck, and the rest leaned close, ooing and aahing at appropriate moments in the story. Bungston swaggered up and adjusted his voice down an octave; it had been a while since he had seen so many women in one place. "Hi everyone!", he proclaimed fruitily while jiggling his Bert monobrow to its utmost. "Feast time!" Nonplussed by a little guy wearing too much eye makeup, the women glanced his way politely but quickly turned back to the maroon mutant.
Napoleon, however, rose to his feet, unceremoniously dumping one of his admirers giggling to the floor. "If Bung says it's time, it's time," he rasped. "I'm so hungry I could eat a kid! But hey, let me introduce you to my bud here." Napoleon began introducing the nine or ten women there to Bungston, but mixed up Lori, Laurie and Lora.
Avalon might not be quite the no-name repository he had thought, realized Bungston when he and Nap arrived at the feast. Although Valhalla clearly had first pick of the heroes, there were quite a few seated at the long table whom he recognized. A wizened little man seated them and Bungston began to scan the people already there. Next to him was a group of Arabic-looking types speaking Old Persian. While the warrior next to him was unknown, Bungston thought one of the others was the hero Rustem, and the old guy was probably Gilgamesh. Farther down and across the table was a sizable group of Trojan men and women, among them Hector and his wife. There were none of the famous Greek heroes in attendance; probably Valhalla scooped them up, reasoned Bungston. Hector was quite a catch, though. Robigus was seated close to the Trojans, with one or two others who looked like they could be Roman or Trojan. Aeneas was conspicuously absent. Directly across the table was a fur-clad man even shorter than Bungston who was glaring at Napoleon. Bungston guessed he was some Bronze Age brute. Suddenly there was a flurry of high-pitched honks from the main entrance.
Semidall, the clownish warrior they had met earlier, was heralding the arrival of the Queen and her court. Bungston was not too surprised by her appearance. She looked like one of Napoleon's giggling fan club plus about thirty years: blonde, statuesque, high cheekbones, flashing ice blue eyes, and all the other prerequisites. Accompanying her was a leonine looking fellow wearing a skinny sword, looking like the archetypical Prince Charming straight from a razor ad. Bungston leaned toward the man at his right and asked in Old Persian who the Queen's consort was. It seemed he really was Prince Charming. Bungston rolled his eyes; first Philip Marlowe, then Bozo, now Prince Charming. Behind the Queen and her consort was a rotund doddering old fellow in fancifully-embroidered purple robes with a pointy dunce cap on. Bungston marked him as the court wizard, which started him wondering once again why he had been brought here.
The Queen proved herself an excellent hostess by serving food before talking business. The food was quite good; heavy on the meat and wine but better than any Bungston had eaten in a long time. Bungston noticed, however, that everyone at the table except he and Napoleon had a little bowl of colored balls next to them. After every bite, the feasters would chuck a few of these in their mouth, crunching them up like candy. Bungston swiped one from the Persian knight next to him and discovered that it was candy. He loved candy. The wizard signaled to a bustling fairy steward, who jogged over. "Hey, how about some of these candy balls for me and this mutant here?"
The fairy shook his head. "Sorry sir. New edict from the Queen. No non-residents of Avalon can eat Avalonian Jawbreakers until they prove themselves responsible enough."
Bungston pondered this briefly. "Ok then, bring me some more beer." The steward ran off and soon returned with a big jug which he set before the mollified wizard, who resumed his meal. Once full, Bungston kicked back and watched Napoleon, who had been oblivious to the candy debate and seemed content without any Jawbreakers. The shaggy beast was gradually becoming the focus of attention of the assembled crowd; he was putting away food and calling for more at a rate only a canine could manage. The table servants were exclusively tiny men, and there was close to a steady stream of them carrying in new food for the mutant and bearing away what little he left uneaten. There were a few warriors who seemed to take Napoleon's food capacity as a challenge, and strove to keep up. Napoleon himself was oblivious to this, but the other diners began to cheer for their favorites. The servant gnomes began to bustle faster and faster, bringing in improbable amounts of food. Bungston frowned at a squad of fairies who ran in bearing an entire roast pig for the Gilgamesh looking guy a few chairs down. The Bronze Age warrior who had been staring at Napoleon earlier was receiving a similar helping, and Bungston could see a stuffed roast calf being rolled on a dolly toward some gluttonous hero near the end of the table. As the cheers increased and competitors dropped out, Bungston slipped away.
In the kitchen the serving staff was in a frenzy, trying to prepare the extra food being demanded of them. Smoke poured from where a harried fairy was putting out a grease fire with a box of corn starch. The floor was full of tiny men, none over three feet tall, tossing knives, skewers, and open cups of mysterious liquids to and fro; Bungston marveled that no-one was impaled, much less doused in ketchup. The cooks, however, were rapidly dispensing with subtleties of flavor and concentrating on just cooking the meat and ferrying it out. Bungston nimbly dodged a team running out to the dining room with a hogshead of beer and a basket of hams and made his way to the larder.
It was amply stocked with typical domestic beasts: carcasses of pigs, cows, horses, sheep and possibly a donkey hung from the ceiling. There was also a barrel of the gaudy candy balls which he had been forbidden in the dining room, so for revenge he filled his pockets with the sweets. The wizard then picked out a fat and sweaty dwarf who seemed in charge and bent to whisper in his ear. The head cook, angry at the interruption at first, soon smiled and nodded rapidly. Bungston grabbed a big greasy spoon and began to shout. "TIRADE MARINADE LEMONADE AND FAT FACADE, GAME PRESERVES SERVES ONE TO THREE IS ALL THE TIME WE HAVE TO BE..."
Napoleon belched mightily. It felt so good to eat again. It was certainly noisy in the dining hall, though. Napoleon picked up a loaf of bread to gnaw on and met the gaze of the fur-clad warrior across the table, who seemed to be engaged in a feeding frenzy. The warrior snarled at him, and Napoleon waved back jovially, then gestured with a stained paw to the waiters for a little more food. Suddenly there was a huge cheer from the diners in the hall. Napoleon cheered too, for the heck of it, then turned to see a flying wedge of servants hauling the improbable form of a roast giraffe with a watermelon in its mouth towards him. The shaggy beast had to laugh. He was getting full, but he had never tried giraffe before. Probably some of the other diners would want some too. Napoleon brandished his knife and noticed the cheering grow louder. Puzzled, he flourished the knife and cut the hapless giraffe's head off with a single blow, astonishing himself and the people around him. More cheers. Napoleon looked up to find a legion of eyes upon him, except for a guy down the table and the scowly man across from him, who were both eating as fast as they could. It was an eating contest! Born for excess, Napoleon started to lay it on thick for the crowd, and they loved every minute. Huge chunks of the rather tasteless meat flew through the air into the mutant St. Bernard's maw. He balanced pieces on his nose, then threw his head back and ate it all. He chewed up bones with relish. Finally, he finished the watermelon, put the two halves around his head, did The Melonhead Dance, and finished by bashing his head against the table, showering everyone with melon rind. His audience was going crazy! Napoleon looked at his scraps, realizing he had finished an entire giraffe and was still hungry. Suddenly a veritable army of servants burst from the kitchen, struggling to carry a gargantuan deep-fried breaded squid. Even his competitor across the table bulged his eyes at this. Napoleon began gamely, noticing that squid tasted just like giraffe. The only person left eating besides him was the warrior across the table, who was slowly finishing a roast ox. Napoleon sucked up tentacles like spaghetti, never getting full; this squid was pretty bland stuff. Finally the fur-clad warrior fell off of his chair, and the hall erupted in accolades for Napoleon, who did a victory jig on the table and chugged a beer. Strangely, he didn't even feel full.
Napoleon's Bronze Age competitor pulled his bloated body up onto the table and leveled an accusing finger. "The monster cheated! There is no way one could eat so much and not burst!" This was true; there was no way he could have singlehandedly finished a whole giant squid. Then Napoleon realized that his accuser had himself finished an entire ox, in addition to other stuff, so maybe different rules applied in Avalon. A gaudily clothed black warrior near the end of the table shouted back in Napoleon's defense also in English, which seemed the lingua franca. Things started to quiet down in the hall, and many of the men were avidly watching this debate. The Trojan contingent was moving the women and children towards the door as the exchange grew heated. Finally the Bronze Age man picked up a heavy tankard and hurled it at the black hero who had taken Napoleon's side. A heavy bracelet deflected the metal mug into the face of a fellow nearby, who leapt upon the table shouting threats, then he and the black warrior both made their way down to where the mug had come from. The Bronze Age barbarian had a friend with braids and a big mustache who met them halfway, and things degenerated from there. An American looking guy pulled a snubnose revolver from his coat to quickly end the dispute, but was immediately felled by a tremendous overhand blow delivered by a potbellied brute with ridiculously long hair wielding a jawbone and bellowing in some strange language. The longhair swung again but caught a spinning back kick on the chin from Bruce Lee, and then was buried in a cursing heap of keelboatmen, lumberjacks and cowboys. Napoleon suddenly received a hearty thump on the back of the head by the warrior with the mustache and braids, who had broken free from the growing fray. The hippie-looking guy was unarmed, and seemed like he wanted to fistfight; this was even likelier after he landed a solid punch on poor Napoleon's sensitive nose. Being canine, Napoleon's paws were none too agile. He had trouble grasping objects tightly, so weapons were out, and he couldn't curl his digits all the way around, so he couldn't make a fist, as his opponent seemed to expect him to. He did, however, have tremendous jaws. Without a thought for good sportsmanship, Napoleon launched himself roaring at the belligerent warrior. Fortunately for all involved, Bungston returned just in time to see this happen and swept the feet out from under the mustache man, sending him to the floor and leaving Napoleon to crash into the table. The man leapt up and began hopping around groping at his own butt, and Bungston took advantage of the respite to drag his pet mutant from the hall and into a quiet side passage.
Napoleon was a bit miffed. "What does that guy think now, Bung? Big hunk like me turning tail like a scared rabbit. Hmph!" He swiped absently at the wall.
Bungston pursed his lips. "I'm pretty sure you couldn't have beaten him, Nap. That was Fionn mac Coul, and he used to do stuff like pop the heads off of sea monsters and giants. And he wouldn't have thought twice about popping your worthless head off and letting you scamper around like a chicken. But the reason I butted in is that I'm not sure you would bounce back to life tomorrow morning like these guys do, seeing as you're just a visitor. And I sure wouldn't want to have anything to do with your skanky ass once you were dead."
Napoleon was a little cowed. He accepted the proffered handful of hard candy and munched away. "Fionn, eh? That Irish guy," he muttered, sounding like an outlaw hog revved by a pensive biker. "I always pictured him as bigger. Yeh, thanks, I guess. What did you do to him, anyway?"
Bungston shrugged. "I had a jellyfish handy, and I just slipped it in that diaper he was wearing. Come on, shagboy, I think we should find the Queen and have her tell us why we're here."
On the way, Napoleon confided a fear he had developed. "You missed the eating contest, Bung. It was pretty great; I whupped this little toad who thought he was some hot stuff. They were giving me giant squids and giraffes to eat!" Bungston nodded. "But I think I've got a tapeworm, a monster", he continued in a quieter tone. "I ate all of that food and I'm not full even now."
Bungston shook his head. "No, I guess cheated a bit in your favor. The squid and the giraffe were my idea, and since they came ready prepared, the cooks were plenty happy to go along with it. But you probably noticed it all tasted the same, and sort of flavorless. Doesn't fill you up, either. I've never had much luck conjuring up food out of thin air."
"Right, right," said Napoleon. "That's why we've got everything at the cabana except food."
Bungston held out some more candy balls. "I did snag these Avalonian Buttbusters for you, though."
Napoleon accepted a second handful of hard candy, guffawing mightily and expelling colorful bits. "Why, Bung? Why did you cheat?" Bungston shrugged. "Same reason as that dickfour, I guess." The big dog looked sideways at him, cheeks bulging with sweets. "Huh? What's a... oh, nope! Not me! Nice try though."
They had arrived at the royal throne room, where Bungston figured the court had retreated when things had gotten rough at dinner. As he entered, he noticed that the small patch of mildew Robigus had created on his arm was fuzzy and noticeable once again. He fiercely scrubbed his forearm on one of his socks, adjusted his collar, then followed Napoleon in.

Chapter 5

Actually, it turned out there was no one in the throne room except a fairy who was mopping the floor. He looked up in surprise, then resumed the standard fairy scowl. Just then Robigus burst panting in the door behind them, his normally gray face almost pink from exertion. His armor, formerly new and shiny, now bore stains, scrapes and several deep dents, one of them an unmistakable fistprint. His hair was matted with beer and grease and he was barefoot. "It is fortunate you two escaped unscathed!", he gasped. "I was worried for you, but I was unable to cross the room to ensure your safety." Napoleon was about to say something to this, but received a surreptitious stomp on the instep and held his tongue.
"Yeah, we made it out alright. Looks like you weren't `unscathed' though; that's a nasty shiner." Bungston indicated the puffing warrior's purpling cheekbone with a cautious pinky.
"I am fortunate to have escaped at all," replied Robigus. "It would have been calamitous had I not worn my armor to dinner; although it pains me to flee from a fight, I must admit that there are many men here who could easily best me. And some are such barbarians, they think nothing of killing outright a man who has done them no harm, merely because he chances to be present when a fight begins." Robigus suddenly regained his old sternness. "But I waste your time with stories when I should be bringing you to the Queen's reception room now, so she may tell you why you are here in Avalon." He immediately set off at a brisk pace, his bare feet slapping moistly on the flagstones, and Bungston and Napoleon followed.
As they walked, the disheveled warrior spoke over his shoulder. "That was an impressive meal you ate, Napoleon. I have rarely seen so much consumed at a sitting, and neither had many in that hall."
"Yeah, well, it was nothing" mumbled Napoleon. "I was just really hungry. Too bad that little monkey in the skins was such a sore loser."
"HORSEHAIR TIMESHARE STANDING THERE WET AND BARE HEADCOLD BREADMOLD OVERBOILED AND POISON OILY FOILED BY SMOKEY DOPE NO FAIR!" Robigus screeched to a halt and spun when he heard Bungston begin to shout, confronting the wizard with an alarmed look on his face. Bungston, however, had already finished the spell, and was cradling a beautiful chromed helmet with a tall stiff horsehair crest, dyed crimson. "Thought you might not want to appear before the Queen with your hair all greased down like that. Here you go, Bob, try this on."Astonished, Robigus accepted the handsome helmet and settled it on his head, where it fit perfectly. He gasped a bit at Bungston, then finally thanked him heartily. "I was told that you often used your sorcerous skills to play evil tricks on innocents nearby, and that I was to treat you with courtesy but caution. Perhaps I was misled."
Napoleon shook his head vehemently. "No, you were absolutely right," he ground, sounding like an impassioned chainsaw. "This sack of shit is always playing pranks on everybody. But now and then he comes up with something like brownies or your helmet there. Best to just keep on your toes."
It didn't look like Robigus had completely understood Napoleon's tirade, but he nodded polite assent, sending the horsehair crest sweeping up and down. Then he wheeled and began striding along the hall again, holding his torso straighter than ever. The other two did their best to imitate him, Bungston coming up with a reasonable facsimile but Napoleon eventually lapsing back into his comfortable shamble.
A pair of the teenage blondes which seemed to abound in Avalon was standing guard at the door, dressed in red and white soldierly uniforms and holding scaled-down halberds. One of them recognized Napoleon and beamed, then opened the door, allowing a little gentle guitar music to escape. Tight white trousers stretched tighter as she leaned in the door, and Bungston slyly elbowed Napoleon. "Those martial uniforms sure are something, eh?"
Napoleon bulged his eyes in confusion. "What? Martial? Who's getting married? Not me!" Bungston reached up to give the mutant a cuff on the back of the head for his terrible and perhaps unintentional pun, and then the guards ushered all three of them in.
The crest of Robigus' helmet snagged on the lintel as he walked in, but it was dexterously caught by the guard behind him before it could clang on the floor. He scrambled to put it back on as Bungston and Napoleon surveyed the reception room. The room was comfy indeed, with shelves of books along the wall and thickly stuffed furniture in abundance. Bungston raised his opinion of the Queen a few notches. The Queen and her consort were sitting behind solid-looking desks, and the court magician was seated in an armchair nearby. In the center of the room a priest in long black robes and a wide brimmed hat reclined in a little beanbag with his guitar, playing a waltz adaptation of a slow Hendrix tune. He played uninterrupted as the small group entered, but looked up and gave a courteous nod to Bungston. After all had entered, the Queen addressed her holy musician. "That will be all for now, Father Ignatius. Thank you." The priest stood and bowed, then strutted out through a side door. The two guards returned to their posts and Robigus walked up to the Queen. He remembered himself at the last moment and snatched the helmet back off, revealing his goofy coiffure after all. "My lords, I present to you Bungston and his companion Napoleon."
The Queen didn't look quite as good close up. He face was drawn and tired looking, and she had eyebags rivaling Napoleon's. She was staring at Bungston almost hungrily. The wizard had expected something of the sort; anyone who stocks her island with nubile young blondes is probably the stereotypical lust-crazed wench queen as well. However, this was not "sloe-eyed scrog-starved concubine" hungry; it was "dog wants sandwich on counter" hungry. Bungston noticed that Prince Charming in his desk nearby also thought the Queen was acting strange; after his initial smile of greeting his eyes swiveled to watch her carefully. She took a first appraising look a little too long for comfort, and then the Queen addressed Robigus.
"Thank you for bringing them here, Robigus; I am sure it was no easy feat. And thank you for escorting them safely from the feast hall. I apologize for the brawl that broke out, but sometimes blood runs hot and things get out of hand." She sounded quite regal, but her eyes shifted from Robigus to Bungston and back like a cornered ferret. Robigus bowed, then took his leave and left the room, leaving the Queen, her consort, Napoleon and Bungston. And the court magician.
Napoleon, his attention rambling freely about the room, noticed that the magician too was looking strangely at Bungston as he fiddled with some small object. However, his feelings weren't quite as indecipherable as the Queen's. The magician simply hated Bungston. He took no pain to conceal it either; the potbellied old man openly sneered and wrinkled his brow in the other wizard's direction. Bungston didn't notice this since his attention focused on the Queen, but Napoleon flashed his front teeth at the man in the silly robes to keep him in line. It worked; the mutant St. Bernard's choppers were nothing to sneeze at.
The Queen motioned for Bungston and Napoleon to take seats. Bungston moved fast and flopped down in the beanbag vacated by the musician, leaving Napoleon to squeeze his bulk into one of the armchairs. The Queen walked around from behind her desk, eyes on Bungston the whole time.
"We are sure you wonder why you are in Avalon, Mr. Schagg. In truth, we are ashamed to have had to resort to force to insure you arrived here, but our situation is most perilous. We urgently need your services."
"You want me to service you?" Napoleon clapped a paw to his nose to muffle his laughter at this, but wound up yelping instead when he hit the bruise Fionn mac Coul had left there. The yelp served to distract the Queen from trying to figure out what Bungston meant, and after a pause she continued.
"Your reputation precedes you, Bungston. The island realm of Avalon is in grave danger, and we believe that only a wizard and adventurer of your capabilities is qualified to save it." The Queen paced around nervously as she spoke. "My own sorcerous abilities have dwindled somewhat in the years since I first took control of this island and created the wondrous devices by which it may be reached. And we are sorry to have found that neither have the skills of Angar Firestorm, our court wizard, proved equal to this awesome task." She indicated the fat little man in the corner, who seemed about to explode from strong emotion. "Thus it is we come to you, Bungston."
Bungston spread his palms above the beanbag. "Why me? You have loads of mighty heroes here who just live for quests and adventures and stuff like that. I'm not mighty or anything; I just like to lie around on the beach. How did you pick me?" Bungston did not add that it seemed rather strange that someone not responsible enough to eat candy would be called upon to save the country, but he was getting the idea that the Queen herself was a more than little strange.
A spooky look came into the Queen's eyes. "We have been told you handle yourself well," she intoned ominously.
"I quit doing that when I was fifteen!" Napoleon could not contain himself and snorted in uncontrollable glee. Prince Charming leapt to the rescue.
"What the Queen means, of course, is that you are capable of dealing with situations in any period of history, with many different sorts of people, without resorting to mayhem and murder as I am afraid many of our heroes here are wont."
"Wont?", murmured Napoleon. "Wont's that mean?" He was ignored by all except perhaps Angar Firestorm, the court wizard.
Bungston absorbed the compliments like a sponge. "Well, since you put it that way, I guess I am quite a skillful operator. Yes indeed." Insufferably smug, the wizard hooked his thumbs into his jacket and reclined into the beanbag. "Now what is it exactly that you want me to do?"
Queen Z moved closer to the lounging wizard. It was difficult to take one's eyes off of the Queen as she moved about the room. Aside from the fact that she was a handsome woman, her every action screamed strangeness. Her audience watched her like they might have watched a raccoon out in the bright sun trying to gnaw one of its legs off. She fidgeted and twitched, moved too rapidly from place to place, and had started to hunch menacingly as she got excited. Prince Charming was obviously concerned, and Bungston himself seemed less at ease as the Queen approached him.
"We want you to find an item of great power, known as the Chazberglath. Only with this mighty artifact can we save the happy kingdom of Avalon, and only you can find this item for us."
Bungston furrowed his brow. "Chazberglath... chazberglath?" The wizard tilted his head back to look at Napoleon, who shrugged. "No disrespect intended, Queen Z, but I can't say that I've heard of such a thing. Is it a magic ring, or a great sword, or what?"
The Queen seemed to snap. She leaned close to the wizard and spoke softly and intensely. "It is an item of great power! It has tremendous magic imbued in it, and only through use of this power shall Avalon be saved! You must find the Chazberglath! You must!"
Bungston shrank into the beanbag in an effort to escape the Queen. He held up his hands in pacification. "Alright, alright. I'll find it. Do you have any idea where it might be?" The Queen's eyes flashed, and Bungston hastened to cut her off before she could speak again. "Ok, that's cool, no problem. Now my fee..."
The Queen whirled and paced away from the wizard, distracted. "You shall be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams,"
Bungston raised one half of his monobrow. "I'm not sure you know how wild my dreams get. I'd like to know a little more specifically..."
"You shall receive riches and power. What more could you want?" Napoleon leaned closer to Bungston and muttered something.
"Ah, food," said Bungston. "How about guaranteed meals delivered to our door for... ah, forever."
The Queen spun on a heel, her long hair flying out in a semicircle as prescribed by centrifugal force. Once again she pinned the wizard with her stare like a junebug under a pushpin. "Yes. Just as you say, so shall it be done. My consort Prince Charming will discuss further details with you now." With that, the Queen strode out of the room.
Bungston let out a long low whistle. "Quite a woman, Queen Z." Everyone in the room was visibly relieved that the Queen had left. Prince Charming might be a tad vapid, but at least he didn't march around and glare. "So, Prince Charming, what do you know about this...ah, did you catch that name Nap?" The shaggy mutant shrugged. Surprisingly, Prince Charming himself was unsure.
Angar Firestorm piped up from his corner. "Chazberglath."
Bungston smiled his thanks to the potbellied purple man. "Could you write that down for me?" Prince Charming nodded vigorously and quickly fished out a pen and paper from his desk and passed it to Firestorm, who wrote out the name in elaborate calligraphy. Being of some use seemed to calm the fat man a bit, and he passed the paper to Napoleon, who examined the paper then gave it to Bungston, who folded it into a pocket. "Firestorm, do you know anything about this artifact? I've got to admit, I've never heard of it."
Firestorm removed his dunce cap and scratched at his pate, then settled back. "I was regrettably unable to locate the Chazberglath in my scrying glass," he said, revealing the object in his hand as being a crystal sphere about two inches in diameter. "although it was a simple feat to locate you," indicating Bungston. "So," he spat, "the Queen has decided to dispense with my services and instead contract with you to find the Chazberglath." Firestorm had resumed his angry scowl.
Bungston nodded slowly. "Yes, but what is this Chazberglath? Do you know what it looks like? What are its powers? In fact, what is the problem that the Queen wants so badly to solve?"
Prince Charming cleared his throat with dignity and nodded. "I believe that the Queen is of the opinion that the realm of Avalon is sinking beneath the sea, or that the sea in this area is rising to cover Avalon, or something of the sort." The graying Prince turned to Angar Firestorm for confirmation, then turned back after receiving a sullen nod. "The Queen believes that the fairy magic which first lifted the island from below the waves is fading, and as it fades, so fades our domain. The Chazberglath is the only item whose power is sufficient to stabilize the island, presumably by enhancing somehow the fading fairy magic. But in truth, I myself know little of magic. Perhaps Wizard Firestorm may add to what I have said."
Firestorm looked peeved that the prince was passing the buck back to him, but he did his best. "Ah, yes, as I have said, I failed to locate this artifact, and I suspect that you will have the greatest difficulty in doing so, if indeed you are able. From what the Queen has said to me, I deduce that the Chazberglath is a small object... perhaps a piece of jewelry or a small statue. Perhaps a gem or an amulet."
"Perhaps an earspoon or a summer sausage?", suggested Napoleon.
Bungston was deep in thought, and did not respond to the mutant's helpful hints. "Ok. And no idea where it is." The potbellied magician slowly shook his head. "How about the time frame? When was the last period it surfaced?" Again the other magician shook his head. "Man. Ok. Prince Charming, what sort of support can you give us in this quest? We'll need funds, and transportation." Napoleon again leaned to mutter in Bungston's ear, but this time he was ignored.
Prince Charming was relieved to get back on familiar territory. "Yes, of course. You shall have at your disposal one of our most comfortable wrapped carriages -- much more pleasant than the one I am told you arrived in. You shall be given a quantity of gold sufficient to meet any eventualities you may run into. And also, you may choose any one of the heroes here in Avalon to accompany you on your mission."
Bungston was surprised at this, although he probably shouldn't have been, considering his location. He was used to working alone or with Napoleon; he didn't look forward to having a stranger getting in the way. But how often did one get the chance to hobnob with the likes of Davy Crockett or Hector of Troy? The wizard thought a while. "I choose Robigus, the guy who brought us here,"
It was the Prince's turn to be astonished. "But Mr. Schagg, I do not want to demean the worthy Robigus, but here at Avalon we have many heroes who surpass him in valor and deeds. Consider, for example, Gawaine, whose questing..."
Bungston cut him off. "Yes, yes, I know. Some of the guys here are really awesome. That's why I don't want them. I want to run the show, and there's no way someone like Gawaine is going follow around a scrawny little guy like me. Guys like him are too used to being in charge and doing what they want, and like Robigus told me, a lot of times what they want is to slash and mince and cave in heads. Robigus is pretty mellow, he doesn't have a monster ego, and I've dealt with him before." Also, Bungston was fascinated by the mildew god's molding powers, but he kept this to himself.
The Prince was royalty at its finest, and he had already composed himself before Bungston had finished. "Of course, Mr. Schagg, you know best what companions suit you. Robigus it shall be. I am sure he will be happy to go with you. Will you be ready to leave in the morning?"
Bungston retired to his chambers, leaving Napoleon in the rec room with a bevy of admirers. The wizard was rather troubled, and popped a fresh nutmeg in his mouth, rolling it from tooth to tooth in frustration. Search for a magic item he knew nothing about except the name? Where was he even supposed to start? The wizard threw himself across the room face down onto his bed. What a bizarre lady that Queen Z was! Maybe he could end this whole deal now and just summon up the merchandise here from his bed; summoning was his specialty. "RAZZ BATH - FLASHING CHAFF - CHAZBERGLATH - ACID WRATH - FLACCID BRASSY RASCAL GNATS! CASPER PROSPER LAST SHALL DROP LOP HOP AHEAD CRAB SLAPPER HASTUR! BITE YOUR TIME AND FLOSS YOUR SPATS RIGHT TYLER BOILER BANDIED MATH! " Nothing happened. Bungston looked around, disgruntled. "MATH!" There was a brilliant flash, and when Bungston could see again the walls of his room were metallic blue with delicate geometrical etchings. Later he also discovered a rather sleazy swimsuit calendar in his bathtub covered with a pile of cedar chips. Not too shabby for a spell of sheer desperation, but it didn't summon up the chazberglath doohickey either. The wizard finally concluded he needed help, so he gathered an armful of bubble-plastic packing sheets and left his chambers.
After a brief interrogation of the girls hanging around Napoleon, Bungston learned that Angar Firestorm did not live in the lodge where Bungston and Napoleon were staying; like many court magicians he had a private tower off in the woods. This meant that if Bungston wanted to talk to Firestorm, he would have to go outside, where the wind had picked up and it was spitting flecks of rain. He contented himself with the fact that with a name like Firestorm, the other magician probably kept his tower well heated. Bungston's several attempts at summoning a coat obtained a mink stole, a pink ski vest, and a sombrero decorated with wax fruit. The pink vest was a little too small for him, but Bungston decided to wear it anyway; after some thought he decided against the stole, figuring it would get all matted by the rain. Finally he summoned an army surplus rain poncho, and he bundled up and struck out into the woods.
It was a dark and stormy night. Bungston sort of liked the sound of that phrase, and repeated it to himself in various dramatic voices. "It was a dark and stormy night. It was a dark and stormy night!" The flashlight Napoleon had accidentally brought from the cabana came in handy; one less thing he had to conjure up. Avalon was a creepy place by night. The trees swayed and moaned in the high wind, and now and then Bungston could swear he saw tiny figures racing between the pines. They moved too fast for him to get a bead on them with the flashlight, but they seemed harmless enough. After he had been walking about five minutes a terrible shout rang through the forest. Bungston hid himself behind a tree seconds before a huge brute with a thick beard and a bloody mace in one hand came stalking down the path. Some guys enjoy a warm companion and a snifter of brandy at night, thought Bungston, and some go skull bashing. Each to his own. And some truck through the forest to visit weird fat men, he added as an afterthought. The wizard set out again, and it wasn't too long before he found the tower.
Firestorm's tower was located in a glade similar to the one Robigus, Napoleon and he had walked through after their arrival on the beach. Tall sinister standing stones delineated a rough circle, and the tower, of newer construction, stood in the center. This glade was more overgrown though; brambles and scrubby pines penetrated the bounds of the circle, and the long grass of the glade whipped frantically in the wind. As Bungston got closer to one of the fanglike menhirs, he noticed that the surface of the rock was shifting with the wind. He spotlighted it with the flashlight and immediately regretted his action. The stone was swarming with tiny monkeylike black sprites, silently and aimlessly clambering over each other. Two and three deep in some places, all of them stopped and looked at the wizard. A myriad of bulging yellow eyes reflected the light as if the stone was studded with jewels. Bungston mumbled an apology and backed away, fighting off an attack of the heebie-jeebies. Slowly the loathsome little beasts crawled down from the stone and made their way toward Bungston, gaping mindlessly at the flashlight. The wizard circled around the growing black pool of sprites pouring from the stone. They seemed to want the light, and Bungston was happy to let them have it. He threw his flashlight at the monolith and ran for the tower, leaving the horde to slowly turn about and form a heap on top of the light.
He pounded the thick wooden door and listened carefully, both for the mandatory echoes that occur when a stone tower's door is pounded and also for telltale rustling that might mean the spiderlike imps had decided he was tastier than the flashlight. He heard neither, so he pounded again, adding a side thrust kick for good measure. A thin voice called from within the tower, but Bungston couldn't figure out what it said. He took a guess. "Bungston Schagg here! Can I come in?" The door opened a crack and Angar Firestorm's beard protruded a little way out into the night, then the door opened further and Bungston ducked into the tower.
It wasn't all that warm inside, and in fact the tower was pretty decrepit and ill-kept. The fat old magician had shucked his purple robes of office and was wearing a bathrobe and thick slippers. He didn't look very welcoming. "So, come to gloat about your victory? Come to rub a little salt in the old man's wounds?", he spat bitterly. Bungston was baffled. "Victory? I haven't won anything! I just got saddled with this quest, and its looking pretty bleak to me..."
Firestorm literally did spit now, although it was into a nearby spittoon and not at Bungston. It looked like the magician might have a dip of tobacco in. "You have won this task from me. The Queen decided that I wasn't worthy or that I was too inferior for this or something of the sort. Well, perhaps you are the more powerful magician and perhaps you are younger, but I have a few tricks left in my sleeve!"
Bungston had to feel a little sorry for the poor old magician, striving to please his crazy queen. Bungston also had to feel a little scared of this poor old magician, who was pissed as hell and on his home turf. The wise wizard withdrew a swath of the bubble packing material from under his poncho and proffered it to Firestorm, who looked at it suspiciously. "Come on, Angar man, this is fun stuff. A little gifty for you. Check this out." Bungston squeezed a pod between his fingers until it burst with a subdued pop. "Here, give it a try,"
Firestorm gingerly snatched the plastic, then put pressure on a bubble. It popped. He popped a few more then chuckled. "Well, this is somewhat amusing. Thank you. Now come in and sit and tell me why you are here." The old magician shuffled off into his tower and Bungston followed, eventually winding up in a dingy little kitchen. There was a table with the little crystal ball nestled in among the remains of a meal. Bungston pulled up a chair.
"I'm really in a fix about this... er," He searched his pockets, eventually finding the piece of paper. "Chazberglath. I've never heard of it, I don't know where it is or what it does, and I have no idea how to begin searching for it. I'm asking your help."
Angar Firestorm looked pretty satisfied. "So, the great Bungston needs my help. Well, if I knew where it was, you wouldn't be here. As I said, my scrying glass showed me next to nothing, although it is my specialty."
Bungston nodded. "Yeah, I was wondering how anyone could have found me on a no name island in Ancient Greece. That was a nice bit of work." Couldn't hurt to butter up the old monkey's ass, figured Bungston. Like Bungston, Firestorm enjoyed having his ego petted, and he puffed up a little at this compliment. "I was tracking you from the minute you hit the water," he boasted. "But then again, I had a fairly accurate description of you and the time period in which you ordinarily live, so it was not all that difficult. But this Chazberglath..." Firestorm tugged at his beard distractedly. "...I have no clue. I mean no insult to my Queen, but she has not helped as much as I had would have liked."
Bungston was beginning to make a picture in his mind. "Any chance she herself might not know what it is?"
The potbellied wizard glared for a moment, then growled some phlegm around and slumped back into the chair. "From what I have learned, the Chazberglath is a small item, but very potent. I believe that for most of its history it has been located in inhabited regions. Obviously, as history shows, it has not been used to any great extent, unless it has been to prop up existing powers in the same way my Queen hopes to use it.
Bungston sat for a while and looked absently at the little crystal where it sat next to a few scraps of cabbage. It seemed to display an empty pink locker room. The little wizard popped a nutmeg into his mouth a sucked on it for a little bit, then turned to Firestorm. "Hey, now, much as I hate the critters, what do you think of the idea of sending a demon after this Chazbugger? Some of those demons are pretty persistent."
The potbellied magician stroked his beard and looked at Bungston condescendingly. "I am a step ahead of you, Bungston. Several months ago I dispatched a demon, the most powerful I dare summon. It was a tracker and a biter, very cunning, but not too intelligent, if you understand." Bungston knew very little about demons, so he pursed his lips and nodded sympathetically. Firestorm indicated his crystal ball and continued to speak. "The problem is that demons are most difficult to locate in the glass - they are transplanar and do not move as normal things, and lately I can get no new picture of it at all."
Bungston chewed carefully on his lower lip. "Well, would you mind showing me whatever you got? I'd appreciate it."
The bearded magician looked suspicious and mean, and Bungston was pretty sure he would refuse. His eyes shifted from Bungston, to his little crystal ball, back to Bungston, then back to the ball. Apparently his pleasure at demonstrating his toy won out over any professional jealousy, and he grunted something and made a few magic passes, then grabbed the ball and turned so his back was to Bungston. The little wizard tried to peep over the old man's shoulder to see what he was doing, but Firestorm had arranged his belly over the crystal. After a few minutes he turned and set the ball back on the table. "There. This is the best I can find."
Bungston squinted at the two-inch crystal. It was only a little bigger than a golf ball. "Man, how do you see anything in this? It's so tiny,"
"Well, then get closer!", expostulated Firestorm. Bungston made some pacific gestures and then followed Firestorm's advice, pushing one eye up almost flush against the curved surface.
The crystal displayed two figures facing one another, almost obscured in a field of slowly shifting gray-green vapor. One creature was tall and basically humanoid, with long arms and a tremendous head. The other was short, with a weird sort of snout and some stubby feathers and tassels enshrouding its head. Occasionally a reptilian face moved up from near the smaller figure, only to dart away into the mist again; these snakes looked as if they were attached to the feathered one somehow. Bungston turned the crystal, trying to make out some of the surroundings. There might be some sort of mound in the background but the mist made it tough to tell. Bungston picked up the scrying glass and shook it, hoping to disperse the cloudiness like one of those snowy landscape globes.
Firestorm grabbed it out of his hand. "You're not supposed to do that!" he cried.
"Sorry, sorry. The big one was your demon?" Firestorm nodded. "Hmmm. Mighty weird. All that smoke, I could hardly see a thing. You know, I think I have a mask a lot like the head of that thing your demon was talking to. My mask is a lot nicer. Maybe it has some sort of label on it to say where it's from. You can't tell from the scene there where it is?"
"No better than you. I homed in on my demon, and know nothing except that."
"How about books? Did you do any bookwork? Any old scrolls or anything?"
"I have researched, but I have found no likely looking references in any writings. I completely exhausted all of my resources before she called you. In truth, this is an impossible task."
This was said as a challenge. Bungston pursed his lips. "Oh, I don't know. If it's out there, I think I can get it."
Firestorm was now irked again, a seemingly habitual state for him. "Well, go on then and find it," he snapped. "Go on and be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams." He turned away, having lost interest in Bungston, and in truth, the feeling was mutual; the doddering wizard had nothing else of use to offer Bungston. The wayward wizard thanked the old man then jogged out into the night, giving a wide berth to the standing stones.

Chapter 6

"Mr.Bungston? Mr.Bungston?" Bungston sighed in his sleep. What a pleasant voice. It reminded him of someone. Had they fallen asleep in the van again? This thought initiated a new, more pleasant dream sequence. It was interrupted. "Mr.Bungston? You're supposed to wake up now."
Suddenly his shoulder was grabbed, and Bungston's fabled reflexes propelled him yowling from under the covers and across the bed. He ceased his attack when he realized that he was confronted not by a leering demon or mutant St.Bernard, but another one of the tow-head nymphettes who swarmed around the lodge. She was wearing the top to Bungston's own Inconspicuous Garb, and it attracted rather more interest than it was designed to. Although Bungston himself was no giant, this girl was quite short, and the sloped collar of the Garb fell away to reveal a fair bit of girl underneath. "Mumph. Hey. Yeah," expounded Bungston eloquently as he slid his eyes away from the tantalizing shadows.
She was staring at him anxiously, doubtless because of his spectacular awakening. "Ah, I'm Buffy. I'm supposed to come wake you up."
Bungston slid off of the other side of the bed, embarrassed of his biplane-decorated footie pajamas. At least you couldn't get bedhead with a crewcut. "Yeah, doing his dirty work. The shagbastard probably knew I wouldn't actually kick you." He wanted this Buffy or Buffie or whatever it was to leave, so he could either change or go back to sleep, but instead she circled around the bed, giving her a full view of the hapless wizard's silly pajamas. Bungston tucked his feet under him to conceal the footies, and so as not to seem disrespectful the girl sat on the floor too, bare knees protruding from the oversized Garb.
"I like the way you've done your room," she said, rather pointlessly in Bungston's opinion. The metallic blue walls were actually pretty cool, though.
"Yeah, thanks. It was sort of an accident. Magical backwash." He rocked back and forth uncomfortably. She showed no signs of leaving.
"Napoleon said you had to get an early start. Can you tell me what you guys are going to do? Is it a mission for the Queen?" The transition from sleep to conversation with a total stranger was pretty weird.
"Well, sort of. I guess it can't hurt to tell you. I'm supposed to find a certain magic item and bring it back here."
"Oooh, a quest! Just like the knights used to always do!"
"Yep, except the Queen decided to send me instead of Sir Galahad or some other knight. Don't ask why."
"I'm sure she thought you could do a better job than them. I don't know Galahad, but most of them just yell and brush their chest hair all of the time." She looked coyly at Bungston's chest, which, although mostly hairless, was at the moment playing host to several colorful biplanes.
Bungston could not believe this idle chit-chat was happening first thing in the morning. Was he supposed to undress right in front of her? His full-body tan would probably be better than the pajamas. Instead he swiftly rolled back over the bed and ducked into the bathroom. "Thanks for waking me up Buffie. I think I'm going to take a shower." Once inside he locked the door and rolled his eyes. It would be easy to be annoyed, but the poor girl was probably bored stiff; it couldn't be that exciting living in Avalon. Then again Bungston himself spent most of his time living in a cabana with no-one but a mutant for company. Pondering this, the wizard turned on the shower then settled himself on the toilet. After about a minute his reverie was interrupted by a knock at the bathroom door. "What do you want?", yelled Bungston over the noise of the shower.
"Ah, do you need any help?" It was Buffie again. Bungston gaped at her sheer audacity.
"No, I think I can cope with the shower today." There was no reply, and Bungston concluded she had left. Help with a shower! He had to laugh at how hard they tried to be hospitable here. He would really have to try to get the... that magic thing. Then he kicked himself for forgetting to ask Buffie how she had gotten his Inconspicuous Garb. It was a pretty hard kick. He winced at a scrape his toenail had dug, but decided it would heal.
After his shower, he went to eat in the mostly empty dining hall. Robigus and Napoleon were already there, and Bungston started eating with no delay. Robigus had evidently been at his armor with a ball peen hammer; the knuckle marks were gone and the whole ensemble, including the garish red-crested helmet from last night, shone like new. He strutted about, barely touching his breakfast. "I was surprised to hear you chose me to be the warrior in your party. It is indeed..."
Bungston waved a waffle at him. "Don't worry about it," he mumbled, firing lumps of chewed food into Napoleon's bowl of cereal. Napoleon had turned to look at Robigus, and didn't notice the extra calories added to his meal. "Yeah," he growled. "Just keep on your toes and we'll find that puppy in no time."
Robigus continued to bounce off the walls in unabated excitement. "Perhaps I may seem less of a fighter than many of the men here, but rest assured that I have tremendous reserves of power within me, to be released in time of need. When this happens, let our enemies beware! I am a coiled spring, ready to lash out at a moments notice."
Bungston passed Robigus the Human Cannonball Helmet. "Here you go. This will uncoil you just fine." Robigus took the red, white and blue helmet and looked inside in bewilderment. Bungston grabbed it back. "Wait, first - coiled clockwise or counterclockwise?" Before Robigus could reply Prince Charming entered, escorted by his two guards. The time had come.
It turned out that the Prince himself was going to walk them down to the beach and instruct them on how to use the golden spring vehicles, or "wrapped carriages" as the Prince called them. It was another cloudy overcast day in Avalon, but no-one seemed too upset; Charming and his honor guard all had on coats and Bungston got the feeling it was overcast a lot here. Prince Charming walked next to the wizard, with Robigus up ahead and Napoleon examining interesting things by the wayside here and there.
"So, Mr. Schagg, I am sorry to have rushed your stay here. But the Queen insists that with a matter as grave as this, you should begin as quickly as possible."
Bungston nodded solemnly, noticing the Prince also nodded solemnly in response. Bungston nodded again, and the Prince did the same. Both men walked along nodding like a couple of pigeons. Finally Bungston spoke up. "Yes, I take this situation as seriously as she. Avalon is a great place, though. I noticed a lot of old stuff here, like circles of standing stones. Are those made by the same civilization who built your, er, wrapped carriages?"
"No. As you probably can tell, we have a lot of fairies here. They are indigenous to the island, and we believe that it was their ancestors who raised the stones. As for this other civilization, where did you hear of it?"
Bungston pointed at Robigus, who was unaware of the attention he was given. The Prince nodded, and Bungston nodded again, in an effort to be polite. Then the Prince shook his head, and Bungston was unsure whether to keep on nodding or to begin shaking his head. He settled on a combination of the two. The Prince repeated this also, and spoke again. "The Queen likes to discourage such tales. She believes that people here have been losing respect for her, and so has decided to, er, take credit for the devices. In actuality, she deserves a fair bit of it, for it was her magic prowess that bent them to our will."
"Weren't they always corkscrew-shaped?", asked Napoleon, who promptly got tripped.
They emerged into the glade that Robigus, Napoleon and Bungston had passed through the previous afternoon. Today there were some small competitions and contests going on; this was apparently what passed for work on the island. Most of the competitors were Mediterraneans who had stripped down into skimpy exercise togs, and were thus pretty homogenous, except for one brooding gold-skinned giant with a crewcut doing isometrics off by himself. Bungston did recognize yet another blonde, quite tall and apparently on steroids. He figured she was probably Britomart, from Faerie Queene. Prince Charming noticed his gaze and gave him a gentle nudge. "I hope you liked the young lady who chose you this morning. We pride ourselves on our apsarases."
Bungston made a weird sort of sideways tilt and thrust with his head, curious whether Prince Charming would imitate it; unfortunately he did not. "An alarm clock would have worked just as well, and would have left when it was time to get naked. Well, maybe not, but you know what I mean. What's an apsarase? I've never heard of them."
The Prince's guards giggled and the Prince himself looked caught off guard. He nodded several times, as he seemed to like to do, then cleared his throat. "Mr. Schagg, the Queen was able to rescue a group of young ladies from a financially troubled Hindu paradise. We have continued using their old title, apsarase. They are, perhaps you might say, a sort of houri? A concubine, for lack of a better word."
Bungston was flabbergasted. "You mean she... and I... Holy buckets! We've got to go back!" He wheeled and began to jog back to the lodge, but Prince Charming caught his shoulder. Then Bungston noticed a commotion behind him and forgot about the neglected Buffy.
Napoleon had found the Bronze Age man who had tried to outeat him at the feast last night. The big mutant was leaning against one of the tall monoliths bounding the glade and watching the squat warrior heave a skull-sized boulder around and make dented craters in the grass. Bungston could tell from a distance that his mutant was planning trouble. He tapped Prince Charming. "Say, who is that guy in the fur bikini?"
The Prince squinted a little. "That is Cu Chulaind, a fearsome warrior to be sure. He was able..." Bungston had already taken off running.
Napoleon shuffled up and tapped the squat warrior on the shoulder. "Pretty handy with that rock, big fella."
Cu Chulaind puffed up his cheeks. "Indeed I am, monster. Watch this feat and match it if you can!" With that the Irish warrior hurled the boulder from his chest. It landed on the opposite side of the glade, a football field away. Napoleon gaped, but recovered his poise before Cu Chulaind could turn and notice. He then ran over to get the rock, meeting Bungston halfway.
The wizard was a little distraught. "Listen Nap, that guy is Cu Chulaind..."
"Kubla who?"
"Cu Chulaind! Don't mess with him! He'll eat you for brunch!" Napoleon brushed off the warning wtih a macho shrug, then continued to where the rock had embedded itself. After a few tugs, he freed it, then lifted it to his shaggy shoulder. Howling and yelling, he got a very good run-up, then threw the rock back toward his Bronze Age opponent. It flew past him and landed in the woods. Full of pride, Napoleon swaggered the rest of the distance to where the Irish warrior was fuming. "How's that, Coolie man?"
Cu Chulaind gesticulated wildly toward the glade, his face getting redder and redder. "You did cheat, hairy monster! You ran nearly all of the way across the field before loosing the stone!" It was true.
Napoleon was patronizing. "Ok, ok, Kukla," he ground in his best gravel-mixer tones. "We'll try something else you're better at." Cu Chulaind said nothing, but picked up a weighty bronze javelin nearby. The contest had started attracting attention, and other people in the glade, many of whom recoginized Napoleon from the eating contest the night before, walked over to watch.
Cu Chulaind hefted the javelin with an audible grind of his teeth. "Now watch, monster. I will throw this spear and catch it before it lands!" With a resonant grunt, the burly fighter fired the javelin away and then took off running, kicking up divots as he went. He made it easily to the spot where the javelin was going to land and snatched it from the air, the turned and ran back. The audience clapped for this truly fantastic display. Panting a little, Cu Chulaind thrust the javelin at Napoleon, who accepted it with dignity.
"Alright Coolie. Now you watch as I throw the javelin, and catch it - even before it leaves my own hands!" Bungston groaned at this but went unnoticed. Napoleon was having trouble gripping the javelin with his less-than-prehensile hands but eventually got a firm grasp. He ran up, lifted the bronze spear, and shook it crazily above his head, grunting moist grunts and kicking his feet for added effect. He then returned to the standing stone in triumph.
For a few seconds there was total silence, then Bungston began cheering for all he was worth. Robigus took the hint and joined in. Standing near them was the tall Amazon Bungston had guessed to be Britomart. After a moment's hesitation she too began to whistle for Napoleon, and then the whole crowd joined in. Napoleon did a little dance and spiked the javelin football-style, although it did not stick in the ground. Then he raised it and shook it over his head again, eliciting more cheers. Then he noticed Cu Chulaind.
One of the Irish warrior's eyes had swollen hideously to the size of a dinner plate, its veins standing out like the arteries on a horse's neck. The other had shrunk to nearly invisible size. As Napoleon watched, the frenzied man's hair rose up as if electrically charged and stood on end, forming a bizarre aura around his head. Spectators began to clear out, and Bungston reached in to drag Napoleon away from where he was staring in disbelief at the warrior's one bloated eyeball. Cu Chulaind began shaking and gnashing his teeth, and a drop of blood oozed forth at the tip of each hair. "Whoah! Battle Frenzy!" shouted Bungston. "Someone hose him down!" It was too late. The berzerk warrior surged after Napoleon, who was now retreating in earnest. Robigus drew his sword and poised valiantly before the charge, but was buffetted aside like an obnoxious toddler. Bungston realized from watching the javelin-catching display that there was no way to outrun this guy. He steered Napoleon for a nearby standing stone and gave him a boost. "Climb for all you're worth!" The mutant's arms and legs were fortunately almost long enough to encircle the stone, and he made good progress. Bungston ducked away and started to shout as Cu Chulaind reached the stone and began flailing at it with fists and feet in a frothing babbling frenzy. Big black chips of basalt flew in all directions.
"BATTLE FIDDLE TENDER VITTLE TRADE A LOT TO GET A..." With a tremendous crack Cu Chulaind kicked the base of the stone completely out from under the monolith, sending the dislocated boulder hopping and rolling across the glade. Unbalanced with a big mutant St. Bernard cowering atop it, the tall monolith slowly tipped, then fell, striking the raging Gael square in his bloody, frizzy mass of hair and driving him into the ground like a tree fertilizer stake.
Napoleon gasped a little with the wind knocked out of him, then staggered back to his feet. He walked over to where Bungston was standing and clapped him on the back. "Nice bit of work there."
Bungston spread his hands. "I had nothing to do with it. Mutant luck, I guess. I don't know how you thought you could pull that stupid javelin trick though." He noticed that the prone stone was vibrating, and if Cu Chulaind continued to be as cartoon-unrealistic as he had so far Bungston figured he would probably bash his way free like Wile E. Coyote on earthquake pills. They collected Robigus and hustled away to where the Prince was waiting back in the forest.
Prince Charming looked pretty stern. "I do not know why you bait Cu Chulaind. He is a terribly fierce warrior with little sense of humor. I would think you could choose more appreciative targets for your gibes."
Napoleon shrugged off the reprimand and looked over his shoulder back at the glade. "Did you see his eyeball? I was sure it was about to pop!" Prince Charming ignored him, so the mutant ambled off to examine an interesting tree.
They soon reached the beach, where a golden coil larger than either of the two previously encountered rested on the beach. In addition, this coil had within it a passenger compartment, also spring-shaped, which was mounted on golden coiled gimbals. Bungston considered this a vast improvement over a cigar-tube trailer. Prince Charming withdrew a miniature coil set into a mahogany platform from his coat. "Our carriages are really not difficult at all to operate." The miniature coil was mounted so it could be freely spun in place, and its destination controlled by studs on the base. "The carriage has some rude intelligence in and of itself," explained the Prince. "It will avoid obstacles in its path and prevent entry by unwanted objects." Bungston did not mention the galley oar he had coaxed into the coil which had shanghied him to Avalon. A fairy lackey trudged up with a sack of gold coin and presented it to Napoleon. After shaking hands with the Prince and hugging both of the royal guards, Bungston and his intrepid companions leapt into their coil and were on their way.

Chapter 7

They were on their way back to the cabana, where it was a beautiful morning. A legion of crabs, somehow sensing the absence of its owners, had converted the unfortunate woven reed mat into chaff and allowed it to blow along the beach. The crabs had, however, had been less lucky with the storm door, and the cabana interior had remained mostly sand-free. The coil landed gently on the beach and burrowed in, leaving Robigus, Napoleon and Bungston standing on the shore. Robigus immediately crouched low, darting determined looks up and down the beach, then back to the black prehistoric temple. Seeing no opposition, he turned to Bungston with his hand poised above his sheathed sword. "Shall we sneak inside or take it by storm?"
Bungston shrugged. "Sneak in," suggested Napoleon. The three snuck into the cabana, where Napoleon threw himself on the salty old couch and Bungston went off to the bathroom. Robigus was baffled. "This is where Bung and I live," explained the reclining dog. "Make yourself at home."
"What of our quest?", demanded the warrior after removing his crimson crested helmet. Napoleon shrugged and recovered a tattered porno from a pile of literature by the couch.
"I guess Bungston wanted to think up a plan or hide the gold we got or something like that. All our equipment is here, anyway." Robigus was vastly dissappointed with the lackluster beginning of this quest and began to wander disconsolately about the cluttered cabana. He apathetically eyed a strange cluster of chrome globes nestled in a bowl of corn chip remnants, then walked over to the altar and toyed with a lawn dart stuck in the acoustic tile. The mutant on the couch looked him over critically. "You know, Bob" he ground out, "you could use some color. Why don't you grab a lawn chair and catch some rays?" In the absence of any other task for him to do, Robigus followed the suggestion and went outside.
He was soon joined by Bungston, who crashed sans chair. After a little while he recommended that Robigus remove his armor to facilitate the tanning process. There was a very slight offshore breeze, and far in the distance over the Black Sea the vapor trails of Russian fighters on patrol could be seen. It was indeed an idyllic day, free of raucous beverage vendors and pesky naked children. Actually, mused Bungston in the red world behind his sunlit eyelids, beverage vendors wouldn't be too bad. He could use a cool gooey Mello Yello, paid for with a single piece of gold. And there was something to be said for pesky naked children, especially female children about 16 or 17. Maybe this magical thing was hidden on the French Riviera. "Robigus, what do you think of the idea that the... what's it called?" Robigus said nothing. "OK, this magic deal has washed up on a beach. From a secret pirate trove. And even now it is lying unnoticed beneath the shifting sands." `Shifting sands' was a nice dramatic touch, thought Bungston. He waited for a reply, but got none. Then he turned to look at the rather rude warrior beside him.
Robigus had visibly shriveled in the sun, his skin drying out like a hungover grape well on its way to raisinhood. Barely audible creaking noises emanated from his mouth. Sun is bad for a mildew god. Bungston bellowed for Napoleon and the two of them grabbed the chaise lounge and hustled in back into the cabana, where they liberally doused Robigus with water. Bungston collected all of the socks and dishrags he could find and piled them on the recumbent warrior, such objects being very conducive to mold and mildew. Robigus was soon back to normal.
Time passed slowly at the cabana. Restricted to the indoors, Robigus fiddled with the dysfunctional Teakwood Harley that was kept in a back room, adding and modifying parts according to his whims. Prince Charming had thoughtfully included several sandwiches along with the sack of gold, and after one false start involving lutefisk Bungston was able to convert these into truly delectable abalone burgers. All in all, life continued more or less as it had before the sudden excursion to Avalon. Robigus was beside himself but did his best to conceal it. He eventually persuaded himself that Bungston's occasional studies were devoted to finding the magical treasure, and this was partly true. The slip of paper upon which the name of the item was written had been in the top of the Inconspicuous Garb, which misunderstood Buffy probably still had in her closet. Bungston could not for the life of him remember what it was called. Robigus didn't know either, and it seemed Napoleon never had known in the first place. The wizard pored over all the weighty tomes he had, looking for any mention of a magic item which might stir his memory. "Hapsburg glass... no, asparase, no that's those girls,... casper's ass..." He had less luck than Angar Firestorm. Even after summoning up reams of new books, he could find no mention. After a herculean effort he managed to summon up his Inconspicuous Garb all the way from Buffie's closet, but it had been washed and pressed and all the contents of the pockets removed. Bungston spent less and less time in study as the days wore on. Eventually he took the wrapped carriage on a secret fact finding mission to Cyprus, coincidentally returning with edibles to restock the empty refridgerator. The carriage proved much more comfortable that either the railway gun or a helicopter.
After several days, Napoleon could no longer stand the crippled noises coming from the motorcycle Robigus spent his time torturing. The shaggy mutant shambled in to the spare room, trying not to look at the mangled remnants of machinery strewn about. He had to give Robigus credit for oiling the teak, though. The warrior looked up from where he was connecting an exhaust pipe directly to the handlebars, at the same time trying to keep his decomposing garments anchored on his shoulders. Napoleon made a vague gesture to the operation in progress. "Bob, Bob," he rasped, "maybe you should give the cycle a rest. Let it heal. It'll wait. I hate to steal your fun, but isn't there anything else you like to do?"
Robigus thought a bit. "Swordfight?" he suggested.
Napoleon shook his huge head. "Sorry dude. I can never get a grip on the things or I'd give it a try."The warrior bent his head in thought again. "From time to time I enjoy the hunt. Perhaps that would be possible?"
Again Napoleon shook his head. "Naw, we got to stay out of the way here. Can't have you bopping around the woods with a gun or we'll have the Russkies coming by and bothering us again. But say! You could fish!"
Robigus brightened at this, and began to pull on his helmet. Napoleon waved his hands. "Naw, naw, you don't need that. Fishing outside sucks here. There's a lot of big rocks and ruins on the bottom that mix everything up, and the good fish like to stay in the stuff that's less salty farther out. You'd need a boat to get to the good fish, and then we'd have to make one or get Bung to summon one up. But let me show you something." The mutant led the way to the bathroom.
Originally, the prehuman temple had not been equipped with indoor plumbing. Possibly the original inhabitants did not need such facilities, or perhaps there had been a privy of some sort outside which had not weathered the millenia as well as the temple itself. In any case, Bungston definitely wanted some sort of bathroom under the same roof as his bedroom. Running water had been the most difficult thing to achieve, but after several days wandering around with a divining rod and the help of a magically animated length of PVC pipe, the water came out cool and clear. The toilet was easier. There was already a deep pit within the temple, extending down far below sea level where it terminated in what apparently was a cavern partially filled with water. Neither Bungston nor Napoleon had ever ventured down into this subterranean realm, partly because it had been securely capped with a formidable stone seal when the twosome had first moved in, and partly because it had been in use as the de facto toilet since that time. Bungston had built the toilet for security because he had no desire to be surprised while musing over a magazine by whatever was down there that had prompted the builders to cap the hole. The toilet was set up with a double hatch system; the top one was opened for use, then it was closed and the bottom opened to flush, so that at no time was there a clear passage all the way down. Napoleon, however, had figured out a way to circumvent this system. With a little duct tape, two pennies and a well preserved Cossack sabre, the mutant could prop the two hatches open and fish in the cavern below. It was this that he had brought Robigus to see.
Taking care not to singe his shaggy arm, Napoleon struck a flare and then dropped it down into the gaping pit. They watched it fall, growing smaller and smaller, until finally it disappeared into the water below. Robigus nodded and peered again past the sabre bisecting Bungston's toilet. There was no smell. "Some of the best fish come from brackish water, I am told. What do you usually catch, and what baits do you use?"
Napoleon had brought in the fishing rod but given it to Robigus to set up, his own hands bearing scars from clumsy attempts at tying hooks. "Well, I'm not sure what kind of water is down there, but there must be a lot of it. There's eels that are tasty, and they bite at salami or pretty much anything. There's some big lumpy grouper-type things, and they like kittens." Robigus accepted this in stride. "Then there's other stuff, like shoggoth. They go for human heads, I think, but kittens probably work too. Terrible eating. Shoggoth, not kittens. We don't want to catch a shoggoth,"
Robigus had finished tying the three-inch hook onto the line. "Do you have any kittens here?"
Napoleon shook his head no, then went out of the bathroom. He returned with a small rubber object and some other equipment. "Kitten lure," he rasped in his unfinished voice. "Next best thing if you use it right." The big dog found some nutmeg Bungston had grated earlier and massaged it into the rubber kitten for good measure, then passed the kitten to Robigus, who baited up and began lowering the flabby lure into the pit. "One more thing Bob," admonished the maroon mutant standing over him. "If you catch something, and it doesn't put up a fight, cut the line -- fast! And close these hatches." Robigus agreed and Napoleon left him content in the bathroom. The St. Bernard went to find Bungston.
He found the wizard up on top of the cabana patching a leak with some marshmallow creme. Marshmallow patches never lasted long, but when it gave out Bungston could just go up and patch it again. Napoleon planted a foot on the muzzle of a statue and from there jumped up to get an elbow over the edge. After pulling himself onto the roof he crawled over to Bungston. "Bung, when are we going to go find the haberdash thing? It's been a long time."
Bungston perked up. "What? What's it called? Haberdash?"
The mutant shrugged, having trouble balancing on the oddly-sloped roof. "I think so. What's the matter, you don't remember? You have it written down!"
The wily wizard devoted his attention back to his trowel, using it to scratch the persistent patch of mildew on his arm. "Yeah, I was just testing you. But as for our mission... ah, our mission. Well, there are many difficulties."
Napoleon had been scrabbling for balance, and now he lost his footing entirely. He was able to prevent himself from sliding off only by cramming a hand deep into the fissure Bungston was patching. The wizard was unfazed by the disruption of his marshmallow patch, and continued speaking.
"I believe there is a powerful force working against us. Something potent and malevolent." Bungston began to warm up, growing more dramatic. His audience dangled stretched over a steep eight feet of roof, hanging by a paw but listening carefully. "An evil, brooding faction determined to prevent us from succeeding in our quest. A treacherous cabal has hindered our every movement, placed clever obstacles before us, and concealed vital information without which we have no hope. Yet shall we throw up our hands in despair?" Napoleon shook his head vehemently; he was not about to throw up his hands for any reason.
"No indeed!", roared Bungston, brandishing the trowel impressively but flicking marshmallow blobs into Napoleon's fur. "Despite overwhelming odds, despite a legion of foes devoted to our defeat, despite being stymied, thwarted, and foiled at every turn, we shall press on! Our quest is of paramount importance! Paramount importance! We are invincible! And we shall succeed!"
Although Bungston had begun his speech intending to divert Napoleon's attention from the fact that in reality, they had done absolutely nothing but lie on the beach and eat, he had waxed so eloquent that he had persuaded himself. Overwhelmed with determination, he plunged the trowel back into the goo-filled crack, eliciting a yelp from Napoleon and sending him tumbling off the roof with a nicked finger. Bungston leapt nimbly down the roof also, landing much more gracefully than the hapless mutant. The wizard discovered a groaning sandy furball and toed it unmercifully. "This is no time to dawdle!" With that Bungston entered the house.
Big plans require big music, and big music was something for which the cabana was well-equipped. Bungston had acquired a PA system formerly used at Cape Canaveral, and it was capable of putting out tremendous volume. Joined with an ultra-high tech Japanese digital tape player he had summoned accidentally while trying for the hard-to-find video game Crazy Climber, the two monster speakers could deafen anything within the cabana. For this very reason Bungston had painstakingly constructed a filter that worked on the same principle as sunscreen; sunscreen blocked out the rays which could burn you, and this filter blocked out the noises which caused deafness. Soon bellowing bagpipes burst through the cabana, and Bungston waltzed around with his special questworthy Voyageur pack on his back, throwing useful items into the air and then maneuvering under them so that they fell into the spacious pack.
The wizard had only packed a few items when Robigus burst from the bathroom, his fishing pole in one hand and his sword bared in the other. In his haste most of his clothes had fallen off. He was saying something, but it was drowned out. Bungston leapt to the rescue. "Bob! Wait there!" The hand gestures conveyed the message through the whining groans of the pipes, and Robigus stood stoically with rod and sword while his host dashed off among the objects cluttering the recesses of the cabana. Eventually Napoleon staggered in, grimacing at the bagpipe noise. He took a look at the mostly nude gray man standing by the altar, then shambled away to search for beer. Bungston returned bearing a red cardboard box and a pair of white thick-soled shoes. The mildew god accepted the box and opened it, revealing a gleaming white all-polyester disco suit. He felt the synthetic fibers with a cautious gray finger.
"It will never fall apart! You can wear it forever!" Bungston realized he was inaudible because of the music, and so tried to convey his meaning through pantomime. Eventually Robigus put on the suit, using a pair of Bungston's nylon baggies as underwear; it was too short in the leg and sleeve but otherwise a fair fit. Bungston darted in and applied a little rouge to the warrior's gray face. Then he applied a lot more rouge, and a little rouge to his own face, and a little rouge to Robigus' hands and neck. "You are the ultimate party amphibian!" Robigus shook his head and pointed to the throbbing speaker not ten feet from their heads, and so by way of explanation Bungston seized one of the warrior's hands and began to dance to the Scottish march, packing a few more items in the process. Robigus, resplendent in his polyester, realized Bungston was packing and so he picked up a handy sack and gathered his armor.
As he performed the packing dance, Bungston noticed the fishing rod Robigus had left on the altar. The wizard walked over and stroked the rubber kitten, tasted his finger, then pointed to it and cocked his head questioningly. Robigus was shouting something back, but the accordions had kicked in and all hearing was impossible.
Suddenly Napoleon appeared and dashed towards the two, frothing at the mouth and flailing his arms in panic. There was a raw patch on his body where fur and some skin was gone. He made a motion towards the stereo, then seemed to change his mind and instead charged at Robigus and Bungston. With an arm wrapped around each, he carried them toward the exit. Unfortunately Bungston thought it was some sort of joke, and the wizard deftly tripped his frenzied mutant, sending all three of them into a sprawling pile. Then the wizard realized why Napoleon wanted to leave.
It was like a huge stuffed manicotti noodle, flopping its way loathsomely towards the speakers, which continued to blast a fast-paced Scottish march. Occasionally, recognizable features sprouted along its amorphous length; a huge fingered fin, part of a humanoid face, a writhing tentacle surged from the mass only to be reabsorbed moments later. The sole permanent appendage was a series of craters on its front, and these stayed locked on to the source of the music. And the thing was fast. Rather than undulate as one might expect given its limbless form, the entire beast reared up like an inchworm and flung itself forward. The monster did not notice the three beings struggling with each other to rise from the floor until a bulbous lidless squidlike eye emerged from the morass and continued to emerge on a precarious sinew. "HOLY BLAZING BUFFALO BALLS!", screamed Bungston as the eye locked onto him and shot forwards. The pupil of the eyeball metamorphosed into a barbed black spine, but just before this could impale the wizard Robigus brought the crook of a hockey stick down upon its supporting sinews, bearing the whole mass to the floor. Robigus delivered a few more blows to the squirming excrescence before it shot back into the main body. The music was now muffled as the creature enveloped the PA system. Sparks shot through its translucent body. Then Napoleon grabbed wizard and warrior again, bearing them through the storm door and outside without slowing down.
The mutant did not release his burden until they had traversed a considerable distance of beach. Then he set them down and turned panting to glare suspiciously at the ancient edifice brooding on the sand. He spoke slowly and pointedly. "Rob, you didn't close those hatches like I told you to. Look what happened. We could've got killed."
Robigus blustered and puffed a bit, then leveled the hockey stick he had grabbed at Bungston. "I am not to blame! If Bungston had not begun making those loud and terrible sounds, all would have been well! I thought for certain that we were under attack!"
Bungston confronted both mildew god and mutant dog. "WHAT were you doing? Hatches? Shagass, did you jimmy the toilet so he could FISH?" From Napoelon's hangdog expression it was obvious he had. "Those are there for a REASON!", expostulated Bungston, kicking up sand. "It's a good thing the speakers were going so it was distracted away from us, or we would be goners for sure."
"Speakers going?", growled Napoleon in rebuttal. "If you hadn't started making all that noise it never would have come out of the hole! We could be having grouper for supper, but nooooo,"
Magician and mutant fell silent, one prodding sandballs and shells with his toes while the other picked at clots of marshmallow creme in his fur. Robigus spoke up. "All blames aside, that is truly the most loathsome beast I have ever seen. What is it called?"
Napoleon spoke up. "That's a shoggoth; remember, I told you they were bad eating? And loathsome is the word." The shaggy mutant shuddered. "But they don't like sun, so we're probably safe out here until night." There was a crash as a fire extinguisher burst from a window on the forest side of the cabana and hurtled into a tree, exploding its contents of white dust everywhere. "Problem with shoggoth is that not only are they disgusting blobs, but they're sort of smart, too."
"Maybe we could have our wrapped carriage fight with it. Like the Prince said, it has a sort of `rude intelligence'. And that phlegmbomb is pretty rude!" Robigus and Napoleon stared blankly at the wisecracking wizard. Bungston cleared his throat, then clapped his hands. "Well, no time like the present. Let's head out and find the bastargass magic dealy!"
Robigus frowned, then pointed back at the cabana, from which sounds of destruction issued forth. "You are going to leave that monster in your house?"
The wizard shrugged. "Got any ideas how to make it leave?" No one did. "Alright then, let's make like a stripper and take off!" Bungston ran down to where the golden coil had buried itself, then stood for a moment. "WRAP ME SLAP ME SAP MUSKEEGEE PAST THE HEAD STUCK IN THE DOOR AND A ONE AND A TWO HAVE GOTTEN ROTTEN TO THE CORE!" The little control device materialized in his hand. "Not too shabby, eh? First try, too." A fiddle with the statue brought the golden coil humming up from its hiding place, and Robigus and Napoleon piled in. Then the storm door of the cabana shattered to plexiglas flinders under the assault of a huge spiked snout. Infuriated by the coil's weird humming, the denizen of the deep surged forth into the sunlight, its transclucent goo smoking and steaming. The snout which had punched apart the door heaved and split, growing huger and revealing impossible teeth. Flabby polyps boiled up and resolved into slit-pupilled eyeballs. Two mammoth frog legs sprouted from the sides, slapping onto the green circle, then baring claws and digging into the bricks for greater purchase. The shoggoth had changed from a giant noodle into a thing of legs and maw in a moment, and now it launched itself at the wrapped carriage.
"MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE!", Napoleon bellowed. Bungston cranked on the delicate little statue, and the wrapped carriage jerked airborne, glinting beautifully in the afternoon sun.
"Once we're underwater I think we're safe", muttered Bungston as he fingered the buttons. The shoggoth passed underneath them, but it immediately realized its mistake and ejaculated a tentacle upwards even before the main body landed. The tentacle moved with lightning speed, developing spines and clacking claws in transit. Robigus took careful aim and propelled his hockey stick down through the open lower end of the humming transport. Eyeless, the spine-bristling tentacle seized the stick in the belief it had caught the coil and pulled fiercely with much more force than necessary. Tentacle and stick slapped back into the body.
"Alright dude! Sweet move!" Napoleon pounded Robigus on the shoulder in congratulations. The coil paused, then made a hairpin turn and sped into the ocean, leaving its attacker to steam in the surf. Bungston fiddled with the control statue, trying to coax as much speed as possible out of the wrapped carriage.
The wily wizard had providently packed his hand held carbon arc light, and Robigus played the powerful beam in the water around them, looking for any sign of pursuing shoggoth. No shoggoth was immediately evident, although Napoleon repeatedly voiced a suspicion that the shoggoth might be invisible in water, along the lines of a jellyfish, and that it might be secretly skulking along next to them. The arc light and the increased visibility it provided also made for a much more interesting trip. The wrapped carriage quickly passed over the submerged ruins just offshore, and once in deeper water the adventurous trio watched multicolored schools of fish streak through the light beam away from the glowing coil.
The main reason that Bungston had brought along the arc-light was to see exactly what the transporters they passed through looked like, and where they were. Then after the Avalonians repossessed their carriage he would still be able to use the transporters, maybe with a mini-sub. Most likely the transporters were on the sea floor, figured the wizard, since the wrapped carriage was travelling at a slight downward angle. Robigus frowned and looked carefully from between the glowing coils at the water outside. "I believe that there is a large beast tracking us, a serpent of some type."
Napoleon shook Bungston's shoulder vigorously. "Look, look! It's that big eel that chased me before!" The sinuous sea monster was back, pacing the wrapped carriage and glaring hungrily in at the three occupants. It swam with its mouth open, exposing several rows of long dagger teeth.
Bungston whistled in appreciation and glared hungrily back. "She's a hefty one, that's for sure. It can probably hear this coil humming miles away." He took the arc light from Robigus and directed the beam in the creature's eye to annoy it.
Robigus was unfazed. "We are safe in the carriage," he said unconcernedly.
Suddenly the creature doubled up, a billow of blood jetting from between its jaws. It seemed to fall apart even as it swam. The passengers only got a quick glimpse of the monster's dissolution before the speeding carriage left it behind. "Minced Monkey Meat! Did you guys see that?", exclaimed Bungston.
Robigus had. "Perhaps it was sick?", he offered uncertainly.
Bungston shook his head, swinging the beam of the arc-light around through the dark and empty water outside. "Yeah, and it sneezed itself into hamburger. Something ripped into that thing, and I bet I know what it was."
Napoleon, however, was suddenly very much against sight-seeing, and loudly stated that he was not curious at all why the sea monster had spontaneously shredded. The mutant felt strongly that Bungston should put out the light and they should finish their ride in peace. He tried to maneuver his furred bulk in front of the light, but Bungston was too quick, and Napoleon succeeded only in bonking his head against Robigus' bag of armor.
Bungston had been playing the beam around in the black water on either side of the humming coil, but there was nothing to be seen. Then he directed the beam downwards and looked through the floor. The creature looked like a fifteen-foot throwing knife with a propeller mounted on the back, and it was closing fast. As it drew near, the knife blade split in three and sharp, thick teeth emerged from the flesh, forming a weird tripartite mouth. Napoleon groaned in horror. "It's the shoggoth! It's still after us!"
Robigus' fingers twitched nervously over the grip of his sword. "I am sure the force field about the coil will hold." He did not sound sure.
With a tremendous impact the swimming shoggoth rammed the moving coil from behind and below. The rear of the carriage swung up and the whole machine began to head for the bottom. Bungston had been rummaging in his pack for something but had to grab the control statue fast to compensate for the change in direction. The shoggoth moved off into the dark water and Bungston tried frantically to pin it again with the light. A few seconds passed, then the amoeboid bulk appeared out of the gloom directly in front of the moving coil. The wrapped carriage rammed a huge notched spine head on.
"Back up! Reverse!" Napoleon bellowed, grabbed the lean wizard and shook him around in a panic.
Bungston struggled free from his mutant then grappled with the control, his eyes darting back and forth between the little statue and the horrible beast at the front of the wrapped carriage. "No good! It only goes forward."
"Reverse! Turn around! Let's go home!" Napoleon howled in his master's ear.
Bungston winced and jammed the control device into the fear-crazed mutant's paws. "You give it a try, then." The wizard turned back to his back and dug frantically through the assemblage of winter gear, tradable goods and petrified fruit he had thought would be helpful on the quest.
Flashing sparks and electrical discharges lit up the interior as the spine drove inexorably into the fields protecting the open end of the coil. Bungston felt a twinge of panic; when he had summoned up the cigar tube it had gone through the open end of the coil with no trouble. If the shoggoth could get a piece of itself in, it could get all of itself in, and then they were goners. On the far end of the spine, the main bulk of the shoggoth had flattened out to cause more water resistance, causing the coil's own momentum to push it onto the evil spine; the thing looked like a big thumbtack. Bulbous eyes and fanged mouths sprouted and were resorbed on the main body, and the spine, moving slower and slower, grew ever nearer to the sweating threesome.
Napoleon's efforts at steering the coil had been inspired but unproductive, and the shaggy mutant was hysterical with fear. "Bung! Bung! Kill it! Make it go away!", he yowled. Bungston grabbed a paisley muffler from his pack and shoved it in the mutant's mouth to shut him up, then resumed his rummaging with vigor. He pulled out a mint condition Colt.45 Peacemaker and glared at it, then stuffed it back in.
Robigus was the one closest to the spine, and the warrior was also manning the arc light. He had checked where the force field began on his side and now watched the progress of the black, sparking spine intently. "It is almost to us, Bungston."
"Ah... stall! I've got something in here, I think... Fudge! Where is it?" The wizard macerated his nutmeg furiously as he dug through his pack.
Robigus reached into his bag of armor and withdrew the left shoulder plate, and as the spine penetrated the last inch of field, he held the metal up in its path. There was a pause, then a harsh whine, and the armor grew hot. The shoggoth was drilling through. Robigus put the other shoulder piece in the way, then a greave from his leg, then the other greave. Tendrils of caustic smoke trailed into the coil interior, produced either by the metal or maybe the shoggoth itself. "Bungston! I can do no more!"
Bungston had been cursing more and more vehemently. "It's not here! This thing will have to do." The wizard grabbed an electric pencil sharpener and held the orfice in front of the glowing red dot on Robigus' shin guard.
The warrior stared at the pencil sharpener in disbelief. "It has bored through my armor, it will have no trouble with that!"
"Yep. So when it comes through, you just give it the biggest mildew treatment ever, OK?"
There was no time for Robigus to reply. The spine, bladed into a drill bit, emerged from the punctured greave and paused for a split second. Robigus was ready - he boldly extended a finger and touched the shoggoth. There was a suffocating surge of musty air, and the spine turned a mousy shade of gray. No sooner had Robigus withdrawn his finger than Bungston crammed the pencil sharpener in place, putting his whole weight behind it. There was a brief grinding noise, and then what was left of the spine snapped back into the main body, leaving Robigus' violated pieces of armor to clatter down in a smoking heap. The wizard thumped Robigus on the shoulder. "That's what I like to see! Heh! We showed that shoggoth!"
Robigus nodded grimly. "One would think that such a gelatinous creature would be more vulnerable to mildew, but I found it surprisingly resistant."
"Didn't look too resistant to me," commented Bungston. He looked suspiciously at the shaved shoggoth bits in the pencil sharpener, and added a healthy dose of ground nutmeg to denature them, nutmeg being the antithesis of nasty things. He replaced the pencil sharpener in the pack, then glared at the pack in annoyance. "I could have sworn that I kept that tactical nuke pistol in this pack, ready to go. That would have made short work of that big lugey. You know the one I mean, Nap?"
Napoleon picked up one of Robigus' shoulder pieces, toying with it absently. "Huwugm. Where's the shoggoth now?"

Bungston shone the arc-light around. "Maybe it gave up." They were almost to the ocean bottom, which was flat and barren except for the occasional worm mound. A hundred yards ahead there was a row of stone arches extending off into the gloom in either direction. Each arch was thirty feet high, and coupled with a twin. It looked like the McDonald's undersea graveyard. Bungston was glad the coil knew which one to choose; there were ten pairs of arches within range of his light, and probably a lot more, any of which could lead to Rome. The wizard had seen something like this in the Spnakotic fragments during the brief time he had been in possession of them - of each pair of arches one arch was the exit and the other the entry. "Ok guys, here are the transporters. Home free."
The arches were made of some sort of metal, decorated with symbols or maybe just curlicues. Robigus was intently watching the top of the one they were approaching. "Bungston, shine your light at the top of the one before us."
Bungston did so. "Buttcheese souffle! It's back!" Giant birdlike feet gripped the arch, supporting the cratered monstrosity perched at its peak. It was waiting. Just before the coil passed under it, the shoggoth turned into a gargantuan pincer, the crux of which was still anchored at the top of the arch. One half of the pincer swung down behind the coil, and the other came in from the front. The loathsome beast intended to catch its prey in a vise. Napoleon wailed and squirmed, overwhelmed with horror of the predatory protoplasm. Bungston grabbed the mutant's runny nose and pointed at the oncoming pincer with the control statue. "You should watch this - I think our shoggy bud is in for a surprise."
Just when it seemed that the coil would run headlong into the half of the pincer coming in from the front, the threatening piece disappeared. The disembodied other half of the pincer was, however, still in pursuit. Having passed through the arch in the correct direction, it had been transported through right after the wrapped carriage. The lone half stopped and hung in the water for a moment. Bungston fixed it in the light. "See guys, these gate things only work one way. One gate from and one gate to. So this thing is stuck with us unless the shog comes all the way through. Which it might." Bungston handed the light to Robigus and concentrated on steering the coil. He made a pass at the half pincer, still hovering in the water just past the arch. "Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah! Come on pudding boy! I got a Playdoh factory I want you to meet!"
"Yeah, yer mama was the Shmoo!", bellowed Napoleon enthusiastically.
The taunts apparently enraged the half-pincer, although it had no obvious ears. It split and formed a new, serrated minipincer, strangely anchored in the empty space under the arch. Then it raced after the coil, its supporting stem growing longer behind it. Bungston cranked the little statue around and the wrapped carriage ducked through the twin of the arch they had just come through, the pincer in hot pursuit.
Once through, Bungston pointed back to the first arch they had entered. Napoleon aimed the light there, and sure enough, the shoggoth was still perched on top, a long tentacle extending down and into the transporter, where it abruptly terminated. The pincer that had been chasing them extended from the opening of the adjacent arch. Bungston steered the coil up for a pass at the main body of the shoggoth. Following the sound of the humming coil, the pincer in pursuit slammed into the main body, where it merged back into the blob. The shoggoth was now a big semicircle, extending from the front of one arch to the front of the other.
"That shoggoth is in a bad way," commented Bungston. "I'm not sure how it's going to get back together."
"Just what it deserves for being all shifty and gooey," growled Napoleon in satisfaction. "It should pick a shape and stick to it, like the rest of us,"
"But maybe it's got some fun left in it." Bungston took the coil in for another pass at the shoggoth, yelling taunts and insults. Unable to resist, the semicircular shoggoth sprouted a pack of Venus Flytraps, which went snapping after the carriage on lengthening stalks. Bungston took the carriage to the next pair of arches down and performed the same maneuver, powering through one and then right back through the other. Just like the pincer had, the Venus Flytraps followed. Bungston did this a few more times with different arches on down the line, then pulled back to survey his handiwork.
The shoggoth was stretched in a series of pencil-thin semi-circles between adjacent arches, each semicircle connected to the next one down by a tenuous filament. It was still shifting around somewhat, but it was unable to do much more than tug at the arches which held it. There was not enough protoplasm in any one place to form any structures. Bungston slapped his knee. "WELL TWEEZE MY CHEESE AND HOSE IT DOWN I'VE FOUND A POUND OF GREAT REKNOWN! D!" There was a flurry of bubbles, and when they cleared the immobilized shoggoth filament was decked out in pretty party bows of every color of the rainbow. "More aesthetic," explained Bungston.

Chapter 8

After Bungston steered the coil through the proper arch and they had left the hapless shoggoth in their wake, the wizard turned and smirked at his fellow passengers. "Well! Our first conquest! That was a little closer than I like. I bet you guys were sweating."

Robigus shook his head. "No. I do not sweat as do most men. I am always moist."
"I'm a dog, so I only drool," rasped Napoleon in grinding tones.
Bungston was a little disgruntled. "Well, I didn't sweat either. I just wanted to comfort you guys in case you did." He ran a hand through his damp crewcut and devoted his attention to the control statue.
Robigus moved closer to the wizard, allowing Napoleon to flop over and get comfortable. "Although this was an inauspicious beginning, I am pleased that this quest has begun. Plans are important, but action is necessary for men of action." Bungston had to concede the truth of this symmetric point. "What destination have you chosen?" asked the warrior.
"Well, I figured the best way to track this thing down would be to ask people about it. There's a guy I know who keeps track of magic stuff in general, plus he has a great library, so we can research. You read Latin?" Robigus nodded. "Good, that'll help. Plus this guy lives in a great house; no pool, but we can make do. He hangs out in a suburb of London, around 1880 or so."
Robigus frowned and scratched his head. "I have been pondering a puzzling matter, Bungston, and that is this travel through time. How is it we do not create paradox when we meddle in things that have already taken place?"
Bungston mumbled something and made a great show of examining the control device for the wrapped carriage. But now Napoleon was interested too, and he was more persistent and twice as rude as Robigus. "Yeah, Bung. You always take off when I ask that. Do you know? I bet you don't."
Now his competence was being questioned, and the proud wizard could not let it slide. "OK, OK. The reason we don't make a paradox is because the stuff that you do when you go back in time just doesn't make that big a difference. It all evens out."
Napoleon grumbled at this. "Yeah but Bung," he rasped. "Suppose I took a TV set... well, not a TV, but maybe a gun. Yeah, a machine gun. I give it to some guy back in the Dark Ages. Now wouldn't that screw stuff up?"
Bungston shook his head. "Probably he doesn't take care of the gun right and it breaks or he runs out of ammo trying to shoot birds or someone steals it and loses it. Something like that is bound to happen."
Robigus broke in. "Yet suppose he slays a man who is your own ancestor? Suppose you yourself accidentally kill your own ancestor? Do you cease to exist?"
"Here's the deal. If I kill Joe Blow in the Year 0 and he's my long lost great great great grampa, then someone else a lot like Joe Blow will wind up being my great great great grampa. Moe Blow, maybe. But what's even more likely is that Joe Blow wasn't really my great grampa, that it was the postman and Joe himself had no kids. Maybe your Dark Ages peasant with a rifle goes to war and he shoots a few extra people. It usually turns out that those people would have died soon anyway, probably in that same battle. When I ripped off Excalibur from King Arthur, he got another sword that worked just as well, and named it Excalibur and everything stayed the same. Things tend to balance out, and its practically impossible to change things of any consequence."
Napoleon didn't like this theory. "OK Bung," he began belligerently. "Maybe I get an atom bomb and take out Philadelphia and all the Founding Fathers with it. Then what?"
"You'd have a hell of a time doing it. The bomb would go off in transit and blow you and a bunch of ocean up, or the plutonium would fall out, or someone would hork it, or someone would kill you or something would happen so that you couldn't blow it up. Just like you'd have a heck of a time killing your own father, and you absolutely couldn't do something like kill yourself when you were a baby. Events would conspire against you. And if you did manage by sheer luck to cave in Jefferson's head, then another guy just as smart would crop up and write the Constitution instead. And chances are it would be attributed to Jefferson after all. In fact, exactly that happened to Shakespeare." Bungston fished a fresh nutmeg from one of his pockets and rolled it between cheek and gum.
"So Bungston", spoke Robigus, "the gist of this is that no matter how hard a man tries to change his lot, it can never matter in the long run? This is a depressing thought."
"Gist? Gist what are you getting at, Bung?" Napoleon harvested a kick in the knee for his effort.
"Well, maybe we do have free will, in our own times. Maybe we can decide what happens in our lives. But even if it is all predestined, who cares? It doesn't seem like it is. So what does it matter whether it is or not? Just like I'm inhaling little bits of dog dandruff from Nap's shaggy ass right now. Who cares?" Bungston rolled his nutmeg around, clacking it on his teeth in satisfaction. Robigus and Napoleon were both trying to assimilate this last spurt of wizardly wisdom with its opaque dandruff allegory, and so Bungston went back to looking for fish with his arc light.
The sudden transition from ocean to air caught the three adventurers off guard; since it was night, there had been no gradual lightening of the water around them as they rose to the surface. The glowing coil made an eerie reflection off the choppy waves as it crossed over the shallows toward the beach. A faultless landing left the three standing on the sand and stones. There was a strong offshore wind, kicking up sand and rain. Bungston crinkled up his generous nose as he peered through the dark. "What's the matter, O Mighty One?," jibed Napoleon in a grinding attempt at baby talk. "A little wind get you down?" The big mutant danced around, kicking up gouts of sand and pebbles onto the wizard. Bungston snaked out a dextrous foot and caught a shaggy ankle, sending the mutant down to grovel in the sandy mud.
"I could care less about wind. But... this isn't where we're supposed to be."
Robigus jogged up out of the dark, having been on a quick solo reconnaisance mission. "There is nothing and no-one nearby. I see no sign of your friend's beautiful house."
Bungston shuffled around, then gestured imperiously. "OK guys! C'mere! We'll try this again." He fiddled with the control statue, and the wrapped carriage emerged glowing from the sand. Napoleon and Robigus piled in, followed by Bungston. The coil rose up from the sand, arced, and made for the waves. "No! NO! Aaagh! You jerk! TURN!" Bungston wrestled with the statue in an attempt to make the coil turn around, but to no avail. In moments they were back underwater. Robigus and Napoleon were silent, watching Bungston press and twist the statue in his hands. The coil executed a dizzying 180 degree Rockford turn and leapt from the water once again, headed back towards land. But all Bungston's efforts were in vain; once again the coil paused over the beach, then tilted, dropped, and burrowed in. Enraged, the wizard spiked the statue onto the beach and began to stomp around, cursing Avalon, Queen Z, England, beets, and anything else that entered his crewcut head. "What good is this thing if all it can do is take us to the beach!" Bungston looked around for the control statue, intending to give it a kick, but Robigus had picked it up anticipating just such an action. A sizeable black and orange crab out braving the storm scuttled by the wizard at an inopportune moment, and Bungston redirected his wrath from the control statue to the puny beast. "SCREAMER REAMER MOTHER WEINER! FLAMER LAMER SHAMER MAIMER! ARRRGH!" The crab launched itself from the sand out into the ocean, skipping across the waves and throwing off sparks and flame like a chunk of potassium with claws. Bungston watched it go through the night until his view was blocked by Robigus.
"In truth, perhaps it were better that our carriage refuses to budge any further inland," said the warrior soothingly. "Such a machine would doubtless cause comment. And we are fit; a walk will not kill us."
Bungston snorted. "You think he isn't going to cause comment?", expostulated Bungston, indicating Napoleon with a dramatic gesture. "We have fifty, maybe sixty miles to go, mostly full of people. On foot, with no disguises, we don't stand a chance of slipping through. They'd grab Nap and pound him with a silver candelabra or something." The wizard sat on the sand and moped, chewing halfheartedly on his nutmeg.
Now Robigus too looked doubtful. Napoleon, feeling that the time had come for his role as Bungston-goad, settled onto the sand beside his master. Although he concealed it well, Napoleon, like most dogs, had tremendous confidence in his master's abilities. Napoleon was also about eight times as smart as your average dog, and understood how to motivate his master to use those abilities to their fullest. "Hey, Bung," grumbled the big St. Bernard. "Remember that time you made a fake bird out of chain-link fence and Brylcreem and had it fly up and spook the Russkies?" Bungston smiled a little at the recollection. The mutant continued. "And that time you summoned up the Budweiser boat and we went fishing? That boat was awesome!"
Bungston laughed and wiped the rain off of his face. "Yeah, too bad it couldn't handle that ramp we set up."
Robigus leaned in, his unhealthy hair whipping about in the wind and rain. "In truth, I think a bird built of chains would be unwise in this weather; there is lightning in the distance."
Bungston snorted at the mildew god. "Lighting shmightning. Just power the puppy up! Haven't you ever seen Frankenstein? All those golems are alike."
Napoleon hung his massive head with calculated doubt and sadness. "Yeah, but Bung, we don't have anything to work with here." Bungston raised his brow at this, seemingly about to say something.
Robigus patted the wizard on the back. "Do not feel bad, Bungston. It is not your fault that the wrapped carriage has its limits; all things have their limits,"
The big mutant nodded his assent, while suppressing a wriggle of glee. The "limits" thing Robigus had accidentally stumbled onto was precisely the next step in the Bungston goad. Bungston stood up and began to flail his arms. "Bob! Nap! Don't get so down! Something will turn up!"
Napoleon cocked his head. "It's a little much to hope for that you can work some magic in a storm like this..." The big dog knew full well that the storm had nothing to do with it, but it was the push that got the ball rolling.
Bungston snorted. "Hah! Storms just make it challenging. I have an idea ... DRIPPING FLIPPING YARROW WHIPPING PIEBALD REBEL SMELLING TRAIL AND YELLING NAIL ME TO THAT SECRET TREE! WHOAH HEY ITS BETTER YOU THAN ITCHING STARCHY WITCHY SPARKING HABITS CHANGE THE MAN WHO KNOWS YOU SHOWS YOU GROWS TO MOWS YOU! MOW IT!" A hatbox appeared, which Bungston opened to reveal three red knit caps. Napoleon was afraid that Bungston was about to go into a sulk again, but the wizard just pulled a cap on to his own head and passed out the rest. Then the wizard picked up his Voyageur pack and Robigus' bag of armor and marched confidently up to a stand of scrawny trees just beyond the beach. Bungston withdrew his Human Cannonball Helmet and camouflage tarpaulin from his pack, then securely stashed the pack and the armor bag underneath the tarp. Then he devoted his attention to the underbrush The plants were whipping about in the wind, being almost more weed than tree, but Bungston put his marvelous agility to work and seized one. It came up easily, and Bungston threw it on the ground in triumph.
Robigus knelt to examine it. "This is a strange tree," he pronounced.
Bungston laughed and grabbed two more trees, one in either hand. "Damn straight. Hop on. Tonight we ride! I have no limits!" The wizard swung one leg over the trunk of the tree, looked back to ascertain that Robigus and Napoleon were imitating him, and pulled on his Human Cannonball Helmet. He braced himself, then flipped up his visor and shouted into the storm. "NO BREAKS NO SHAKES NO DUMB MISTAKES IN A CLOUD OF SMOKE AND WHAT IT TAKES BY YARROW AND RUE AND MY RED CAP TOO - HEY! WE'RE OFF!" The tree trembled, and then shot up into the stormy sky, wizard astride. Napoleon's tree went next, and then Robigus was airborne too.
It was one wild ride. The flying trees were propelled by their branches, which flipped and snapped like a nest of squid on amphetamine. Bungston hung on tight to his magic branch. Whether because of the storm winds or some inherent defect, the woody steeds seemed prone to quick and unexpected changes in altitude and direction. The Helmet was no help. Bungston's stomach was notoriously vulnerable to drastic ups and downs, and he devoted all of his agility toward minimizing the swoops. He also spit out his nutmeg, having become suddenly oversensitive to the normally delectable flavor. Robigus, on the other hand, adapted well; bent low to reduce wind resistance, he rode the flying tree like a master. Napoleon was having much more difficulty.
"BUNG! BUNG! MAKE IT STOP! I CAN'T HOLD ON!" Napoleon's hands, poorly designed for grasping, could not get a firm purchase on the wet wood beneath the miserable mutant. In addition, the big dog's considerable bulk caught a lot of wind, and crossbreezes threatened to knock him off his perch at any moment. "WAH! BUNG! WAAOOOOOO!" Howling and wailing, Napoleon's scrabbling claws finally lost hold, and the mutant swung down and around the airborne tree. Only his legs wrapped around the trunk saved him. Hanging upside-down by his legs, the St. Bernard slid backwards until stopped by the animated branches at the back end of the tree. Being beaten by frenzied fronds did not improve his mood.
The fast moving trio were now over the outer fringes of London; they were going to skirt the city itself on the way to the fashionable suburbs further inland. Bungston's original plan was to fly at high altitudes to avoid notice. The wizard, feeling queasy and more or less deafened by passing wind and rain, was not aware of his mutant's bad luck, and so stuck to his plan. Napoleon's tree executed a huge sky-sweeping spiral, then plummetted toward the street below. Despite the hour and the weather, the street was not quite deserted. Howling at the top of his lungs, the shaggy mutant bore down upon the sole pedestrian. Man and mutant made eye contact for the briefest of seconds before a maroon arm plowed into the terrified pedestrian's umbrella and carried it off skyward. Napoleon could tell he was about to bash into the second story of a building and made a last feeble Wile E. Coyotesque attempt to cushion the impending blow with the remnants of his newly aquired umbrella.
Seconds before impact, the leading end of Napoleon's tree was seized by a gray hand and pulled nearly vertical. For a few moments, Napoleon's body was completely entangled in the thrashing propeller branches, and then he was flying level again. Gray hands in white cuffs pushed him upright and steadied him there. From his vantage point behind, Robigus had seen Napoleon's predicament, but had been unable to anticipate the crazed loopings of the big dog's mount well enough to catch up until the last moment. Robigus directed his own branch with legs alone, his right hand supporting the mutant by a handful of fur and his left hand steering the other tree.
It was not long before Bungston began flying down to land in the courtyard of what was, as he had said, a beautiful but poolless mansion. Bungston's fabled agility was badly eroded by dizziness, and he half-rolled from his perch, then struggled to his knees in the wet lawn and pulled off his Helmet. Robigus landed both flying trees, and after heaping Napoleon against a wall walked over to confront Bungston. "That was a most dangerous experience. Napoleon almost perished, and you did nothing to aid him. I believe that you should spend more thought before launching us into such perilous undertakings." Bungston nodded absently and adjusted his red knit cap, then threw up in a shrub.
After he felt thoroughly expurgated Bungston left the shrub and walked over to where Napoleon was crumpled. "How're you doing, big shooter? It was a bad ride for me, too." He hoisted the moaning maroon mass to his shoulder and, nose wrinkled against the powerful wet dog smell emanating from his mutant, shuffled toward the mansion. Robigus had been fiddling with a mulch pile not too far away and joined them. "Bob," began Bungston as he tried to clear stringy fur from his face, "I think you better knock. If a servant sees Nap he might freak and break out the candelabras." Robigus agreed, and he rang the bell while Bungston and Napoleon took cover behind a bush, not the same one with which Bungston was already acquainted. It took several rings and some solid knocks to elicit a response, it being about two in the morning. Finally a groggy looking man came to the door. He said nothing, staring at Robigus' outlandish disco suit and reddish-gray cap.
"Ahem." Robigus drew himself up to his considerable height and fixed a godly gaze upon this woozy butler. "We have come to see..." Robigus then realized he did not know the name of the house's owner. He paused, and then tried louder. "We have come to see..."
"Erskine! Mr. Erskine!" whispered Bungston from the bush. "Yes," proclaimed Robigus. "Mr. Erskine. Tell him to come to the door." The servant was about to do no such thing; one did not wake one's master up in the middle of the night to consort with crazily dressed strangers and work very long as a servant. Robigus managed to slide a sideways platform shoe into the door as it swung closed. "Bungston! What shall I do?"
"Tell him who you are!", came the hoarse whisper. The servant was pushing hard on the door and was apparently calling for aid from within the house. Robigus put his face up to the crack maintained by his shoe.
"I am Robigus, god of War and emissary of her Majesty Queen Z of Avalon! Bring your master or face my wrath!", he bellowed. This pronouncement increased the urgency of the cries fom inside. Then a log swung by some quick thinker in the house hit Robigus' toe, knocking it away from the door.
"MARVEL WARBLE POOP-ED QUARTER SNARLY QUARRLY QUIBBLING BARTER! ACID NO QUESTIONS TELL ME INCITER INSIDER ASTRIDER TRY FIRE!" Fortunately the door did not catch on fire, as Bungston was sort of hoping, but instead turned into a row of harp strings strung vertically within the frame, which was more aesthetic and less smoky. Three servants stood agape staring through their door at the disco mildew god on the step, who did them the same honor. Robigus was a little quicker on the rebound, having associated with Bungston a while. He rang the bell again, and this time was hurriedly admitted. Bungston attempted to rouse Napoleon to look at the cool door he had transmogrified, but the St. Bernard would not budge. The wizard contented himself with watching through the strings as servants scurried around. Eventually Mr. Erskine descended some steps, and after conferring with Robigus cleared the servants away.
Mr. Erskine was in his fifties, with gray hair, a bit of a belly and coke-bottle glasses. He looked over the harp strung door appreciatively, then opened it and called into the dark rainy yard. "Bungston? Are you out there?" Bungston shook Napoleon, who had begun to snore, and shuffled with his gradually reviving mutant toward the door. He realized that servants were probably watching out the windows, but it was probably too late to do anything about it.
"Hey Mr. E. Sorry to show up so late." The gracious wizard presented a freshly plucked flower to butter up his prospective host.
"There is no problem Bungston; I had only just retired myself." Mr. Erskine accepted the flower and allowed the two to enter. "Mr. Robigus - or is it Lord Robigus? - has already introduced himself. It's not everyday the gods call on us out in Treadley!" One could not tell from the unflappable Englishman's demeanor whether or not Mr. Erskine really believed Robigus to be a god, but it didn't seem to matter much. "This must be your familiar," the scholar continued, indicating the shaggy mass draped over Bungston's shoulder.
The wizard grimaced and dislodged a odiferous tuft of shag from where it had drooped in front of his eyes. "Too familiar sometimes. But no, this is Napoleon, the mutant, and he's had a rough trip over or I'm sure he'd greet you himself." Bungston shook the big limp dog around, and Napoleon stumbled over to lean against a wall. "If you have somewhere out of the way we could stay, where no-one would have to be spooked by this big dog..."
"Yes, yes, I understand completely. I knew of a sorcerer once who kept a great ruddy werewolf as his lackey and familiar." Mr. Erskine nodded his head earnestly. "Napoleon rather resembles it. Of course werewolves vary."
Bungston could think of no reply to this, so he ingratiatingly presented Mr. Erskine with another fresh flower which the wizard had kept on reserve just in case. "I hope you don't mind if we use your library quite a bit; that's why we're here. We're on a quest."
Again Mr. Erskine was unflapped. "Quite alright, quite alright. I'm happy to see it get some use. But I'm sure you'll want to rest up and such tonight. Let me show you to your rooms; they're out ..."
Mr. Erskine was interrupted by a melodic and strange arpeggio from the newly created harp strings. Napoleon did his best dreamy-eyed gaze into space, and then strummed the door again with a claw. Mr. Erskine smiled. "That is beautiful; I'm not familiar with that scale. What is it?"
Napoleon patted the frame knowingly. "Dorian scale." Bungston wept.

Chapter 9

The damp and humid weather seemed to perk Robigus up in an extraordinary way; his red knit cap had metamorphosized into gray felt, and the polyseter disco duds were protesting their synthetitude in vain. Between the potent mildew aroma and Napoleon's wet dog ambiance, the flowers Bungston had liberated from Mr. Erskine's flower garden stood little chance. None of the threesome were too squeamish about smells, though, and all were exhausted. Mr. Erskine had set aside only two rooms, one with only a bed and one with a bed and a swath of carpet on the floor. Bungston and Napoleon did a scissors-rock-paper to see who got the bed in their room. Napoleon lost, but late at night he pulled all the covers off Bungston and onto the floor.
It was not quite dawn when there was a knock on the door of Bungston and Napoleon's room. Bungston, sleeping not too well anyway, woke up immediately. In the moonlight he noticed a strange pile in the corner, but no sign of Napoleon. Putting the matter from mind, he snuck to the door and tried to look underneath. Gray feet were a pretty good ID, and Bungston opened the door to find Robigus, fully dressed in his somewhat soiled disco suit but sans shoes. Robigus followed the wizard's eyes downward. "Your feet are smaller than mine, and your shoes pinched. I miss my sandals, although they never lasted too long. This suit, though, is miraculous!" Bungston did not take well to being awakened to debate men's fashions. He stared sullenly, not dampening Robigus' spirits in the least; his spirits operated best when damp. "I could not sleep, and the reason I awoke you is I thought that I could do some research while you slept. I realize I am no wizard, but perhaps I could lay some groundwork..."
"Yeah, go. Good idea. See you in the morning." Bungston swung the door to shut, but Robigus stuck his foot in the way, a trick which had worked well while he was wearing shoes. Bungston's lightning reflexes came to the rescue, and the wizard grabbed the door just before it smashed into Robigus' instep.
"The reason I came," continued the mildew god blithely, "is because, stupidly, I have forgotten the name of the artifact we seek! Is that not stupid?" Robigus actually smiled.
Bungston's late-night paranoia kicked in, and he began to suspect that some evil doppleganger had swapped places with their moldy companion and now sought entry to his bedroom with fakey smiles. Probably it had foot-long claws, just thirsting for his femoral artery. Bungston scratched hard at the gray patch on his forearm in an effort to dispel these half-awake nightmares. "Um, uh... the Aspiccast. That's it. Good luck."
Robigus squinted, as if better to hear the wizard's incomprehensible mumble. "Pardon me? What is it named?"
The wizard nodded sagely. "Yep. Chapstick Staff. Happy hunting." Bungston made a quick fake to close the door, and Robigus' foot snaked out again to block it. As the mildew god realized that the door was not actually going to close, he withdrew his foot, at the precise moment that Bungston really did close the door. Lightning reflexes had their advantages. Robigus did not knock again. Bungston flopped down on the bed again, noticing now that he had no covers. "Shagboy, give back my covers."
The pile on the floor shifted ominously. "I don't have them," it grumbled.
It was obvious that Napoleon did have the covers, but Bungston decided to let his sleeping dog lie. Plus the wizard was too lazy to rise again from the bed to repossess his blankets.

Mutant and magician slept late, and were awakened by a knock on the door. It was a servant, summoning them for brunch; the snoopy man peered furtively around the room, but fortunately Napoleon remained buried under his blanket heap. The man must have noticed the wet dog smell, though. After Bungston kicked out the servant, the wizard sat on the bed and thoughtfully examined his mutant St. Bernard, who had crawled into the light and was now lying full length on the floor. He was a pretty sorry sight, his body decorated with shoggoth sores, witchbroom welts, mud, and marshmallow. "I suppose you want to eat some breakfast."
The St. Bernard bounced to his feet, drool leaping to his jowls. "I suppose you want to shave it bare! Let's go!" Napoleon was making for the door when Bungston nailed him in the lower back with a small bedside table.
"Listen, they'll pound you with candelabras if you show up all shaggy and slobbery. Tell you what - I'll bring some food up here. Breakfast in bed." Napoleon, however, was very against this idea; he suspected that Bungston would season his food with unwanted additives or perhaps eat all the food himself.
"No way Bung. I'm going," ground the mutant. "I'll just bundle up in this blanket, and no-one will suspect." The mutant made good his word, rolling in the blanket heap until he looked like some sort of lavender lamprey, with a food nozzle rolled in front of his head. Bungston shook his head; Napoleon's hairy hands would show, and the servants would know that either he was a monster or had been overindulging in questionable activities. Also, most people didn't go to brunch with their heads swathed in their covers.
"BERYL BLOWSY HOSING HOUSEQUAKE BATDRAKE DRONING BONING MANDRAGORA CORNING FORGER GLOW PANDORA! SHEMP IS KING AND SIMON SPEAKS ENTRAIL MY BAIT OR CLIP THAT BEAK! YOW! PLUCKORILLO!" Napoleon abruptly began to thrash around under the blanket, emitting noises like a blender and a disposal locked in a death grip. "Jees! Calm down!" Bungston threw himself on the frenzied mutant, and eventually managed to grab his paws.
"Bung! Something's got my head!" Bungston pulled back the battered lavender covers to reveal a grinning latex Elmer Fudd. Tufts of maroon fur stuck out through the eyeholes and through a big gash in one cheek, torn there during Napoleon's thrashings. Elmer's face was interestingly conical because of Napoleon's muzzle crammed underneath.
"That doesn't look that bad", mused the wizard. "I was trying for Castro, but this will be OK. Fudd's a real man."
Napoleon was pushing the mask around, trying to orient his nose under the thoughtfully provided noseholes. "Hnnngg." Elmer's rheumy eye swiveled to fix on Bungston. "There's barely any mouth hole on this thing Bung," growled the muffled mutant. "How am I supposed to get food in?" Bungston, taking advantage of his mutant's limited field of vision, had jogged around behind Napoleon. "Bung? Bung? The mouthhole is too small." Napoleon turned to locate the wizard, but received a face full of pillow for his efforts.
"Hee hee! I think the mask is a big improvement!" Napoleon took a blind swipe at the annoying little man, but succeeded only in rapping the back of his paw against the wall. The frustrated mutant grabbed at Elmer's scalp to pull off the mask and better deal with his antagonist, but could not get a purchase on the tight-stretched latex. Bungston threw a few more taunts, but then had a feeling that Napoleon might go into another frenzy and rip the mask to shreds; Bungston did not feel like trying to summon up a new one with the brutely mutant aware of his intentions. "Ok, Ok, I'm sorry Nap. Look, I got some nice gloves for you." They were really mittens, but they were pretty nice, and they fit on Napoleon's paws. Napoleon had some problems with going to breakfast disguised as a cartoon character until Bungston pointed out that given Napoleon's facial contours, he could be Yul Brynner or pretty much anyone else bald. Thus pacified, Napoleon rewrapped himself in the blankets and he and Bungston went downstairs to eat.
Robigus and Mr. Erskine were already at breakfast. Bungston fell to with no delay, and after some troubles with the little mouth hole Napoleon joined in. "So Bungston," began Mr. Erskine, "Robigus has been telling me about this quest of yours. What progress have you made until now?"
Bungston's mouth was full of kippers, and he took his time chewing. He did not want to say that he had been completely unable to find any reference whatsoever to his goal, and that he had also forgotten what it was called. This would entail tremendous loss of face. "I fear we have devious opponents, Mr. E," he began, slowly shaking a spoon for effect. "I do not know what motives they have, or why they... despise us. A skulking cabal hindering our progress by concealing indispensable knowledge. It is truly a Sisyphean task, fighting these unseen foes on uncertain grounds." Bungston's conspiritorial tones had reached the ears of a curious female servant, who was peering around a corner. She was pretty good at this sort of thing, but Napoleon qua Fudd spied her.
"HEY! BRING ME MORE WAFFLES! PLEASE!", he bellowed at her in a stentorian voice. She jumped and scurried off. The mutant's outburst had cut short Bungston's growing verbosity. Robigus leaned in. "You have no idea who our enemies are?"
Bungston hated nothing worse than having his competence put in question. He felt obliged to produce an answer. "I have a suspicion. A strong suspicion. A strong, sneaking ... uh, sibilant suspicion." Mr. Erskine frowned at the wizard's polemic license, so Bungston tapped his spoon against the table to allay any doubts. "I think that our chief foe is none other than...." His mind shifted into overdrive. "Angar Firestorm!"
Robigus gasped. "The court wizard of Avalon! Why? Why does he bear us malice?"
"WAFFLES! THANKS!" A steward set gingerly set the plate before this loud bald person with the unhealthy skin, and then stepped back to watch. Napoleon couldn't care less; this way the woman would be handy when he ran out of waffles again and needed more. The mutant ripped the waffles into strips and packed them through the mouth hole with the bottom of a salt shaker.
Bungston now had to think of some plausible reason why Firestorm might want to sabotage the mission. He added syrup to his plate, then produced his nifty nutmeg grater and grated some nutmeg for his waffles while he thought. Napoleon held out his plate to receive some nutmeg as well.
Robigus spoke up. "As I think about this, it does not seem so unlikely after all. Angar Firestorm would certainly be humiliated if you succeeded in finding the Chapstick Staff where he had failed. Perhaps he merely wants to avoid such an indignity." It was a pretty believable reason, but Bungston had not thought of it himself. It would not do.
"No, no, that's not it at all. Firestorm never really looked in the first place. He never even tried. Because he doesn't want it to be found. Because...," Bungston bent low to the table, his eyes getting shifty. "He is a demon worshipper."
Mr. Erskine and Robigus were both aghast. "Demon worship!", exclaimed Mr. Erskine. "With Black Mass, human sacrifice..."
Bungston ran a syrup coated hand through his sunbleached crewcut with an air of nonchalance. "Yep. The works. Demonic graffiti too. And he eats beets. And...and...he has three noses!"
Robigus interjected here, a mystified expression clouding his grayish face. "I had never noticed that Firestorm has three noses..."
Bungston whacked the spoon against the table, bending it into a right angle. "He conceals it well! Because... he is Demon Spawn!"
"Didn't you just say he was a demon worshipper?", asked Mr. Erskine.
"The two go hand in hand," explained the wizard. Bungston proceeded to demonstrate how it might be that Firestorm might have three noses but appear to have just one. After a few moments the wizard decided that his artistic endeavor was unappreciated, and he redirected his attentions toward the kippers.
After breakfast, Bungston, Napoleon and Robigus went to the library to begin their studies, locking the door to exclude nosy servants. The library was beautiful and comfortable, equipped with overstuffed chairs, green reading lamps, a great worn table salvaged from some medieval hall, and everything else a big turn-of-the-century private library should have. There were rows of ancient leatherbound tomes lining the walls, and a large collection of scrolls in a glass case. A stuffed ostrich stood watch in the corner. Once inside, Napoleon quickly asserted that there was no more need for him to wear the latex Elmer Fudd mask, and so with help from Bungston, Robigus and a deftly handled shoehorn the mutant St. Bernard was freed with minimal loss of fur. He was also confined to the library, a rather boring lot since he could not read. Bungston set him to work scanning books for likely looking pictures.
As Bungston had previously asserted, Mr. Erskine did indeed keep track of magic things in general. He spent a few moments showing Robigus and Bungston how his library was organized, then left them to their search. Robigus happily took up where the search he had begun last night left off. Bungston grabbed a book with an attractive green and gold binding, then crumpled into an armchair to rack his brain. He just could not remember what the thing was called, although he was fairly certain it was not called Chapstick Staff, as Robigus for some reason seemed to think. Staves were usually not small items. Aspic Cast? The wizard tugged on his lower lip. There were probably a million aspic casts, and no easy way of sorting out the magic ones. Adze Burgraff? He nodded to himself. "Hey guys, how big would you say your average adze runs?"
Napoleon gently patted his own maroon-upholstered posterior. "About twenty pounds. But mine's far from average." Bungston resisted the urge to wing the rare green and gold book in his lap at his mutant. His resistance faltered after several seconds, but his throw was off.
Robigus had been pondering the question. "I believe an adze is akin to a small hatchet, but with the blade set at a different angle. So it would be no longer than a man's forearm, if that." The polyester-garbed god noticed the excited expression on Bungston's face. "Bungston, do you think that perhaps this thing is not really called the Chapstick Staff? This is very possible - mistranslations occur often. Perhaps we should begin searching for an adze!" Robigus' enthusiasm flared anew. He added the book he had been perusing to a mildewy pile of books he had already looked through, then marched to another area of the library. Bungston joined him there.
After several hours of searching Bungston admitted to himself that there was no record of the Adze Burgraff or any other kind of adze on the French Riviera. Napoleon interuppted every now and then to display especially interesting pictures he had run across. Most of these were of funky looking naked people, but there were a few which bore promise. One picture showed some funky looking naked people summoning up a big demon. "Hey Bung," rasped Napoleon. "Maybe you should try to summon up a demon. I bet they give the instructions right here. You can make the demon go fetch your thingy, and have it fix your stereo to boot,"
Bungston shook his head. "Nah. It sounds good, but I might screw up, and then that demon would make hors d'oeuvres out of my spleen. I think back at the cabana I have a djinni or something in a bottle; I might let it out as a last resort. Plus Firestorm tried a demon already and it didn't work for him."
Robigus was perturbed by this. "But Bungston, you said that Firestorm did not try at all, because he is a demon worshipper and a demon spawn."
"Yeah... that's why he tried a demon. To keep up appearances and all. Probably it was his uncle. I have to go to the bathroom." Bungston beat a hasty retreat. On the way back to the library he ran into Mr. Erskine, who invited him and Robigus to a dinner across town that evening. The hostess had said she would be pleased to have them, he explained. Bungston was very pleased for an excuse to quit looking through musty old books, and he graciously accepted the invitation. The wizard stopped at the kitchen before returning to tell Robigus; he foresaw great indignation on the part of Napoleon for not being invited, and felt sort of guilty about it himself, so he wanted to have plenty of appeasement on hand.
Back in the library, Bungston found Robigus hard at work, with several likely references marked and set aside on the study table. Napoleon was napping on a couch. Bungston quietly set his steaming bucket of boiled sausages under the mutant St. Bernard's nose, leaving the dog to twitch and slobber in his sleep while the wizard looked through what Robigus had turned up. The industrious warrior had found references in two different books to an artifact that very well could be an adze, located in the Vatican. Bungston was not sure why they would keep an adze there, but he was willing to believe anything. Plus the Vatican was a really secret place; they were always turning up mysterious old relics and long-lost goodies. Who knows what might be hidden in there? Robigus apparently had a flair for research, and had turned up several other leads on special adzes and sound-alike items. Napoleon eventually woke up with a yelp. "You guys!", he called in his chainsaw voice. "I had the weirdest dream! There were these pork chops on mopeds and they were so fast I just couldn't... Hey! Are these for me?" Napoleon had discovered the bucket of sausage and dug in with relish. After eating, the greasy mutant was not interested at all in going to a dinner party, insisting on the importance of continuing his own research.
It took Bungston several tries to summon up suitable dress clothes for the period. In three attempts he summoned a sombrero decorated with wax fruit, a pair of natty green spectacles, and a crate of plastic wrap. The fourth time he finally got two late-19th century suits, and after some coaxing Robigus reluctantly agreed to wear the green spectacles along with his new clothes. Bungston scraped the patch of mildew on his arm with the back of his cravat, and the twosome went off to meet Mr. Erskine and go on to dinner.
Lady Spongeley had a very nice house in a livelier section of London; the passengers were able to do a fair bit of people watching from inside Mr. Erskine's brougham. At the house a servant escorted them in to where the other guests were seated at the table. Mr. Erskine made the introductions. "Lady Spongeley, I am pleased to introduce to you my friend Mr. Bungston Schagg and his associate Lord Robigus." Bungston made a bow and Robigus nodded regally to the group, as befitted his divine status.
Lady Spongeley looked her name; a plump matronly woman in magenta who seemed born to host dinners. She fluttered her hands and smiled at the three from her seat. "Please, please, Lord Robigus, Mr. Erskine, Mr. Schagg, do sit down!" Bungston wondered why she had said his name last but then realized she had said them in alphabetical order. "Let me introduce you to my other guests. This is Lord Henry Wotton, Miss VanderCrab and Mr. Dorian Gray," she said, indicating each in turn. Lord Wotton was a pudgy toad in his thirties with a sardonic cast to his features. Miss VanderCrab was a little younger with wide eyes and an unassuming look. Mr. Gray was a beautiful blonde young man in his early twenties. "So Lord Robigus, what brings you and Mr. Schagg to London?"
Bungston was a little miffed this time; he was the one in charge, so his hostess should ask him why they were in town. He chalked it up to the fact that Robigus had been introduced as a lord. In fact, thought the wizard, since he was a bonafide god of mildew Robigus probably was his better, socially at least. Maybe Robigus would put on his `stern divinity' act and impress the poop out of them.
"Bungston and I are on a quest," proclaimed Robigus in commanding tones. "We seek an ancient item which has been lost for ages, and have come to London to pay a visit to Mr. Erskine and make use of his excellent library." A little terse, thought Bungston, but it sounded good. And those green shades made Robigus look stern and a half; Bungston regretted not getting a matching pair for himself. The wizard only hoped that the mildew god's linen collar would hold out until dinner was over.
"A quest!", breathed Miss VanderCrab. "It sounds so romantic! But what is it that you're questing for?"
Bungston smiled his best disarming smile at her until she looked thoroughly disarmed. "It goes by many names, and has been in many places," he murmured in pedantic tones. "We have found references to the Adze Burgraff in one books, the.. uh, Masterflaph in another, and still more names in different sources. Only when at last we find it will we be certain."
Lord Wotton leaned back in his chair. "It seems to me, and I mean no offense, that quests and such are for those men who feel a compulsion to expunge themselves of their sins - to perform a penance, as it were. But this should not be necessary! We should be accepting of our sinful nature, and learn to appreciate and cultivate the pleasures it might have to offer. A man who cuts away half of himself becomes but half a man."
Bungston was profoundly irritated. It was not so much what the flabby lord had said, which might have been worth something if it weren't utterly irrelevant to the quest in question. It was Lord Wotton's supercilious attitude, plus the fact that the other guests gobbled up his every word, that Bungston could not abide. But before the wizard could make a comeback in defense of the quest, dinner was served, and living with Napoleon had given Bungston the habit of concentrating wholeheartedly on food when it was in front of him. He could talk later.
"So Lord Robigus, where is it that you are from?", asked Lady Spongeley. "You are not English..."
"I am from a very old Italian family", replied Robigus. "I date back to pre-Roman times."
Mr. Erskine spoke up at this point. "Lord Robigus' ancestors controlled much of the agriculture in the Roman area of Italy". Mr. Erskine did not seem to think that having Robigus declare himself a god at the dinner table would go over very well.
"And War," added Robigus. "I am a god of War and mildew."
"Well! That's fascinating!", warbled Lady Spongeley. "Just like in those elegant old myths one reads - they're full of heroes who are descended from some god or goddess or such. But I had no idea that in these Christianized times there were still families who could trace their roots back to the old gods! How marvelous!" The Lady Spongeley had evidently misinterpreted Robigus' statement. "And you Mr. Schagg? Are you from Italy too? With your blonde hair I should think not!"
Bungston was going to smile his disarming smile again, but then feared he might have broccoli in his teeth and didn't. "I am more of a wandering savant, Lady Spongeley," he said suavely. "I specialize in things of...magic. VEINY BLAME ME WEIGHTY MATINGS! UNFADED BLAZE OF BAIZE CRAZED BAITINGS!" Bungston quickly lifted the cover of a soup tureen to release a small bright blue butterfly and received enthusiastic applause.

"Christianity has become somewhat of a nuisance in our times," began Lord Wotton. "As an instrument to keep the lower classes from becoming unruly it has its place, but so many capable and worthy people are spoiled by close contact to such old-fashioned sets of morals." Bungston frowned at this strange nonsequitor. "It's probably atheist," he said, inclining his head toward the butterfly, which had landed on a teapot.
"I was referring to Lady Spongeley's earlier statement..."
"Do you know any card tricks?", interrupted Mr. Gray. The young man produced a set of cards and offered them to Bungston.
"Now we shouldn't incommode Mr.Schagg," began Lady Spongeley.
"No, no, I'm still plenty commode. I know a few simple tricks, nothing too impressive." The tan wizard shuffled vigorously, then offered two cards to Miss VanderCrab. "Pick a card, any card."
"Oh, these cards do remind me of poor Ronny! I don't think I want to pick one!"
Lady Spongeley leaned over the table toward where Mr. Erskine and Robigus were seated. "Oh, it's the most horrible thing!" she said in hushed tones. "Poor Ronny Adair, murdered in his own sitting room! Shot through the head. And the police don't have a clue!"
"It could have been a suicide," suggested Mr. Gray.
"Then they would have found his gun next to him, and they found no gun at all," pointed out Lady Spongeley.
"Perhaps not," interjected Robigus. "I have heard of knives made of ice which melt after they are used. It could be that this gun was likewise made of ice, and it had vanished before any could see."
"Or maybe it was a wooden gun and he threw it in the fire afterwards," added Mr. Gray.
"After shooting himself? I think not!" exclaimed Lord Wotton.
"Maybe he just hucked a bullet at his head - real hard. Sort of flicked it." Bungston demonstrated how this could be done using an olive pit, which embedded itself in the far wall.
Miss VanderCrab rolled her eyes. "Oh, let's not talk about this. It makes me ill."
Lord Wotton turned to face Miss VanderCrab, a smug look on his face. "But Miss VanderCrab, is it not human to be fascinated by death? Just as an artist cannot paint a light without adding the shadows, we cannot think of life without sometimes confronting death. We should try to free ourselves of inhibitions in thought, as well as in action; certain trains of thought arise naturally in the mind, and a person who allows her inhibitions to attack these thoughts and drive them out will become mediocre and conventional." Lord Wotton was warming up, his jowls vibrating and his cheeks flushing. "It is a shame that people have such a fear of strong emotions - greed, disgust, lust, jealousy. All of our customs are designed to quash these emotions back into the void from which they spring. But what could be more human, more spontaneous than these, the epitome of humanity? We should set inhibition aside and seek out situations where emotion tends to arise - for what experience is more exciting than the utterly subjective and personal experience of emotion?"
Bungston cleared his throat, his crewcut bristling. "So Lord Wotton, you believe that we should all try to get rid of our inhibitions?"
Lord Wotton shrugged and picked up his glass. "I only believe that inhibitions do nothing except diminish the range of experiences this life has to offer. We must do as we will despite what society has trained us to believe is right and wrong."
Bungston nodded. "Yeah? Like what? Do what sort of things?"
Lord Wotton cleared his throat. "Well, discuss forbidden topics, for example. Sample uncommon pleasures without fear."
Bungston had begun to mix stuff from the table together in his glass; he added some gravy and pear nectar, then a splash of cream, then some wine and mustard, and finally a few squirts of vinegar. The wizard then produced his nifty nutmeg grater and ground a little nutmeg on the top of the brownish mess. "Ok Lord Wotton, how about you drink this?"
Lord Wotton crinkled a nostril at the formidable melange in Bungston's wine glass. "It smells nasty."
Bungston clucked at the reluctant lord. "What's the matter Henry? Inhibitions got your nards? Come on, O uninhibited one, I sense some strong emotion in the making. Drink up!"
"Yes Lord Wotton. You have to drink it," added Miss VanderCrab.
"It's disgusting and I don't want to," spat Lord Wotton.
"She's right, Lord Wotton. Now you have to drink it," said Mr. Erskine.
"You got to. You just got to!", put in Mr. Gray.
Bungston leaned craftily over the glass, stirring in pepper with the handle of his fork and chanting in a low voice. "Drink..drink..drink.." The other guests quickly joined in. "Drink...drink..." The rhythm of the chant grew faster and faster. Bungston began to pound out a tempo on the table.
"Enough! Enough!" Lord Wotton grabbed the glass and pounded the clotted mixture in a single gulp. He grabbed for his water glass as a chaser but Bungston had slid it out of his reach. "PLLAAAHH! MULLAAHHH!" Lord Wotton made some interesting sounds.
Bungston waggled a finger at him. "Just another of those experiences life has to offer. And you would have missed it if you had been inhibited! Maybe there's a message here, hmmm?" Lord Wotton seemed all choked up, so Bungston seized the moment for a bit of philosophy. "The problem with emotion is it isn't all that subjective. I mean, it's subjective because it's your own experience, but it really depends on the situation you're in. Like, if I want to make Mr. Erskine feel angry, or Miss VanderCrab feel embarrased, I can do that. Emotions can be manipulated by other people; whether it's love or jealously or loathing, there's no emotion which someone can't make you feel, and maybe against your will. So emotions aren't really all spontaneous and springy from the void - they spring from other human beings." Bungston speared a chunk of cork out of his wine glass with his fork, and examined it thoughtfully. "Except one. Grumpiness. Grumpiness is the nomad of emotions. Nobody can make you be grumpy. Maybe irritated, maybe frustrated, but not grumpy. Grumpy is the only feeling which truly comes from within. So it's the purest emotion, the master emotion, because it is the only one not subject... to the whims of fate." The wizard flourished fork and cork for this final poetic sprinkle. "And I propose a toast to Lord Wotton who has munificently provided us with the proof of my fine theory."
"Hear hear," said Mr. Gray. The toast was drunk, but Lord Wotton was not there to appreciate it - he had turned a little green in the face halfway through Bungston's lecture and had fled the room.
After dinner Bungston, Robigus and Mr. Erskine were getting ready to leave when they were approached by Mr. Gray. "I thought the things you said tonight made a great deal of sense, Mr. Schagg," he said shyly. "I was very impressed."
"Aw shucks," blushed the modest magician. "Wisdom comes easy for guys like me."
"I would be flattered if you would come to my house sometime for us to discuss these matters."
"Well, now that you mention it," said Bungston, "you've got a picture at your place I've just been dying to see. Can we go right now?"
Mr. Gray was agreeable to this, and so Bungston and Robigus said goodnight to Mr. Erskine and left in a cab with Mr. Gray. At his house, Mr. Gray took the adventurous duo to a little used room where he kept the picture. It was a portrait of Dorian Gray himself, executed with exceeding skill. Every detail was perfect, from his golden hair to the curve of his jaw. Robigus examined the picture closely. "It is a marvelous work. The artist has truly captured you on canvas."
Mr. Gray did not seem so enthusiastic. "Yes, so much so that sometimes it scares me. I feel as if the picture were a window on to my soul."
Bungston smacked his lips. "Yeah, well how about that. But you know, whoever painted this puppy left out a few things. Like this." Bungston wielded a mean felt tip, and he added a big cartoon smile to the picture. He also made the nostrils a little bigger. "How's that grab you Mr.Gray?"
Mr. Gray just grinned at him. "I think it looks even better than it did before! I'm twice as pleased with it now!"
Bungston nodded. "Yeah, I thought you would be." A far away glint appeared in the wizard's eye. "SCARVISH MARMOT BARNS AND PLUMMET PUPPY SCRAPEY MADE OF YARN AND TWICE AS LATE AS FAMOUS REAMS OF WHIPPING SPATE!" A palette and brush appeared in the wizard's arms and he went to work. Soon a big rasta doobie grew in the mouth of the golden lad in the picture. It was joined by a hint of sparkly fluorescent green over the eyes, purple accents on the lashes, and finally a big Jolly Roger as a background for the young man's head. Bungston held up a thumb appraisingly. "There. Just a few touch-ups. Now a little preservative..." Bungston sprayed a clear acryllic coat over the whole thing, fixing the pigments for eternity. "Ok Dorian, what do you think now?"
Mr. Gray blinked his half-lidded eyes in bewildered amazement. "Man...it's just so, so... me!", he said slowly but with emotion. "Bottle my bollocks, but I never realized it before! It's just... perfect! Oh, how can I thank you enough, you fabulous man!" The beautiful young man flung his arms around Bungston in a grateful embrace.
The wizard shuffled around proudly. "It was the least I could do in this, your hour of need. But now we must go. Take it easy." Robigus and Bungston left Dorian Gray staring contentedly at the rakish young man in the portrait.
Robigus was none too pleased as he and Bungston walked down the street. "Bungston, you did not improve that portrait in the least. It is a crime to deface such an excellent piece of art."
"But I didn't deface it! He liked it!"
"That is his own stupidity. When the artist has finished, his work should be left as it is."
Bungston patted the scowling god on the shoulder. "Bob, no need to get your dander up. Normally I would agree with you, but that was a special case. That portrait was the soul of Dorian Gray. The soul! How could I pass up a chance like that?"
"Do you mean that you altered Mr. Gray's very soul? How could you do such a thing?"
"Well Robigus, look at it this way. Yes, he has the soul of a stoned transvestite pirate, but it's a very happy and damn good looking stoned transvestite pirate, and it will continue to be very happy and damn good looking just about forever. Not that bad a deal, huh? There are plenty of worse things that could happen to old Dorian, like turning into an evil bloodstained prune. Hey, check it out."
The two had reached the street outside the townhouse of the murdered young man whom they had briefly discussed at dinner. A small group of passers-by was clustered along a flower bed which lay under the window. Bungston pointed at the window. "Right there, Bob. That's where Ron Adair bit it big."
Robigus' furrowed his brow and stared up at the window through his green spectacles. Then he abruptly turned to face Bungston, a sizeable hunk of his moldy collar falling away with the sudden movement. "Now Bungston, tell me truthfully. What is your opinion of the possibility that the man committed suicide? In some cases it may be an honorable thing to do, yes?"
The wizard reached into his pocket and retrieved a tuft of broccoli saved from dinner. He offered this to a horse tied to a nearby post, which accepted eagerly. "Well, it's not so much the honor thing, but they didn't find a gun. Or a note, I don't think. Wouldn't he leave a note?"
A teenager in a plaid cap had been eavesdropping. "Maybe the note blew out the window."
"Yes, and the gun could have been constructed of ice, as I said during dinner. Perhaps the force of the shot shattered it, and this is why there was no puddle..." Robigus was off and running, and he seemed to have an attentive audience; several passers by had slowed to hear this tall gray fellow talk about guns made of ice and puddle principles and whatnot.
Bungston just couldn't get too interested. The horse next to him nosed at his hand in search of broccoli. "SCABROUS RABID BRASSICA BATTING. MATTED WINE ACID CASTING IS FINE FOR THE PORCUPINE. TRY ME!" Bungston's pockets bulged with cauliflower, which the horse proved equally fond of. There also appeared in his vest pocket a small crazed enamel ball. It was perfectly round and rattled when shaken, but it didn't have a latch or any hinges. "Heh. Maybe this is the thingy." The horse sniffed at the enamel ball but was nonplussed. Bungston's attention was diverted from his new possession by a old man wearing white muttonchops hobbling down the street with an armful of books. Occasionally the old man peered at the Adair apartments, feigning nonchalance. He seemed to actually be a very tall man wearing a short coat and doing a good job of making it fit.
Bungston snuck over to the old man and tugged on a muttonchop. which came away in his hand. "Hey!" he whispered in conspiritorial tones. "The butler did it! Naw, just kidding, just kidding. I'll swap you this mask for Origins of Tree Worship. Make a great disguise someday!" The wizard dangled the fur-festooned Elmer Fudd mask and the lost muttonchop in front of the old man's face, who at first seemed peeved, then rather nervous.
"Yes, yes, fine," he said in a strange croaking voice. The old man fished out Origins with long nimble fingers and shoved it at Bungston, then snatched the latex Fudd and muttonchop, quickly pressing the latter back onto his face. "But I must be going!"
"HOW COME?", bellowed the wizard. "DON'T YOU WANT ANYONE TO NOTICE YOU? Hee hee hee!" The wizard giggled as the unnaturally hunched old man scurried away, only to slam into a solidly built doctor several yards down the street. "Oh, that's rich." Bungston turned to listen to Robigus, who was still going full tilt and was gaining an impressed audience. As the warior got more excited, his clothes seemed to decay even as he spoke. Bungston realized a disaster was pending.
Suddenly there was a ruckus at the cross-street two blocks away. A dangerous-looking mob was making its way up the street. They carried lanterns to penetrate the lengthening shadows, and they looked like they were armed. "Yo, Robigus! Something's going on!"
The idlers listening to Robigus had all hurried away to join the mob, and the mildew god hastened to where Bungston was standing in the street. Robigus was now wearing only a suit coat over bare flesh, his shirt having given up the ghost. "What do you think is going on, Bungston?"
"I have no idea, but I want to find out. That's pretty stylish there Bob," he added, indicating the warrior's exposed chest. "Come on, and watch out for horse heaps." The two jogged off down the street.The mob had not only lanterns but torches, which struck Bungston as odd and pretty risky, considering the built-up area. Many of the people running along were armed as well, most with clubs and similar bludgeons, but some with rifles, pistols and swords. Weirdest of all, there were people carrying silver carving knives and candelabras. Bungston winced when he noticed all the candelabras in the crowd. "I'm getting really bad vibes from this, Bob."
The puffing warrior nodded grimly as he jogged and pushed his green spectacles higher on his nose. "My vibes are none too good either."

Chapter 10

The mob made its way through town with Bungston and Robigus in the midst of it. The two grabbed sticks when they had the opportunity, both to blend in and also because it seemed like there might be a need for them, judging by the attitude of the crowd. The angry group stormed shouting and brandishing arms up a hill to an old graveyard. There they picked their way among the crumbling tombstones to join a substantial throng already milling about. The torches and lanterns sent wild shadows leaping and bounding about the decrepit stones like a crazed troop of ghouls. All attention was focused on one unnaturally large figure which shambled back and forth atop a big mausoleum on the crest of the hill, where it was hemmed in by the growing crowd. A man standing near Bungston swore in fright at the size of its teeth, and grabbed his candelabra a little tighter. The beast was hideous and hairy, and its cornered howls and shrieks penetrated through the yells of the crowd. It bared its awesome canines often, and swiped at any daring soul which drew near. It looked like it was wearing a sombrero decorated with wax fruit.
"Oh man. How did he get up there? Now what do we do?" cried Bungston in despair. "We'll never get rid of this crowd." The wizard looked at the people nearby, who, although well armed, did not seem overly interested in using their weapons. At the edge of the graveyard a group of people were trying to melt down a silver candelabra in an effort to cast bullets.
The creature atop the mausoleum began to sing in an incomprehensibly hoarse voice, adding a few shambly dance moves here and there and occasionally tipping his sombrero to the crowd. "If ya want my baaahhdie and ya think I'm sehhhxie..." The milling crowd nervously shifted farther away from this evil monster dancing atop a house of the dead. Someone threw a rock. The shaggy beast was quick to respond in kind by plucking a bunch of wax grapes off of his sombrero and winging it at his assailant. It was a pretty bad shot, but the crowd was so dense it had to hit somebody.
Robigus prodded Bungston's shoulder. "You must do something, Bungston. Soon they will begin shooting."
The wizard hemmed and hawed a bit. "uh, FREE BEER!", he shouted. It was obvious, however, that Bungston had no beer, and he was ignored. A squad of armed police was moving purposefully up the hill toward the graveyard. Bungston was in a dilemma. He didn't want to do anything that might hurt the townspeople in the crowd; heck, if a big hairy monster showed up in his city he'd probably go to see it too, and take the kids. Maybe not the kids. The wizard briefly considered trying to animate the dead, since there were so many handy, but it would probably take about an hour for a bunch of scroungy old skeletons to dig their way out, if they managed to at all.
The police were entering the graveyard gate. Robigus turned to the smaller wizard and shook him vigorously. "Cast a spell, or we shall have to engage these townsfolk in combat!"
"All right, I'm on it, I'm on it!" Bungston rubbed his temples furiously. "Ah - ah - CLAIM TO FAME AND STAIN OF DEW WELL GEEN GEEN GEEN IT'S P-B-Q BUT WHAT A SHAME MY BREATH MY DRESS MY SUGAR CANE A RISKY SIP OF THE OLD NIGHT TRAIN! ANKLE BRACELET WASTREL FACE IT OCELOTS YOU GOTTA MACE IT WANKERS TANKERS QUETZALCOUATL WATTLE ACE IT! WOOO!"
In a blink of an eye the monster on the mausoleum was replaced by a matronly old woman, still wearing a sombrero decorated with wax fruit. She continued to dance around yowling and growling, but soon stopped and stood still after noticing the radically different expressions on the faces of the crowd. "It's the Queen!", shouted someone. "God save the Queen!"
"It's noot the Queen!" retorted another voice. "It's a god-dammed shapeshifting divvil!"
Robigus looked sideways at Bungston. "Not bad on short notice, eh Bob?" boasted the wizard.
It was fortunate that this dubious Queen Victoria was standing on a mausoleum and framed against the sky - it was thus tough to tell that she was over seven feet tall. She seemed a little confused, and was scanning the crowd growling something. "Bung? Bung? Where are you?" Bungston did not dare answer for fear people would get wise; then since he was a little guy with little teeth he did not think the crowd would feel much trepidation about closing in and whaling on him with sticks.
"Kill the shapeshifter!"
"It's the Queen! It's the Queen! You can't kill the Queen!"
"The Queen is a shapeshifter!"
"Down with the Queen! Down with shapeshifters!"
At least I confused the poop out of them, thought Bungston. At that moment the Queen spoke. Her voice had been sadly misused by the singing earlier, and was only a little smoother than a can full of rocks being shaken. "I am your Queen! Kneel before your Queen!", she rasped mightily. A goodly number of people knelt, but most just stared. The squadron of police had pushed to the front of the crowd, but they stood around in confusion, not wanting to shoot the Queen. The captain walked close to the mausoleum and confronted the queen towering above him.
"If you're the Queen - and no offense if you are, your majesty - then what are you doing up there? And what happened to that big troll that was up there a second ago?"
The Queen leaned down and glared at the man, her sombrero blocking out the sky. She pointed a finger at the captain, who couldn't help but notice that the Queen's hand was almost as big as his head. "Listen up, bub," she menacingly growled. "I'm the Queen, and if I want to hang out up here, that's what I'm gonna do. When you're Queen you can do what you want. Got that?"
The captain backed away fearfully from this low-voiced monster monarch. "SOOT TAINTED HOOK BAITED IPECAC BASTARDS! MASSIVE WAVES OF LAMBENT CASTORS!"
Suddenly the sombrero worn by the Queen burst free from her head, sending her gray hair flying. The wax fruits also came loose, but they stayed in orbit about the flying sombrero, no doubt because of the hat's natural attraction for such things. Bungston had previous experience with magically animated PVC pipe, and it came in handy here. The sombrero swooped down and thumped the police chief in the Adam's apple, then glided off along the forefront of the crowd, its satellite grapes and mangos whacking chins and noses as it went. "Beware! Beware my Royal Sombrero of Vengeance!", ad-libbed the Queen in prophetic tones.
The sombrero, however, was taking a lot of abuse from the crowd; Bungston grimaced as a well-swung cricket bat practically inverted the crown. Time to break out the big guns, thought the woeful wizard. He began to shuffle and dance around, doing a sort of mystic hokey-pokey, and chanting rhythmic stuff the whole time. Some townsfolk approached curiously. "You havin' a conniption fit, guvnor?", asked one concerned fellow.
"Stand you away from him!", shouted Robigus imperiously, throwing up a hand. The mildew god cut an intimidating figure in the tatters of his coat and the remnants of his trousers. His eyes flashed though the green spectacles, and people quickly backed off. The air grew thick, making vision difficult. People in the crowd began to emit frenzied curses; this was because a spate of toads and banana slugs had fallen out of the sky and lodged themselves in collars and hats. Bungston himself cursed a little and continued to rant and rave. The rain of critters ceased. "AND BY MY WIGGING BITCHY SNEEZER - THAT TONEDEAF BONELESS FEEBLE REEKING HEAP BIG TEASER!" A gout of hellish blue and purple flame boiled up from the ground with a subdued roar, creating an unearthly pillar of fire which immolated the mausoleum. The crowd jumped back in fright, some crossing themselves and many fleeing outright. The flames immediately subsided to a mere flickering ring, but inside the ring there was no mausoleum. A bare expanse of wet grass confronted the baffled townsfolk, across from which stood other perplexed citizens.
Robigus looked at Bungston in awe. "It is incredible..," he whispered.
The wizard's face looked dehydrated and drawn, his tan having faded to an ashen yellow. He muttered something about mirrors and gave Robigus a shove. "Meet you five blocks west of here. I've got to move fast." The warrior departed with alacrity. Bungston, as a result of his mammoth spell, had obtained a new pair of boots. He put these on, gritted his teeth, and jumped straight up and out of sight into the night sky. By this point no-one was paying much attention to the skinny little man, and his miraculous ascent went unnoticed.
On top of the mausoleum, Napoleon was almost as confused as the townsfolk he was watching. The sudden burst of fire had scared the bejeezus out of the beleaguered mutant, but since he was already aware that Bungston was out in the crowd working magic, he was not worried for long. For a second or two he thought that maybe the wild wizard really had decided to summon up a demon, as per Napoleon's own advice earlier. This was evidently not the case, and now the big maroon dog squatted placidly on top of the mausoleum, watching the police try to stomp out what was left of the ring of supernatural fire. There was a solid thump behind him, and Napoleon spun around to see his master lying spread-eagled on top of the mausoleum. "Hey Bung! That was one awesome trick! Did you make the whole building invisible or what?"
The wizard struggled to his feet and rubbed his quads. "Shut your yapper, they can still hear us," he whispered wearily. For a few moments the wizard just leaned on Napoleon's shoulder. "I should stick to summoning," he said to the big mutant. "I'm a wreck after all these large-scale glamours and stuff." Bungston was silent for a few more seconds, then straightened and turned his back to Napoleon. "Ok, here, hang on to me. I hate these kangaroo boots, but we've got to use them. You on? Alright, here we go." With the shaggy mutant's arms once more obscuring his vision, the wizard did a careful deep knee bend, then sprang back up into the sky, this time at less steep of an angle. Night wind whistled past as they left the crowded graveyard behind, arcing out over the gate and west toward the practically deserted streets. Bungston realized en route that if his previous landing was rough, this one with 300+ pounds of mutant on his back was going to be a lot rougher. "Yo, hey, Nap! Bail out!" The wizard wriggled out of Napoleon's grasp.
"What? Wait!" The puzzled mutant was off and hurtling along by himself before he could do anything about it. Napoleon barely kept from howling in terror on the way down, but he knew that Bungston wouldn't actually let him splat.
Meanwhile, Bungston put his physics knowledge to use and made himself aerodynamic. He beat his flying mutant down to the street. Immediately on touching down, Bungston's famed agility kicked in; the wizard spun, oriented himself, and as Napoleon came hurtling in from above he launched himself in another jump. The magical momentum imparted by the boots perfectly canceled out Napoleon's inertia, and Bungston was left standing still in the street, Napoleon in his arms. He unceremoniously dropped the weighty St. Bernard and began to hustle north. Napoleon caught up fast.
"I'm sorry about all that, Bung. But they were chasing me around, and then I got cornered on top of that grave building, and I figured trying to be nice to them wouldn't do any good..."
"So you pretended to be a killer werewolf to scare holy hell out of them. That's thinking."
"Well, I don't know. They didn't shoot me, and it was a rush. I liked the slugs and toads, by the way. I even caught a big toad, but then I lost it when you jumped."
Bungston was peeved. "That was a by-product. An intermediate. I'm just glad the big one came off as well as it did. There's Bob,"
Robigus was now naked except for the glasses and Bungston's puffin pattern nylon baggies, which had valiantly stuck by him. He emerged from a doorway where he had been waiting and proffered his hand for Bungston to shake. "Truly, that was one of the most amazing feats of wizardry I have ever seen! The pillar of fire - it took the breath away! And then the whole building vanished! But the best was the vermin from the sky; that was an elegant touch few would have added,"
Bungston had sat down on the curb to rest, soaking up the praise until this last, which left him a tad off balance. "Well I'm glad you guys liked those toads so much, but I don't think I had anything to do with it. Just sort of serendipitous. But I don't know, I guess I've never really tried - maybe I could whip up a toadstorm for you both someday." The wizard was warming to the idea of airborne toads. "Maybe I should try a toadstorm right now? I'm in the groove, after all!"

Napoleon was looking nervously over his shoulder. "Yeah, that'd be cool," he grunted, "but maybe we should get moving. There's people coming down the street." Bungston had to concede the wisdom of this idea, and the three adventurers made off down a back alley. Leaving Robigus and Napoleon, Bungston hailed a cab, then went back to pick the two up. The cabbie was distracted by Bungston's loud conversation and nutmeg scented breath, and thus did not get a good look at the near-naked man and bipedal dog which also piled into his cab.
Once in the cab, Napoleon seemed preoccupied. "Er, maybe we shouldn't go back to Mr. Erskine's house," mumbled the mutant. "Maybe we should get our spring machine and just go home." Bungston looked at him suspiciously. "Well, it wasn't my fault!", the St. Bernard protested. "A big garden is private enough, wouldn't you think? But no... have to have a tea party or a cottilion or something out there, with loads of little kids and stuff. It's not that I hurt them or growled or anything; usually little kids like me. Anyway, I meant to stay in the library." The shaggy dog hung his head. In the light of this new information, Bungston agreed that returning to the beach was a capital idea. It was several hours ride to the shore in a cab, but Bungston's reservoir of Avalonian gold proved persuasive. Bungston and Napoleon power napped en route.

Chapter 11

The cab brought them as close as it could, then Bungston paid the cabbie well with four pieces of gold and the adventurers got out to walk. Bungston's Voyageur pack and Robigus' armor had not been disturbed in their hiding place; Robigus retrieved these and Bungston extracted the control statue from his pack. The humming coil emerged like clockwork, and the three adventurers were soon underwater.
Bungston took out On the Origin of Tree Worship and paged through it by the light of the wrapped carriage, occasionally snorting or giggling at some delectable tidbit. Robigus cleared his throat. "Bungston, what is our next destination?"
The wizard looked up in surprise. "Well, home. Wasn't that where Nap wanted to go?"
Robigus frowned, as Bungston suspected he enjoyed doing. "But should we not continue our quest and go to Rome? That is where the books said the adze might be found. We possess the necessary equipment for our quest." Robigus indicated the Voyageur pack. "You yourself said only recently that you were `in the groove'; does that not mean you are excited to confront new adventures?"
Bungston slowly nodded. "Yeah, I guess we are all set here..."
Napoleon realized that they actually might go directly on to more questing without any long relaxing interim on the beach, a prospect which did not appeal to him at all. He cleared his throat and spoke in an extra loud chainsaw grind. "Yeah, but we're all pretty tired. Maybe we should go back and rest and take it easy. On the beach. You're pretty tired too Bung. That was big magic." It was the wrong thing to say.
Bungston looked sharply at the baggy-eyed mutant. "Tired? I'm not tired. That magic was nothing - I was ready to do some more for you guys, but you stopped me, Nap, remember? Well, I'm ready for adventure if you guys are!"
"We fear nothing!" declared Robigus. "We will confront our enemies!"
"Yes!" Bungston's enthusiasm flared anew. "We will confront our enemies! We will confront them and whup them into ignominious defeat!"
"Then onward!" exclaimed Robigus. He reached for his sword to flourish but it was packed with his armor. Napoleon muttered something then hunched in a corner and sulked. Bungston corrected the course of the wrapped carriage to take the quest to Rome, then opened up Origins again. He was asleep within five minutes.

This time there was plenty of warning before the coil emerged from the sea, and Robigus shook his snoozing compatriots to wake them when he noticed the water around them becoming lighter. The water around them changed from black to blue to a shade of green, and then Bungston leveled off a fair distance below the surface. He piloted the wrapped carriage to an inlet not far from the mouth of the Tiber, where it hid itself on the beach as usual. It was broad daylight, but by sheer luck there weren't many people nearby. Only a sailor who was keeping watch aboard a nearby cargo ship saw the coil make its appearance, and for whatever reason he kept quiet.
Once on land Robigus headed for shade, the sun being pretty fierce. The polyester disco suit had unfortunately been left at Mr. Erskine's mansion, so Bungston dug through his Voyageur pack and produced a sloppily tie-dyed sweatshirt and a pair of parachute pants for Robigus. Protected by his armor and crimson crested helmet, Robigus would have no problem in the heat of the Roman day. Then there was the problem of Napoleon. Bungston eyed his shaggy companion critically. "Don't let him go anywhere, Bob," he admonished the mildew god, and then left. There was not much threat of Napoleon wandering off; he had already curled up in the shade next to Robigus. Robigus draped him with the camoflauge tarpaulin just in case.
The wandering wizard eventually spied a faded purple awning over a shop. His outrageously high offer for the awning was eagerly accepted by the proprietor, and Bungston shook the awning off and carted it back to where Robigus and Napoleon waited. Lightning reflexes made him a speedy sewer, and in no time he had whipped up an XXXL monk robe, complete with long sleeves and drooping cowl. He prodded Napoleon awake with a big toe and handed him the robe. "Here you go Nap. With this thing on you'll fit in just fine. This city is teeming with monks." Bungston spent a gold piece on a small rowboat, and soon the threesome were headed upstream toward the Eternal City.
Napoleon had first shift rowing, since Bungston said it would be a good way to get the blood pumping and get him fired up for the new day. The cloaked mutant tired of fighting the current pretty quickly, and after some prompting Bungston conjured up an electric trolling motor on the condition that Napoleon still row a little, to keep up appearances. The river was full of barges, dingys, and a plethora of other boats. Even with the electric motor, it was several hours before they were in Rome proper.
"The first thing on our list should be food," announced Bungston. "You're a Roman, Bob. Know anyplace with tasty edibles?"
Robigus had been surveying the passing city with amazement. "I have not returned to Rome since the fall of the Empire. It is like a different city."
"Well, I guess we'll just cruise along until we find a public wharf. There's bound to be a food place near that, for all the sailors."
Watching the passing banks, the travellers slowly got a feeling that all was not well in Rome. Several buildings looked like they had been recently burned, but they were not closely grouped, as they would have been if a big fire had swept them. It was as if some buildings had arbitrarily been torched and others spared. When they passed a small church on the river it became obvious something was wrong. Only shards remained of the stained glass windows, and the few statues that remained had been badly vandalized. Remnants of graffiti still showed on the outer wall, although someone had made an effort to scrub them off.
Bungston shook his head. "Who would have thought somebody would attack a church in Rome! People are crazy all over, I guess."
Robigus shook his head, frowning in thought. "No, I fear this bodes no good."
Napoleon stomped gingerly, then with more force. "Seems alright to me,"
Bungston scooped a handful of dirty Tiber water onto the mutant monk, then turned back to Robigus. "What do you mean, Bob? What's up?"
Robigus waved the wizard off, saying he was not certain. Eventually the rowboat reached a likely looking wharf, and the three disembarked. Bungston bribed the guy who looked like he was in charge to keep a careful watch on the boat, and the questers set off on foot. Something bad had definitely happened recently in the city. An unusual number of buildings looked abandoned, with their doors broken in and garbage accumulated inside. Bungston knelt and took a look at a pile of trash that had blown into a crevice. "Looks like my old magazines that time that crab got into the magazine box," grunted Napoleon.
"Yeah. Not too far off." Bungston held up a shred for observation. It was vellum, and it had Latin on one side and a section of an illumination on the other. "Pretty nice books to be feeding to crabs,".
There was an eatery not too far away. All ate their fill, and then kicked back with flavored ices afterwards. "Bungston, I fear that we have arrived only a little while after the sack of Rome in 1527. I have read tales of this during my stay in Avalon - it is not a good period to be searching for the magic adze. It is certain that anything of value will have been spirited away from its original place."
Bungston shrugged his shoulders. "All the better! Maybe we'll find it at a garage sale! Lots easier than trying to deal with a bunch of grumpy popes."
"Unless some soldier guy took it back to Germany to put on his mantel," said Napoleon from beneath his cowl.
Bungston wiped some ice off his generous nose, then slapped the table and began to plan. "Well, first thing is to find out where it was originally. Maybe it's still there. If not, we can figure out who took it, and then go talk to them." The wizard leapt to his feet and marched over to the proprietor and paid him with a piece of gold. The man was happy to tell such a big tipper that old relics and things of value that belonged to the Church were kept in the Vatican. With this worthy piece of information, the threesome set off through the wounded city. Despite the recent invasion, with all its pillage and death, the Romans seemed to have bounced back well. Business was as usual in most places, and construction crews were at work on some damaged buildings. Bungston stopped at a shop and bought a big floppy red and green hat to disguise his blond hair and get in the Renaissance mood. He bought one for Robigus too, but the warrior would not wear it, preferring his helmet. Napoleon took the spare hat instead and put it on under his hood when no-one was looking. It did little to disguise the already unusual contours of his head.
Robigus kept staring around him. "I cannot believe how much Rome has changed. All the beautiful buildings - they are gone. Cannibalized." The warrior pointed to several blocks of old marble that had been incorporated into the wall of a newer brick building. "Only seldom can I tell where we are."
Bungston gave him a paternal pat on his punctured shoulder plate. "Hey, they didn't call it the Renaissance for nothing."
It was tough to tell if the Vatican itself had been raided or not. There was a lot of construction work in progress there, but no-one was working on it at the moment - most likely the invasion had put a halt to all unnecessary labor. The three looked over the unfinished basilica, and then Bungston walked over to a teenager in a floppy hat who was standing around with a halberd. "Hi! We have the same taste in hats!", piped Bungston..
The guard spoke tenatively, more concerned with the man in armor and the giant monk than with Bungston. "I suppose we do. Why are you wearing armor, sir?", he asked Robigus.
Bungston answered for him. "My bud sunburns easily. Would you happen to know where the valuables are kept? Ancient relics, stuff like that. Magical goods." The wizard had originally addressed the young guard in Italian, but switched to Swiss-German after hearing his accent.
The Swiss guard was astonished to hear his own language spoken, and this neutralized any suspicion he might have felt concerning Bungston's curiosity about treasure. He gave directions to a building not far away, saying that the prefect of the Library could help them. Bungston thanked him and they left.
At the building they were stopped just inside the entrance by a pudgy balding man. He pointed at Robigus in great agitation. "Who are you to come in here, a place of learning, dressed for battle? Are you going to chop up our books with your sword there, eh?"
Robigus took off his helmet and glared at the man from beneath a beetling brow. "Trouble us not, whining... er... skink! I will gird my loins as I please!" Robigus spoke in High Latin, and this threw the librarian for a loop, since only priests and church officials spoke Latin. Also, Robigus had a haughty air about him, and pallid gray skin. The man's attitude did a quick about-face.
"Ah, I'm sorry, terrible mistake, your Reverence," he whined obsequiously. The librarian had apparently decided Robigus was one of the warrior cardinals so fashionable in those days, and that he should be buttered up as much as was possible. "How may I be of service?"
Bungston stepped in. "Thanks. We would like to know where the ancient relics are kept."
The librarian looked at him quizzically. "Not here. Here there are only written things, scrolls, ancient texts. Things of that nature. Yes, there are only written things here. May I ask what exactly it is you would like to see?"
Bungston pointed at Napoleon, who was roaming around a little way off. "My friend the monk there is looking for an special adze, to finish his doctoral thesis. I'm helping him because he's taken a vow of silence, and so he can't talk - those monks, huh?" Bungston slapped the man on the shoulder, chortling merrily. The librarian managed a chortle as well, and Bungston continued. "This thing is a minor relic, of no great importance except to scholars. His studies said it would be located somewhere around here - in Rome somewhere, you understand."
The librarian shook his head sadly. "Ah, yes. There were many such things in St. Peter's, before he tore it down. You have seen the new basilica they are building?" Bungston said he had. "Well, first they tore down St. Peter's and there were many things of beauty in that place, but Il Ruinante threw them all away, these - how many - twenty years past! I am an old man. But I remember well! They had wheelbarrows full of the beautiful statues, tapestries, many things from all corners of the world. Ancient things, works of art. And now they are gone. In all likelihood, more things of value were lost through his work than through the doings of the cursed heretics who raped this city." The man spat on the floor as an addendum to this statement. Bungston also spat, to show solidarity. The librarian forged ahead. "Although of course he did not kill anyone. And his works are things of beauty..." The man had to stop to catch his breath, and Bungston took advantage of the pause.
"Il Ruinante? Who's that? A person? Maybe he knows where some of the good stuff went?"
Again the librarian shook his head. "No, Signor Bramante is many years in his grave. But let me think." The man scratched his pate. "There is a Signor Amatto who was the student of Bramante, and perhaps he can show your friend where this relic might have been taken." The bald man took a closer look at Napoleon, squinting at the faded purple awning he wore. "Your friend wears a habit like none I have ever seen. What order does he belong to?"
"Ah - Carnivora. Thank you very much, you've been lots of help." Bungston spat on the floor again in farewell, then grabbed Napoleon and propelled him hastily out of the library, Robigus bringing up the rear. "Pretty windy guy, but I suppose you've got to talk when you can if you work in a library. That news about St. Peter's is helpful. So all the stuff that was in St. Peter's got moved out. Let's find this Signor Amatto."
It took several hours of asking random people before they found Amatto, and when they did it turned out he had no idea where the valuables had been taken. He explained that Bramante had been under a lot of pressure from the Pope to build fast, and had not had time to concern himself with the contents of the basilica he had razed. Amatto did know of a priest who had taken charge of some of the more precious objects, and he gave Bungston the man's name. The sun was setting when they left the architect.
Bungston slung his Voyageur pack on his back and adjusted the sweaty tumpline across his forehead, then looked wearily over to his companions. "You guys want to call it a day? I'm pooped. Let's find somewhere to stay." Bungston scanned the buildings around him, searching for a pensione.
"Bungston, Napoleon, if you two are willing I know of a very nice place where we might spend the night. And it is free." Robigus was pretty fired up to go to this place, so Bungston shrugged and he and Napoleon followed the armored man off down the street. They got on one of the main roads and kept going. After a while they reached the city wall, which had seen some damage during the invasion. They left the city behind and struck out into the country.
"Are we going to sleep in the fields?" asked Napoleon.
"No, no. It should not be much farther."
It was about a half-mile more before they reached a wooded area. Robigus stopped at its edge and stared at the trees.
Bungston peered into the woods, but it was pitch black. "Does someone live here, Bob?"
"Look at the trees! They are huge!" Robigus stared around him at the trees, then forged ahead into the darkness. Bungston and Napoleon hustled to match his pace. When they caught up to the mildew god, Bungston took out his arc light and illuminated the glade. The trees were big enough that no sunlight could penetrate them, and thus the forest floor was not too overgrown. All in all it looked fairly comfortable. Robigus took off his armor and relaxed next to one of the mammoth trees.
"Surprised they haven't cut these down, since they're so nice and so close to the city," remarked Bungston. The wizard settled himself down as well, then fished some blankets out of his pack and tossed one to Robigus. "You used to hang out here, Bob?"
Napoleon was sniffing around in the undergrowth. "Hey, look guys. Ruins!" The St. Bernard pawed under some greenery and produced the left half of a statue head. "I guess he looked better in profile, huh?" He took the statue over to Bungston and shone the arc-light on it. The frowning features were very familiar. "Hey Robigus - this is you!"
Robigus propped himself up on an elbow and glanced at the ruined bust. "So it is. But that is not surprising, as this is my place."
Napoleon loped over to the mildew god's tree and hunkered down beside him. "What do you mean? You used to live here?"
"In a manner of speaking. I am, as I mentioned, the god of war and mildew, and it was here that in the old days people would come to offer me sacrifice. So their wheat would not succumb to mildew."
Bungston had taken an interest in this conversation. "Why would you want to get mildew on the wheat in the first place, Bob? Doesn't do you much good, as far as I can see, and it seems so out of character. You like mildewy wheat?"
Robigus shrugged, but did not look embarrassed. He was on his home turf, and it was OK to be a mildew god. "From time to time it seemed like a good idea. I was more obstreperous in those days. And yes, there is something to be said for mildewy wheat." Bungston could appreciate the mildew god's actions, as he appreciated most arbitrary actions.
Napoleon's mind was elsewhere. "What sort of sacrifices did you used to get? Nubile virgins? Beer?"
"No, no, nothing of that sort. It is time to rest; if you wish we may discuss this in the morning," Robigus said evasively.
"C'mon Robigus. What did they bring you? Huh? I bet it was nubile virgins." The big dog poked him impatiently.
"Ah, occasionally it was a sheep. Usually they would bring... red puppies." Robigus looked apologetically at the mutant.
"Red puppies!" Napoleon backed away from him, aghast. "What did you want red puppies for?"
Bungston snickered. "Probably to shave them bald and soak them in castor oil. If he knew what he was doing."
The mildew god pulled the blanket over his body and flopped back down. "Those were different days. To be respected, one had to accept sacrifice - it was a matter of pride and honor. I have no special gripe against puppies." His harsh tone kept Napoleon from asking more questions, but the maroon canine was careful to bunk down with Bungston between himself and the puppy-predator.
The next day was a repeat of the previous afternoon. When they finally tracked down the priest Signor Amatto had referred them to, it turned out the man had been put to death by Lutheran mercenaries during the sack of the city. An acquaintance of the dead man referred them to yet another minor official who had been present when St. Peter's was torn down. This man referred them to a cardinal who was currently in France, and so they had to go back and talk some more with the official. This sort of thing turned out to be par for the course. For the next three days they were bounced from person to person, often having to backtrack if their sources had died or were gone from Rome.
On the third day Bungston was ready to give up. Twice they had been forced to return to an aged nun after the contacts she had given had turned out to be dead. She hadn't been overjoyed to see the trio the second time, and would probably be even less receptive the third. Bungston sat on the edge of a fountain and dangled his fingers in the water despondently. "I'm sorry about this you guys. I thought it would be easier to find our magic gizmo after it had been moved. Maybe we should just get back in the carriage and go home. It's probably not even here."
"I've got a better idea," said Napoleon. "All we've been doing is combing the town for these people, and half of them are dead anyway. Let's forget it and just get beer and roam around - see the sights. There's all sorts of good things around here."
Robigus, oddly enough, also favored this idea. "I too have become discouraged, but Napoleon is right. There is much more to see here than at your cabana, enjoyable though it is, and it may be that we will find more information to aid our quest. Though I would drink wine rather than beer."
Bungston brightened, always happy to wander aimlessly. "Ok, ok. And we have all this gold, so we can buy things too." The wizard dunked his head underwater in the fountain, and thus invigorated he resolved to have a good time. Robigus was correct in preferring wine over the lame Italian excuse for beer, and he proved to be a exceedingly skillful tour guide. He knew where the best ruins were likely to be, and once you got him talking he was full of great stories, though he had a tendency to slip from English into Latin when he got excited. Several times his animated Latin and outlandish appearance attracted passers-by; priests, educated merchants and others stopped to listen to the tall armored man's tales of Rome in its heyday. When asked, Robigus would explain that he was in a company of scholars who had come to Rome to examine ancient relics, and Bungston would take it from there with his silky smooth interrogation techniques.
This Roman holiday continued for several days. Napoleon probably had the least fun, since he didn't understand Robigus' Latin very well and was confined to his stuffy awning, but he bore up stoically and saved up all his complaints for when they were in private. One day after a good deal of hiking about Bungston decided to rest his legs and fortify his tan. He made camp on the steps of a big basilica, using a loose brick and his floppy hat for a pillow. Napoleon was a pretty good climber despite his canine heritage, and with boosts from Robigus and Bungston he clambered up an ivy-covered wall and shed his habit once he could not be seen from the streets below. Robigus took off his helmet and relaxed in the shade with a few oranges to eat.
Several oranges later the mildew god noticed three unusual-looking old men slowly making their way across the plaza toward the basilica. The one in the lead was short enough to be a dwarf, with a long gray beard to match. It was he who had attracted Robigus' attention, since every few steps he stopped dead in his tracks and stared with huge eyes directly at the mildew god, then redirected his eyes to the ground before hobbling on. Of the two men bringing up the rear, one had a shock of snow-white hair and probed the ground before him with a staff as if blind. He was guided by a tall, terrible man with bloodshot eyes and dead-looking skin even grayer than Robigus' own. The tall man wore a leather artisan's smock and mumbled ceaselessly. The elderly trio slowly ascended the steps toward Robigus, the mutterings of the tall one awakening Bungston as they passed near his head. The wizard stretched and then snuck along behind them, curious what the three would have to say to Robigus.
Eventually they reached the shade at the top of the stairs where Robigus reclined, and all three eased their ancient frames down onto the flagstones opposite him as if they had been invited. The guide with the long beard stopped his disconsolate mumbling. The dwarf whispered something into the ear of the blind one, then turned to stare at Robigus again. There was a long pause. Bungston seized the opportunity to gingerly touch the dead gray skin on the back of the tall one's neck. The gray came off on his finger as a fine powder of some sort; the wizard tasted it but found it unflavorful.
After realizing that Bungston was not going to say anything to these antiques Robigus frowned sternly, as he tended to do in uncertain situations. "Trouble me not. I have no money." He said this in bad Italian. Getting no response, he tried again in Latin.
The blind man oriented himself on Robigus' words. "So, you are the armored scholar who knows so much history? You seek out ancient things?", he said, also in Latin.
This sounded promising to Bungston, so before Robigus could reply he piped up from in back. "Ancient things, that's us, yep." Again the dwarf mumbled into the ear of the blind man.
The blind man spoke again. "You will follow us." He slowly gained his feet, then tapping with his staff he turned away without further ado. His guide with the long beard resumed his stream of mumblings and they made a slow descent of the stairs, the dwarflike man leading the way.
Bungston rubbed his hands together and spit out his nutmeg, stashing it for later. "Yeah, this looks really good. This is what we've been waiting for. You've got to go on a mysterious journey led by a strange old man or three if you're going to succeed on a quest. It's part of the quester's code. Hey Nap! NAPOLEON!" There was an inarticulate grumble from high above. "Come on down, Nap! We've got a lead!" Napoleon yawned something about catching up later. The memory of the graveyard fiasco fresh in his mind, Bungston was not about to agree to this. He tapped Robigus and pointed to the old men, who were still laboriously descending the steps. "You follow them Bob; I want to get Napoleon so he doesn't cause any trouble." Robigus nodded briskly and strode away, his armor glinting smartly in the Roman afternoon. "I think you and the tall one use the same skin cream!", Bungston called after him.
From previous experience, the wizard knew there was just about no way to get his shaggy mutant to leave a sunny comfy spot, except by offering something better somewhere else or causing the spot to lose its comfyness. Napoleon was full, so food was out, and Bungston didn't want to climb up there, so that was out. He tossed up some mildewy orange rinds Robigus had left, but these elicited no response. "C'mon shagboy, or I'm going to conjure something up!"
Napoleon's great maroon head peered over the side. "Leave me alone. I'll be with you in a second."
Among other things, Bungston had several round rubber balloons in his pocket. Balloons were handy things with a multitude of uses, and he never went on an expedition without a few on his person. He stretched them to loosen the rubber and tied the necks, then arranged them in a geometrical pattern on the steps. "DAVY JONESER FOAM CONES TOASTER BROASTED MOSTLY PISS HAIR SMOKE!" The balloons swelled and assumed a darker hue, filled with some murky liquid the nature of which Bungston could only guess.
The wizard scooped up his balloons, chuckling evilly. He turned to see Napoleon descending the last few feet of ivy, watching him carefully. "Nyah nyah, little jerk!," crowed the mutant. "Thought you'd get gross stuff on me! Big waste of effort!" The bipedal canine skipped down the stairs in delight, the fur on his back decorated with gobs of dry and semi-dry pigeon guano garnered from his rooftop hideout. Bungston took off in pursuit of the aged trio. As an afterthought he ran back and grabbed the balloons. Too good to waste.
It wasn't hard to catch up to the sluggish old men, and this was fortunate because as soon as they slowed to a walk Bungston realized that Napoleon had forgotten to put his awning back on. This was quickly remedied. Bungston walked alongside the blind man and his gaunt gray guide, trying to catch exactly what it was the dusty guy was muttering about. He caught some references to "use of space" and "massive forms", but it was pretty schizophrenic stuff. The man had the words, but lacked the desire and dynamics to make any magic, thought Bungston. Dynamics and desire, those were the trademarks of the wizard. The dynamic large-nosed wizard assumed an air of insouciance, strutting down the street proudly.
After what seemed like forever, they reached a series of crumbling medieval buildings near the old city wall. It was not a good area - bums and winos curled in recesses, and the untraveled street was deep in filth and full of vermin. A pack of sickly looking yellow dogs staggered out of an alley and growled menacingly at the passing group. Napoleon rumbled in return, causing the pack to retreat in reverent awe. The muck made Bungston regret wearing his plastic flip-flops, but his combat boots were still in his Voyageur pack in Robigus' grove.
They followed the old men through an unlocked door in a washed-out building. Once inside, Bungston's paranoia suddenly clawed at his brain, and he hung back for the first time. Everything in the building was dirty and shabby, not at all the sort of place one would keep valuable relics. Plaster chips and trash lay strewn everywhere, and mice ambled arrogantly across the floor. The wizard used his lightning-fast big toe to flick a particularly arrogant mouse across the room, and then turned to his two comrades. "Guys," he whispered to Robigus and Napoleon. "Things are looking fishy - any valuable relics in here would get ripped off in a second. It might be a setup. Be prepared." Napoleon nodded his great cowled head, and Robigus' fingers moved to hover over the haft of his sword. They followed the silent group through another door and stood amazed.
It was a room the size of a warehouse, created by hollowing out at least three adjacent buildings and joining them together. All the ground floor windows were boarded up, and the place was lit by dusty yellow sunbeams from the second story windows. Arranged carefully on the floor were replicas of Roman buildings. Each was painstakingly carved out of marble and beautifully finished to every detail. It was a recreation of ancient Rome.
Bungston whistled a low whistle and walked into the workshop, surveying the buildings. He noticed now that the marble models, though carefully sculpted, did not try too hard to be true to the original. The wizard picked out the Colosseum and carefully tiptoed among the smaller models for a closer look. On one side the Colosseum wall fluidly extended twice as high as the other side, curving inward in a scallop shell motif. Anyone sitting in the top row seats on that half would fall out and straight down into the center of the arena, to be attacked by any miniature gladiators within. On the high side the model rose to head level for the wizard, and on the other side it was about to his waist. Although he wasn't familiar with all the Roman originals, Bungston was pretty sure that most of the models departed fairly drastically from their prototypes. The flowing contours on most buildings were not much like the geometric proportions the Romans had favored.
The dwarf had been whispering in the blind man's ear, and then the man spoke. Bungston was unsure whom he was addressing. "This is the task we have undertaken," he said in a clear voice. "To recreate Rome in its glory. To preserve the memory in stone."
Bungston pointed at the free-form Colosseum next to him. "You know, this doesn't look exactly like the big Colosseum. I bet the acoustics would be better if it were built like this, but won't this be confusing? To posterity, I mean." The tall one in the apron pinned him with a bloodshot gaze that was strangely reminiscent of Queen Z. He did nothing but stare for a long moment. Abruptly he blurted "Connotes better the motion," and as if this were an activation code word, he grabbed a chisel and mallet and went to work on a nearby model, engulfing himself in a cloud of stone dust.
Napoleon shambled over to the Colosseum. "Yeah, it does sort of connote motion, you know? It's stretching, like it's tired." The mutant yawned a toothy yawn, then lowered himself into the center of the marble arena, and curled up there. He then began to hum, searching for its resonant frequency.
The blind man apparently knew his way around the model town without a guide, and after receiving a few more whispers from his dwarfish companion he walked to where Robigus was standing. The mildew god was staring with dismay at the Circus Maximus, which looked more like a Circus Mobius. "We have brought you here because of your wisdom. Although I have done much study, there are things I still do not know." He jabbed his staff at an area of the tiny town devoid of models. "What was in that place? This place?" He indicated another expanse of bare floor. "We need your knowledge of the old city,"
He said more, but Bungston missed it because of the high amplified hum that came from the model Colosseum. "Pretty much out of my range," said Napoleon hoarsely from within.
Bungston rested his elbows on the low edge and looked down on the robed bulk nestled in the sculpture. "What do you think of these Renaissance men, huh? Pretty zany!"
Napoleon rested his muzzle on the upper rim of the Colosseum and made a non-committal noise. "I think its good to take a little license. Add your own touches. That's what the Renaissance architects were all about, right? Improving on the Classical model."
Bungston glanced at an interesting arch supported by pillars that made up the facade of a smaller model. The top two sides of the triangular arch were bowed inward, giving it an underweight look, and the top of the triangle curved back out of the plane. "I guess you're right. I like these little buildings. They look relaxed. Lot nicer than the bizarro angles on our cabana." Napoleon agreed.
Bungston scrutinized a banana-shaped model, then looked back at the Colosseum, then to the relaxed-arch building he and Napoleon had discussed. "Hey. Take a look, Nap." The wizard sighted along the banana building then walked over to the Colosseum. "These buildings are all more or less flowing the same direction. Like someone hooked strings on them and pulled. That way." Bungston pointed north and east.
Napoleon surveyed the city from within his marble nest, lifting his cowl slightly for better visibility. "How about that one?" he rasped, pointing to a perfect stone globe. "Where does it point?"
Bungston picked it up and set it on top of another building. "It fell off of here."
Napoleon grunted. "Ok, how about that one?" The model in question looked like a spiraling soft serve ice cream cone.
Bungston tipped it on its side so that the point pointed north and east. "But really, this might be a clue. I knew that dusty guy was hooked into magic, what with the way he mumbles all the time. I bet he carved all of these buildings so they point at some ultra magic object somewhere, just waiting for us to go take it. We just need to figure out where." Bungston looked around for his hosts. Robigus was busy conversing with the blind one who seemed to be the brains of the outfit, and the dusty sculptor was pounding his chisel furiously; Bungston decided to leave him alone. That left the dwarf with the bulgy eyes. The wizard walked up to him. "Heh-heh-heh! Quite a place you have here. Certainly connotes motion, yep. You boys been working on this a long time?"
"Heh-heh-heh. Yep," said the long-bearded man, his huge eyes fixed expressionlessly on Bungston..
Bungston winced; the dwarfy Italian did not deliver these expressions with the panache they deserved. The wizard decided to let it slide. "Well, I want to do a few scientific measurements, some triangulation, and I was wondering if you Renaissance guys have any string. Just regular twine, if you've got it."
"Heh-heh." The dwarf reached into his clothes and withdrew a ball of twine. Bungston could only guess where he had been keeping it. It was warm.
"Great. But when you talk, put a little more life into it! Use your diaphragm." Bungston indicated how his own diaphragm bounced up and down when he spoke, then retreated back to where Napoleon stood. "I think I would have rather talked to the tall one," he confided quietly to his mutant. "At least he would have had something interesting to say. But I got twine." Along with balloons and nutmeg, the wizard also always carried a roll of duct tape, and he now handed this to Napoleon. The purple-swathed canine taped one end of each twine piece to the top of a building while Bungston walked away with the other end, taking a path he felt appropriate to the pull of the building; this was inevitably northeast. When he was done, he slipped over to Robigus and borrowed the warrior's sword, hanging the weapon from a piece of twine to observe the spontaneous magnetic alignment. Then he got busy traiangulating, drawing figures in the fine gray dust on the floor.
It took a while for Robigus to provide all the information that the blind scholar wanted. The pint-size Rome turned out to be an amalgam of several centuries, and on occasion different buildings had occupied the same spot at different periods in history. In such cases Robigus described all of them, and their time periods, and what they looked like. The blind man listened intently, never interrupting. Eventually all the unfilled spaces were accounted for. "Now, these ancient things you seek."
"What? Oh, wait, wait." Bungston jumped up from his triangulations and jogged over to hear.
The old man slowly walked over to a stool, and sat. Bungston and Robigus took places on the floor in front of him. Napoleon returned to his comfy spot in the Colosseum. "You know that this adze was once in St. Peter's,"
Bungston wondered how he knew they were searching for an adze. "Hey, how did you know we were searching for an adze?" He was ignored.
"When they began to take it down, something had to be done. No-one was taking account of all the things, the old things. All concern was for building." The long pauses between the man's statements were filled by persistent staccato taps of the strange sculptor's chisel echoing in the giant space. "And so some holy men took charge of some things, but many came away the richer. Things of value vanish in the cracks." He stopped, nodding to himself. Bungston thought maybe he had fallen asleep, and was going to give him a poke. But then he started again. "The best things I took away. I made a list of what was there. I stored them. And when the invaders came, I moved them down. To the catacombs."
"A wise course of action," said Robigus. "They would be safe from thieves there."
The old man shook his head. "They were not. They are gone."
Bungston snorted. "What do you mean? Did the looters hork them anyway?"
"The entrance that I sealed remained sealed. When I returned, all had gone." He got up from his stool and shuffled around to a cluttered desk in the corner. He produced a piece of paper with a wax seal on it and came back, holding the paper in front of him. Bungston took it and looked at the seal; it bore a rather plain bisected lozenge-shape. "This is my seal. You will see it on the entrance I used."
Bungston stuffed the paper into a pocket. "So you think the relics are still in there."
"They are no longer there." He tapped his staff on the floor once.
"No, I mean in the catacombs somewhere. If they didn't come out, they had to stay in, right?" Unless, of course, there was a summoner like Bungston himself who had conjured them someplace else. A big pile of different objects would be quite a trick, though.
The old man was silent. Bungston shrugged. "Thanks a lot." The wizard walked over and rousted Napoleon from his hole. On the way out he passed the roll of duct tape to the weird sculptor, who was kneeling at his work. "In case you chip off a piece by accident. Good luck on your city."
Once outside Robigus shook his head in amazement. "Those models were replicas of the buildings of old Rome as much as I am a replica of, of... a skink! The sculptor must be mad, though he does possess talent."
"Maybe those models were what the Romans were trying for. Maybe those proportions in there were the real ideal. The Roman building materials just couldn't bring it off."
Bungston was surprised at this little profundity out of Napoleon. "Where'd you learn that, Nap? Fifth corner of the world?"
Robigus put in his two cents. "The proportions that the skilled ancients strove for were not impossible; indeed it was their possibility that let them become the ideal."
"Naw, I mean maybe that guy saw different proportions. Like you said, Bung - his buildings look relaxed. Leaning toward some other ideal."
This architectural banter was going over Bungston's head, so he let his big dog have the last word without any more hassling. Napoleon would have hassle enough when he found all the pigeon poop matted into his back.

Chapter 12

On arriving back at the grove to bed down for the night, they discovered that a hole had been ripped in Bungston's Voyageur pack where it rested on the ground, and his precious travelling gear had poured out. Blankets, pajamas, rubber tarantulas, and other vital equipment lay in a semi-circle around the hole, in various states of damage and discombobulation. Bungston picked up his giant bunjee cord, now reduced to a scramble of colorful elastic thread. "What the Spam Hill did this, Robigus? Did someone try to rob us? They did a pretty poor job of it."
Napoleon held up a catcher's mitt for inspection. "Look at this, Bung. Claw marks,"
He tossed it to Bungston who examined it briefly, then stowed it in Robigus' helmet for safekeeping. The wizard then pressed his ear to the ground, squinting in concentration. "You're right. These woods are crawling with crabs," he announced. "Lobsters too, most likely,"
Robigus was astounded to hear of crabs in this area, but Bungston insisted that they dig an anti-crab trench to preserve their belongings overnight. It did the trick, and they were not disturbed.
It was a fairly long trek to get to the catacombs, and then the adventurers had to search for the entrance that the blind scholar had specified. The area was full of overgrown chunks of marble, collapsed tunnel openings, and shallow man-made caves. Shrubs and weeds concealed most of the ruins, so the three spread out and began combing the area. Napoleon was first to find the entrance. It was a small square slab made of stone. A roughly chiseled lion's head roared in the center with a new-looking iron ring clenched in its mouth. There were no hinges on the slab; evidently the idea was that you pushed it straight forward to get in, and pulled it after you by the iron ring when you left. The bisected lozenge seal was affixed in several places around the edge of the door, but it was broken in every place.
Bungston didn't like this. "You know, I thought that old guy said that the seals were unbroken, that nobody used his entrance. But here they are broken."
Robigus frowned. "Well, he was blind. Perhaps he did not notice."
"He broke them himself," ground Napoleon in his best chainsaw rasp. "If he knew the loot was missing, he must have gone in to check, right? So he would've broken them all when he went in."
Bungston shuffled around sheepishly. "Not bad, Mr. Shaggy Ass Nuclear Physicist. Now make yourself useful and push on that rock." The burly St.Bernard obligingly put a shoulder to the stone and shoved. Alone he could barely move it, and Bungston and Robigus had to join in. "There's no way that old geezer got this open by himself," said Bungston, wiping the sweat from his noble nose. He looked at his mutant challengingly but this time Napoleon offered no explanations.
The room was good sized; someone could park a schoolbus inside, if he didn't mind losing paint. Sunlight poured through little chinks in the ceiling, and this with the sun from the opened entrance lit the interior fairly well. There was nothing in the room but a pile of rubble. Bungston walked over and stooped next to it. "Hey, our man told us right. Look at this." He held up an elegant bronze statue of a huntress, only about five inches high. "This was under a rock. There's more." There were shards from a shattered vase or urn, pieces of painted tile, and other remnants. "Someone was pretty clumsy about taking this stuff out."
"Or bringing it here", Robigus pointed out. "Remember, these things are mostly of historic significance, not material value. It may be that the bearers employed did not bother to take the care that they should."
"Yeah. Well, there must be a secret door around here." It was hardly secret, and easy to find. In the back corner of the chamber there was a hole in the wall about four feet high. It was a door that had been bricked up and then reopened, both in the distant past. On the other side the floor sloped away into a ramp leading down into darkness. Bungston peered into the gloom then grinned. "Just like old times. Here's where we go." The wizard got out his arc-light and aimed it into the opening. The far side of the portal remained dark. He fiddled with the switch, then shook the whole light, making an inauspicious rattle. Opening the light revealed a smoking black and orange crab which scuttled rapidly away.
"Eat the battery?" asked Napoleon.
"Yeah, it looks that way." Bungston sat on the ground for a moment and thought. Then he fished out one of the bulging brown filth balloons he had conjured up earlier and gently lowered it in into the empty lantern. The wizard produced his nifty nutmeg grater and grated a healthy dose of fresh nutmeg in on top of the balloon, then closed up the light. Bungston directed the refurbished light into the hole and flipped the switch. He was rewarded by a sudden plume of sparks which resolved into a warm yellow beam. "Chemical energy," he explained to his companions. "You just have to understand the principles involved. Ok, we're in business. Let's go!" Bungston entered the catacombs, the reborn arc-light lighting the way. Robigus followed. Napoleon paused to shuck his monk's robe to allow more freedom of movement. He tossed it in the corner where he had seen the crab hide, just in case the critter was still hungry. Then he too stooped through the hole in the wall.
The passage dropped steeply, then levelled out and turned. The walls were earthen in some spots but in most were faced with brick or terra cotta. The whole place smelled like Robigus' room back in Avalon. Roaches and pillbugs darted into crevices at their approach; Bungston was grateful for remembering to wear his boots after sighting a thumb-thickness centipede. After a few hundred yards there was a choice of staircases, then the passage split, then diverged into three. Occasionally they passed small alcoves containing skeletons, all of which were old and falling apart. Bungston led the way unerringly. After a half-hour of trooping along Bungston unerringly stopped and sat in an alcove, pushing over the bones in it to make room. "This is really, really boring. Boooring. In a good dungeon, we would have found some battle-sized beasts by now, or at least a cool trap. There's nothing in here but mongo bugs."
"I wouldn't be too sure," rumbled Napoleon quietly. "You smell that?" Robigus and Bungston sniffed mightily. Robigus smelled nothing, and Bungston smelled Robigus.Napoleon shook his great head. "Big animals, maybe more than one. Meat eaters, I'd say. Musky. Not too close, but they're down here somewhere."
Bungston whooped joyfully, making resounding echoes. "Yeah! What's a dungeon without some spooky beasties? We're on the right track - I bet the beasts took the treasure. I guess you should take the lead, Nap."
Napoleon backed up suspiciously. "No way," he growled firmly. "I'm not going to let some giant rat latch on to my leg. Bob's the one who's all suited up. He can go first."
Robigus valiantly agreed to this, and sword in hand, marched down the passage. Napoleon was second, and Bungston acted as rear guard. With Napoleon giving directions, they proceeded through a large circular room with frescoes on the ceiling and skeletons in alcoves all around the walls. The room was large enough that Bungston's light didn't penetrate to all the recesses. It took some searching, but Bungston eventually found some promising stairs leading down and out. A long trek later, they reached a giant vaulted passageway stretching off into darkness. Clumps of slightly phosphorescent fungi bulged out of crannies along the walls, and crawling cooties scurried across the floor. Bungston grabbed Robigus and Napoleon before they could enter. He pointed at the ground. "Check this out."
The dust in the room had been disturbed with many footprints. They were of a handlike foot. Bungston stooped to examine them, then rose nodding with satisfaction. "Yeah, there's your meat eater, Nap." He made with his eyebrow to add dramatic flair. "Killer apes."
Robigus indicated a sneaker tread print with the point of his sword. "What would this be?"
Bungston shrugged. "Ape with sensitive feet?" There were loafer prints here and there also. "Preppy ape? I don't know. Are they very close, Nap?"
The shaggy mutant paused a second. "No, none too nearby."
Bungston sighed. "Well, this thing is a poor substitute for my Nukomatic, but I guess I should have it handy." He pulled out the ivory-handled Colt.45 Peacemaker and loaded it up. "I hope it can stop a killer ape. I suppose we should follow wherever the tracks seem thickest; maybe we'll get to the ape treasure trove." They set off down the long corridor.
They had only gone ten yards when a huge form burst hissing from a side passage, two long tentacles snaking from its sides. Robigus was in the lead, and before the unfortunate warrior could wheel and bring his shortsword to bear he was pounced upon from the side. He hit the ground with a clank of armor and a gust of stale air, sliding across the flagstones to the far wall with his attacker on top of him. Napoleon and Bungston rushed to his aid, Bungston planting a good kick on the creature and then Napoleon sinking his paws deep into its body. It smelled rotten. Napoleon withdrew his paws covered with grayish slime. This panicked him for a second, visions of giant acid-spewing blobs racing through his head, but then he realized that the gray stuff was just moldy ooze and he wiped it off on Bungston's shirt. Bungston was watching the monster, and so did not notice. It was a very passive monster; after the intial attack it seemed content to just lie there snuggled up with Robigus. Robigus wriggled out from underneath the inert form, which smelled like a mulch pile and had the texture of a windfall plum. "This creature was very susceptible to mildews," observed Robigus.
Bungston borrowed Robigus' sword and jabbed at the heap, then made an effort to flip it over. From what was left it looked like it had had suckers on its tentacles, and maybe one eye. It was tough to tell. "I guess it was susceptible to mildew!" exclaimed Bungston. He looked at Robigus, impressed. "Why bother fiddling with this shrimpy sword when you can do that? There's nothing left!"
Napoleon sniffed at it, then backed away sneezing. "Sure isn't a ape."
Robigus brushed off his armor. "I fear it was more or less a reflex, to mildew it as I did. It must be some sort of plant being, it yielded so thoroughly; living animals generally do not mildew well." Bungston shaved his forearm thoughtfully with the clean base of Robigus' sword. "Good thing it attacked you. I mean, and not me or Nap - it would have stabbed those sucker tentacles in us before you could have helped out. Well, just be ready in case more of these plant critters show up."
Bungston and Napoleon stuck very close behind Robigus the rest of the way. One archway was more travelled than the others, so they chose that one, and indeed, another violent plant beast was lurking just inside. As it bounded out of its hiding spot Robigus met it with an open hand. The creature's momentum carried it across the passage, where it slapped into the wall and fell apart like a late autumn tomato.
Bungston whacked his knee in amusement. "Yeah! Those things are helpless against you, Bob! I hope they never learn their lesson and just keep coming and coming. Make good fertilizer out of them." After they had walked for about five more minutes the wizard made a megaphone with his hand and shouted into the darkness. "Oh Vehhhhge-ta-bles! Come out to plaaaaayyyy!"
Napoleon grabbed Bungston's shoulder in alarm and almost got a punch in the jaw for startling him. "Bung, you should get a spell going - those things I smelled before, that you said were killer apes -they're really nearby."
Bungston nodded and called out some mystical words. He was trying for a big bunch of magic bananas, but instead got a sombrero with wax fruit decorations, including bananas. "What is it with these sombreros?" he asked aloud. He carried it at the ready and they forged ahead.
It was not long before Napoleon stopped them, his hackles rising. "Guys, guys," he growled nervously. "Those apes are all around here. I can hear them breathing." The threesome formed a circle back to back and glared into the gloom for any hint of apes. It did not take Napoleon's ears to hear a definite low huffing coming from the lightless passages around them. Bungston took off his floppy hat and rubbed his crewcut frantically in an effort to produce more light.
"Yo, killer apes! A present for you!" Bungston hucked the sombrero with a wicked backhand, sending it Oddjob-style into a passageway. It sailed into the gloom. "Maybe these are strictly carnivorous apes. LASHES STRICTER BEECHWOOD LIQUOR FANCY GAGGING MATCHED AND SAGGING DONE UP TIGHT AND LATE AGAIN! WHEN! GO FOR CHOKE!" The breathing was getting louder. Ooks and eeks rife with menace lanced through the darkness. Bungston fired his pistol into the air lion-tamer style, hoping to buy a little time. "MUDTONE HAMBONE FLORIST MORE AND POOR PROGNOSIS FORCED TO THE CORE!" The threesome were caught from below by a huge monocle which rose up to the ceiling, carrying them on top. Napoleon ducked when it got near the ceiling but wound up getting hit on the head anyway. Then he dropped to his knees, and Robigus got thumped by the ceiling on his helmet, so he ducked too. Eventually all three were lying on their stomachs looking down at the floor below, their backs pushed into the fungus and cobwebs on the ceiling. Then the apes came out.
They were huge creatures, probably five feet when upright but even more massively built than Napoleon. They also had four arms apiece. They lumbered out of the darkness making ape sounds and beating their chests and congregated under the big lens. There they quieted down and craned their heads back to stare at the three adventurers. The adventurers lay on their stomachs and looked down through the lens into the seven simian faces below; the monocle's refractive powers made the apes seem to have faces hugely disproportionate to their more distant bodies. "So, Bungston, you going to do something?", asked Napoleon.
"Yeah." The wizard jostled Robigus. "Bob, cut the ribbon." There was an approprately proportioned velvet ribbon dangling from the edge of the monocle, and one or two curious apes had begun tugging on it. This made the whole monocle bob disconcertingly. Robigus reached over the edge with his sword and slashed it, sending it tumbling down for the apes to play with. Another ape, showing remarkable creativity, jumped up and slapped the monocle, which transmitted the force of the slap to the adventurers and mushed them against the ceiling. It was monkey see, monkey do, and soon all of the apes were jumping and slapping, babbling happily in ape talk. The adventurers had a rough ride on the other side of the monocle, and vision through to the floor was getting blurry due to many greasy handprints. Bungston shouted a rapid stream of verbiage, at varying volumes as his body cavity was compressed by the bucking glass platform.
When he finished, there was a warm sausage-scented breeze, and there appeared in the hall an automatic band from a German beer drinking hall, complete with accordion and mechanized tuba. Flashing red and blue lights attached to the machine switched on, and it proceeded to belt out a very loud polka. The apes scattered, shrieking in fear. "Nicely done, Bungston," Robigus shouted above the din.
Then the apes came back in a rush. They did not charge the machine and smash it to flinders, as Bungston had expected they would. They liked it. The four-armed monsters jumped up and down slapping the lens to the beat of the polka, whooping and cheering. When all of the apes hit the other side at once it was pretty brutal; only Robigus' armored body in the way kept them from being flattened. "Ok, Ok... Bungston squinted woozily, his spell reserve power running low. "FROTHING COUGHING BOFFING MUFFIN ROUGH TIME SLOUGH TIME BUT SHE DON'T SAY NUTHIN! NO REFUNDS!" This time a pink inflatable party doll appeared next to the music machine. She was oh so lifelike and more than life sized. One ape nearby reached out a spare hand and grabbed the doll, pulling it in for inspection. Then another ape reached out and grabbed on too, anxious to participate in this new game. The first ape stopped jumping around and grabbed the doll with another hand, then all four hands. Then it applied a foot. The second ape, irked at the first's greediness, howled and grabbed it with all four hands as well. It pulled hard, swinging the first ape by all of its four hands and the foot around into the bouncing slapping crowd of its peers. Amused by this new pink toy, a third ape grabbed it with one hand. Then it realized that it could not let go and that it was stuck to this thing and the other two apes, who were in the same predicament and were getting agitated. The third ape seized a fourth for leverage to try to pry his hand free, but wound up pulling this unwitting anchor backwards into the party doll, where it too stuck. Before they realized what was going on, all the apes were stuck to the party doll by various parts, and getting more stuck as they struggled. The growing mass accidentally bumped into the automatic polka machine too, swinging it around and slamming it into walls; this seemed especially hard on the tuba. After several minutes of this the exhausted ball of apes posed no threat, and the adventurers climbed off of the lens and jumped down to the ground.
Napoleon approached the ape heap, growling ferociously. A hapless ape looked up at the approaching mutant from where it was pinned under one of its relatives. "Doooood! Mellllooww!" Napoleon stopped in shock at this basso profundo pronouncement. Other apes craned their heads around and looked at Napoleon apologetically. "Ya dooood! Mellllowww!"
Bungston fingered his chin to spur some thought on what to do with the suddenly sentient apes. If he left them in a ball those walking vegetables would get them, and he couldn't allow that to happen to fellow primates. If these were even primates, with their four arms. Out of the the corner of his eye he detected motion, and he pivoted to face it.
The flashing lights of the polka machine illuminated an apparition in khaki expedition pants and a green Colorado sweatshirt. She had on night-vision goggles, canvas Adidas, and she carried an old fashioned bug duster. She brought the business end of this to bear on Bungston. "Not a word, dude," she spoke calmly above the polka, which was somewhat out of tune with itself due the wallops the tuba had endured. "Muffle time. That goes for all three of you." She swung the bug duster around, then stopped short on seeing Napoleon. She craned her neck and looked, then took off her goggles and looked again. "Nap? Naporillo? Is that you? B.T.? Guys! Wig me out! I'm so so sorry!" She set down the bug duster and ran over to Bungston, wrapping him in an enthusiastic hug. After embracing Bungston, she switched to Napoleon. The mutant grumbled happily. "Yeah, I thought I smelled you, but these stinky apes cover up everything..."
"I probably smell like an ape. I'm working on my extra arms." Irn's face radiated placidity despite her unusually sharp cheek and jaw bones. These features were countered by eyes that never quite opened past three-quarters, and wild dark brown hair that had undoubtedly been cut with a knife or some duller tool, like a spoon. "I should have known it was you, Bung. A polka machine. Not many conjurers around. Only one Nap, though." Napoleon confirmed this with pleasure.
Bungston sauntered over to the beat of the polka, a paragon of social grace. "Irn, I'd like you to meet my friend Robigus, god of war and mildew."
Irn shook hands with the tall gray warrior. "God of war and mildew, huh? You guys are moving up in the world, hanging out with... Wait... oh, wig me out! I know you!" She pointed at Robigus enthusiastically. "You're the founder of Rome! I saw a statue of you chewing on a wolf! The wolf didn't seem too pumped about it though. She was making a face like this." Irn showed her teeth and looked glum. She did not talk fast or loud, but her words had an inexplicable momentum that made her difficult to interrupt.
Robigus spread his palms in apology. "No, you have me wrong. You have mistaken me for Romulus; I am Robigus."
Irn patted him on an armored shoulder. "Well good. That Romulgus knifed his brother in the back, I think, so I'm glad you aren't him. He, I mean." She noticed the shoggoth spine hole in Robigus' shoulder plate when patting him there, and stuck her finger in it, prodding the mildew god's shoulder. "Is that you? This hole goes clean through. Did you get shot? Or is this so you can hang it up?"
The conversation was interrupted by low pleas from the ape ball. "Urrrn? Urrrn? Help, please." The four-armed behemoths waited patiently for rescue, cringing some from the trumpets and accordions playing directly into their ears.
Irn switched of the loud polka machine, causing Bungston to quit shuffling and dancing around. She looked at the bestial faces in the wriggling hairy heap. "I didn't catch how you did this, Bung. Paramagnetized? No, I bet it was glue."
"Close. I summoned a tar baby; seemed so much tidier than hacking and shooting like certain lesser dungeoneers do."
"Tar, huh? Tar tar tar. Brings back bad memories." The dungeon dweller fetched her bug duster again and set it into an improbable upright spin on the floor with a series of wrist flips. "Well, I'm glad you didn't shoot the big dodos. Tar baby. What would be good - acetone? No, too harsh. Turpentine?" Without waiting for an answer she tapped the revolving bug duster rhythmically with fingers and feet, then reversed the direction of spin, then picked it up again and adjusted the spray orfice.
"Yeah, that would work," answered Bungston a little late. "Be a good cologne for these killer apes too."
From the smell which soon arose, the bug duster reservoir was full of turpentine, and Irn used it to discharge small amounts where it was needed on stuck hands and feet. Robigus tapped Napoleon. "That device is the same one that she directed at Bungston in threat, yet now she uses it on these apes with no harm. Was she merely bluffing?"
Napoleon shook his head; he was watching the growing number of liberated apes with some concern. The mutant dog was at least two feet taller than the tallest, but the apes were knotted with muscles and each had four good hands while Napoleon could only bite and pummel. His dog ancestry kept him edgy around these strong smelling and possibly hostile creatures. "Nah, she's not a bluffer. No poker face at all. That squirter was probably full of white phosphorus when she came."
Bungston came over to the two after a brief conference. "Irn's going to take us to her camp. She knows about that blind old guy's treasure." Irn had her night-vision goggles on again, and she came over to point out the way. The apes travelled in formation around the foursome, with two on point, two on either side, and three behind; when the corridor narrowed the apes to the sides moved up or back. They were very organized and silent except for their heavy breathing. Several times during the walk a plant beast like the ones Robigus had dispatched earlier moved toward the group out of the gloom. They were humanoid with single pupilless eyes, and they would hop along in front or in back for a while, then move back into the darkness. Bungston nudged their hostess and pointed to one of these creatures, bouncing along about ten feet ahead of the lead apes. "You know, a couple of vegetable varmints jumped us on our way down. But they don't seem too aggressive to you or your apes; you have an understanding with them?"
"Yeah, I guess. Can't be fighting when you're practically roommates. But they're unpredictable. You remember Haberdash Jack? Hab was here a few months ago, and when he gave one a flat Nehi grape it took about two pints out of him. Real serious about carbonation."
Bungston wrinkled a nostril. "So, they're bloodsuckers, huh? I thought so. You know, with the four-armed white apes and the vampire plants, this is very reminiscent of something..."
"No doubt, no doubt. No big-boobed women in scanty harnesses down here though, excepting me. Heh!" Irn was by no means poorly endowed, but the Frazetta females populating paperback covers did not usually wear baggy sweatshirts. "No green bugeyed giants, either. Not that I've seen. I guess old Ed got those from somewhere else. So, did you make a spell to ace the plant men who picked on you? I find ethylene works real well. Calms them right down. And as a bonus: they aren't bad in olive oil with basil. Hard to get basil down here, though."
Bungston pointed to Robigus. "We left all herbicide duties to the man with the hands." He showed Irn the moldy patch on his own arm, which had regrown to a half-inch height. "People don't make you a mildew god just because you smell funny." Bungston squinted at a plant creature hopping through the gloom ahead. Its tentacles writhed snakelike at its sides, and it had a leafy mane of thin tendrils. Could this be the strange creature he had seen confronting the demon in Angar Firestorm's crystal ball?
The area that Irn inhabited was a far cry from the rest of the catacombs; it was clean and well lit by overhead fluorescent bulbs. There was a homemade power plant made from a large bronze amphora, with several silver fuel tanks attached, and a lounge with cushions and a fancy looking rug. Irn settled onto a cushion and motioned for the others to do the same. "So, I'm really glad you guys showed. How come you never came to visit before, huh?" She pointed at Bungston and Napoleon accusingly with her chin.
Bungston shrugged and picked stuffing out of a cushion. "I didn't know you were here. I thought you were still in Connecticut."
"Oh! You won't believe this story! I was dinking around with a fairy ring, like I always do. So I get here. I walked around a little bit - and this was up there in the air, now; the right rings always are - and when I get back some rabid goat has rolled around on the ring! Totally mushed up! The ring was; I couldn't catch the goat so it was OK, I guess. So I figured, just wait a while, but the one I came in on was the only good one I ever found. The rings around here are mundo bizarro. I don't know, maybe it's too much agriculture. Nothing really nifty grows anymore."
Bungston shook a finger at her. "I wouldn't trust those fairy rings with my worst cuspidor. You can make a ring with a bag of fertilizer and a dead cat, and then who knows where it will take you."
Irn waved him off. "So anyway, at first these apes thought I was Beazlebag, but now they're pretty nice. And I still do the exploration thing, so there's lots of room to wander around, and what's going to bother you when you've got an ape squad around you? Something rock stupid, that's what." She paused a moment. "Or damn big. You've still got to be careful. I was ready to bail and take a break months ago, but Haberdash Jack couldn't bring me with him. He goes naked, you know. Which is OK, except he stretched out the pants he borrowed, and now I have to wear a belt. Plus he couldn't take me with when he left." An ape shuffled in with a basket full of grape sodas and carefully distributed them. Irn spun hers on the floor and then stopped it with a tap before opening it. "So how did you fish get here? Still on the Black Sea? I could gain serious benefit from some sun. You lose your circadians down here in the dark."
Napoleon was unable to open the pop top on his can, so he began his own grinding narrative since Bungston cheeks were bulging with soda. "Bung here got called on to do a quest for this magic object. We got gold, and Bob to help. We got this great machine, too, and that's how we got here."
Bungston piped up. "We tracked our quest thing to Rome, and then this old blind guy said that he stashed it in the catacombs, but it was gone. Is that what you've got? Did you steal his stuff? An old blind guy?"
Irn hucked a pillow at the whining wizard. "Don't you put any guiltiness on me! If someone had a crate of goodies and left it on your porch, if you took it inside would that be stealing? No. More like a favor!" Even when indignant or excited Irn still seemed mellow; her attitude was diametrically opposed to Bungston's constant state of over-energized sloth.
Bungston slapped the hurtling pillow in the air, altering its course to land on Napoleon's head. The mutant was still struggling with his can of soda, and did not retaliate. "Well, I'm glad you took it, and kept it safe. I think the thing we're after is a magic adze, you know, like a hatchet, but curved differently - plus this particular one is imbued with terrible and ancient power." Bungston worked his monobrow and his voice grew dramatic. "It has been a long and treacherous journey, fraught with danger..."
Irn rolled her eyes. "Yeah, stow it. I bet you guys probably laid around on the beach until five days ago."
"More like seven." Napoleon cringed under Bungston's glare. "Well it's true!" he ground. "It was pretty fraught with danger, though. There was shoggoths."
Irn thought for a moment, then finished her can and stood up. "Well, if you want, we can go take a look to see if your hatchet is in with the rest of the treasure."
Two apes joined them as they left Irn's residence proper and went back into the unimproved tunnels. A plant creature soon began skulking along ahead of them. Napoleon skipped away from the apes, which wanted to sniff him, and took a place at Bungston's side. "Bung, doesn't this seem like cheating to you? I mean, this isn't a real dungeon-bust, what with tame monsters and all. And here Irn's just going to hand us our quest thing."
The wizard grabbed Napoleon's still unopened can of soda and shook it vigorously as he walked. "Yeah, maybe if we were being rewarded beyond my wildest dreams by the hour, you'd be right. But I think a week's worth of questing is just plenty. Now watch this." Bungston gave the grape soda a few more shakes and pointed up ahead at the plant creature. Then he pitched the can skipping along the floor toward it. Napoleon had been the butt of this type of prank before, and he giggled gruffly in anticipation. The plant beast picked up the can with a tentacle. A second later, it set the can back down and slid away into the shadows.
"That was rather anticlimactic," observed Robigus. "Is there more to come?"
Bungston was examining the can, which had a neat triangular hole punched in the side. "Shotgunned the whole thing," he murmured. "And warm, too,"
Irn forged ahead, carrying a kerosene lantern. "Damn straight. And if they get that sucker in your carotid, they'll do the same to you. That one a few weeks ago would have drunk Haberdash Jack dry if his blood alcohol hadn't stunned it."
Bungston patted one of the white apes on the head. "Buddy," he proclaimed, and offered nutmegs all around. The nutmegs had all been previously chewed, so only the apes took him up.
It turned out that there was really not much treasure in the room. There were a few statuettes similar to the huntress Bungston had found by the entrance. Irn said that she had taken all the stuff that might be of use in her place, so any goblets or chalices were gone. There were a few unornamented robes, some suits of armor, and a fair number of miscellaneous weird artifacts: finger bones, vertebrae, locks of hair, and splinters of wood made up the bulk of these. Napoleon rummaged through a pile of splinters, some in plain boxes, and others loose. "The adze has got to be somewhere around here. These splinters are a good clue."
"Probably hunks of the Cross, or some other historical things." Bungston was gingerly looking over the largest part of the artifacts, a stack of written material.
Robigus walked over and picked up a scroll, the bottom of which fell off in his hand. "Since it does not appear that the adze is in this lot, it may be that something here may aid our search. The climate certainly has not been kind to this vellum, though." Mildews and damp had indeed taken a toll on the written works.
Bungston picked up a marble tablet commemorating some official, then set it back down. "Yeah Bob, this is probably what Mr. Erskine's library looks like after you got through with it." Bungston sat dejectedly on the tablet and frowned at Irn. "You know Irn," he whined, "I was thinking there would be a lot more relics of the substantial sort here. Like emeralds and stuff. But there's really nothing but this moldy paper and those scraps." Bungston gestured toward the wood chips and bones, then sank his head into his hands and started to mutter.
Irn walked over and pulled up a marble tablet herself. "Well, Bung, I wanted to check here first, but there is another place where we had to bring a lot of this loot." Bungston looked up hopefully. "Remember I told you I roam around down here a lot? Well, about three or four miles from here and a ways farther down, there's a lot of big natural caves and things. There's also a bunch of really old stuff; I think maybe there used to be a city underwater, but the water level went down."
Bungston eagerly interrupted. "Cool. And you brought the goodies there?"
Irn nodded but held up a hand. "Well, yes, but not by choice. It was sort of a ransom thing. I got caught, so I sent the apes back and told them to bring down anything with jewels or gold on it. That's why so many of those hair tufts and slivers are loose - we had to give up the nice cases they were in. Plus a lot of other treasure I had scrounged out of the upper tunnels."
Napoleon had been hunched behind Irn for the last part of this. "And what caught you?" he whispered. His whisper was so gravelly that no-one could understand him, but Irn was about to answer that question anyway.
"It was a dragon. A big one, with a serious treasure stash. That's another reason I'd like to take off; I'm worried that now it knows I'm here, it might come up to see if there's any more loot."
"A dragon!" yowled Napoleon, scaring away an ape which had sidled up to him. "Great! I was positive you were going to say a shoggoth or a protoplasmic pudding or something. We can deal with a dragon, huh Bung?"
Irn looked over at Napoleon. "This isn't your run-of-the-mill dragon, Nap."
Bungston snorted. "Yeah, show me a run-of-the-mill dragon. In fact, show me the mill. We'll cope."
Irn declared that food should come before any dragon busting, and Napoleon backed her up heartily. Several cans of Nehi grape were hacky-sacked around by the versatile adventuress, and when she finished they turned out to contain an excellent red wine, which she transferred to a crystal chalice. Unfortunately, dinner itself was a sweet but flavorless paste. "Sorry about this, guys, but it's the best I can do. Solids are tricky." The apes came up for their helpings of the stuff too, which Irn dispensed through the nozzle of her bug duster in long thin strips. Bungston broke out his nifty nutmeg grater and set to work, and all present had to admit that the potent powder vastly improved the meal. The apes especially doted on nutmeg, and these intermittently sent a shuffling spokesman to beg for more throughout dinner.
As was usually the case when he was full of food, Bungston became a strong advocate of careful planning and philosophizing, neither of which required that he move much. The company retired to the room full of cushions. Irn had a little enamel comb that she used to work out the pigeon guano matted into Napoleon's back fur, but her ministrations soon left the mutant dead asleep. Bungston insisted that he be allowed to think over their situation in peace for a moment or two, and proceeded to gape at the ceiling. The heavy dinner paste even tranquilized energetic Robigus, and soon all four were slumped un the cushions.

Chapter 13

Bungston's lightning reflexes propelled him to a fighting stance before he was quite awake. Violent ape cries echoed into the room, and Bungston armed himself with a well-packed pillow. Not twenty feet from the entrance to the cushion room a pair of four-armed apes were ripping up a plant man, which in turn was reluctantly dying. An ape turned from its labors and saw Bungston. "Too close. Jerk." it breathed, pointing at the twitching vegetable heap. "Nutmeg?" Bungston gave each ape a snort of nutmeg dust and two handshakes apiece for a job well done. Since he felt alert the wizard went back to wake up the others.
It was quite a trek down to the lower reaches where the dragon lived. Irn brought all of her band of seven apes along, and occasionally other apes along the way would lope out of the darkness to join them for a while. Irn explained that the subterranean apes lived off of the plant critters and other small beasts, which in turn generally grazed the phosphorescent fungi off of the walls. "Once you get down far enough, there's a lot of water, and then you have a whole different ecosystem." Bungston nodded sagely and plucked a clump of fungus off the wall, stowing it in a pocket for emergencies.
The hand-hewn tunnels ended about a mile away from Irn's residence, and were replaced by caves of various sizes. Irn cautioned the group to keep quiet, as they were nearing the dragon's area. There was a strange smell in the air, like roadwork on a hot day. Napoleon sneezed wetly. "Bung, this doesn't smell like dragon much. Just a little."
Bungston nodded, then grabbed the mutant's furry shoulder. "Hey Nap, look! Just like home!" They were passing beneath a tremendous arch in the shape of a sideways capital J. Towering monolithic statues stood on either side, their lines obscured by stone flows and stalagmites. "Irn - this is that city you were talking about? Nap and I live in a cabana built by these same guys!"
Irn had been whispering to the agitated apes. She looked nervously toward the opening, then turned toward the rather loud wizard. "Yeah, hope you show me it someday," she whispered. "Ok, I'm not taking the apes any further. We're going to go back to the small tunnels where it probably won't follow. You guys can come back to meet us when you're done. Good luck." She turned and quickly backtracked out of the cave, her apes in tow.
Bungston looked after her, then sniffed the strange asphalt stench again. "That was quick. Ok guys, let's find us some rep-tile." The three walked under the great triangular arch and inward. Most of the caverns were natural, and the action of water had obliterated the greater part of what the prehuman builders might have added. Bungston ignored smaller side passages and forged straight ahead. After a while Napoleon stopped and complained that he was getting goop in his fur. He grabbed the wall and held up a foot for inspection, then pulled away and found that he had black sticky gunk on his hands also. "Irn can take care of that with some solvent when we get back," Bungston consoled his mutant. "She can whip up a little WD40 in no time. Hey, listen. Do you guys hear running water?"
Robigus looked concerned. "Bungston, do you not fear that we may blunder into this dragon and have it fall upon us ere we can devise a strategy? And even so, surely we are not armed to battle a beast of this ilk; my sword and your pistol will but anger it."
Bungston looked at the armored man archly. "I don't know about any butt-anger, Bob, but for one thing, we are not going to `blunder' anywhere; we are a cool, calculating, adze-procuring team. As for the dragon, I bet it's a small one, and we can do it in before it wakes up. Then we swipe the goods and run." Bungston pursed his lips. "Although, if we killed it first, we wouldn't have to run. Remember Nap, we've pulled off that trick once or twice?"
Napoleon grunted his assent. "Once. I hope this dragon is as little as that one was."
"That one wasn't all that little, and besides, big dragons are pretty scarce. And once we ace it, we could get Irn and her ape flunkies to help carry the loot." He thought some more. "Yeah Bob, you're right. You guys wait in one of these side tunnels, and I'll go see what's up. Then I'll come back and we'll devise a plan." He rubbed his hands together craftily, then greased his boots with a spray can of Pam brought along for emergencies. He gave his crewcut an energetic massage until his electrified scalp emitted a lambent glow. "Watch out for vegetables," he admonished, then moved away, a bobbing blue scalp in the darkness.
The goop on the floor was pervasive, and Bungston was glad he had greased his boots, since they would certainly have lodged in the tarry sludge. He checked his Colt.45 as he walked. One quick shot, right up the nose, and no more dragon. Or maybe in the eyeball. Bungston grimaced at that nasty thought; surprise eye wounds are no way for a self-respecting dragon slayer to do in his opponent. The nose is much better. Bungston was assessing his own excellent nose for vulnerability when he saw the dragon.
The cavern was immense. It must have been a tremendous public room of some sort in the days when it was populated, and the walls were buttressed and decorated with architecture like that of Bungston's cabana. Six massive statues marked the corners of what had been an irregularly sexagonal room, but their details were totally obscured by stone flows and a soft black coating. A river flowed along one side of the room, emptying out through a yawning vaulted hole in the wall. The cavern was illuminated by several flaming pools near the river. In the center of the room was a blackened mound, and atop this mound was the dragon.
It was curled up, with only its back visible. It was by no means a little dragon. Thick metallic scales polished by sand and stones reflected the flickering light. Spadelike claws capable of bringing down the Washington Monument were casually embedded in the pile beneath its bulk. Bungston tore his eyes away from the dragon long enough to realize that the pile was composed of tar-covered gold and riches. A sinister bubbling sound came from the far side of the dragon, sounding like a sulphur pit in Yellowstone Park. Bungston stood for a second then wheeled and galloped back up the way he had come.
"I really, really need that tactical nuke pistol. I need my Nukomatic." One shot, two tops, would vaporize most of that mother, and if Bungston didn't bring the roof down he would have it made. He knew it would be a royal pain to summon the Nukomatic from where he had left it in the cabana, but he started mumbling anyway. "SCRUB NOSE THOSE OBNOXIOUS BASS DO THUMBTIME OR I'LL KICK YOUR ASS! FIRST TIME MISTING GASPING LISPING TWICE AND BLASTED SECOND CLASS!" He was rewarded with a silver grapefruit spoon. Bungston grabbed it and stuck it to the wall with a lump of tar, to keep it out of trouble. Then he started again, adding a few dance steps for variety.
One speargun, one welder's mask, a dog shears, a 120-foot length of nylon cable, three sticks of dynamite, a pinochle deck, a box of plastic Christmas ornaments and a sombrero decorated with wax fruit later, Bungston got his Nukomatic, in a lawn bag covered with soil. It had been disassembled, apparently with a heavy instrument. The nuclear power core was gone too. Bungston carefully pulled a tuft of maroon fur free from the wreckage, staring at it in horror. The traitor!
The wizard put aside the ruined weapon and squared his rather narrow shoulders. Once he dealt with the dragon there would be a reckoning. His efforts had not been totally wasted; the dynamite might come in handy, if he played his cards right. Mentally reviewing all he knew of dragon lore, he slowly walked back to the dragon.
It seemed to be fast asleep, although the leaping light made it look as if it were moving. Long many-legged parasites snaked their way among the shining scales. Bungston wrinkled his nose at these. Maybe he wouldn't have to deal with this cooty dragon; he could just find the adze and slip out. The wizard started snooping around, looking for possible adzes in the tar-coated mess. He found a wooden haft protruding from one glop of gold and goo, but couldn't pull it free. Everything else looked about the same. Heck, the beast could be lying on the thing for all he knew. He would have to use his smooth persuasive style to convince the dragon to give up the adze. The wizard walked up to about fifteen feet and took a shot with his Colt .45 at the dragon's back to wake it up. Only his vaunted reflexes saved him from the ricochet.
The dragon stirred, and Bungston thought it might be prudent to move back a tad, to allow room for him to maneuver. He was beginning to have a plan. The dragon mumbled something, and then seemed to subside. Bungston cranked off two more shots to make sure it was awake. The bullets made a sound like thick piano wire breaking as they bounced off the armored hide; a low "spoink!" The dragon shifted some more, then suddenly its entire bulk heaved up and over and Bungston was looking at its head. The two front legs stretched forth and planted themselves on either side. Its head was like a primitive armored fish from the Devonian, covered with large metal plates and with a beaklike mouth, and the head alone was half again as tall as Bungston. The dragon did not have any obvious teeth, but rather both of its jaws were sharp. Long segmented barbs twitched and quivered at the sides of the mouth. The quadruple eyelids slowly lifted one by one, and the great pupilless eyes fixed themselves on the puny wizard. Then the dragon spoke.
Bungston didn't understand, which surprised him since in his career he had never run across a language he did not know. Complements, complements, he remembered. Spread it on thick. Latin's a good bet. "Hello, o massive and monstro dragon. Very nice scales you've got there. Bulletproof, and shiny to boot. A wonder to behold."
"Another human," bubbled the dragon thickly and in Latin. Viscous strings of hot smoking tar oozed from its mouth as it spoke. "Come down from the top to explore."
"Yeah. No - wait! I have come to feast my eyes on your succulent beauty, o huge one. Come to see with my own eyes your, your..." He scanned the dragon for something else to complement besides the scales. "Your magnificent scales of mighty mirrored metal. And... your very catfishlike whiskers. And your excellently stubby head. Truly, you are a wonderous wonder to gaze upon, a delectable monstrosity of hugeitude. I have come to marvel at your extreme hugeness, and you are marvelously huge, yes indeed." This sort of thing is what he excelled at, thought Bungston.
"You have placed three small dents in my magnificent scales," rumbled the dragon. Bungston could not detect any emotion in its burbling voice. He briefly wondered if perhaps this dragon was some sort of robot what with all the metal on it. He had seen a robot reptile in a Japanese monster movie once.
"They add, rather than detract from your beauty," cooed the wizard. "A dimpled and textured effect most appealing. It complements the breathtakingly verminous decor already in place."
The dragon snorted, releasing a cloud of brown smoke. Fortunately the cavern was well ventilated by the motion of the river, and the smoke dispersed. Bungston continued, striking various poses for visual aid. "Knowing of your fondness for rare and magical treasures and pieces of candy, I have brought as an offering for you a combination of the two, the like of which the world has rarely seen."
The dragon lifted its mass and oriented its blunted head more closely on the diminuitve wizard before it. "An offering. It has been a very long time since a creature brought me an offering of its own accord. I will look upon your offering." This short speech liberated a stream of ooze from the dragon's maw, which flowed thickly down the side of the treasure mound. Bungston slid out of the way.
"Beautiful tasty crunchy yummy candy, crafted by skilled candysmiths at my command for your consumption!", cooed the wizard enticingly, adding his best game show hostess gestures. "Do you approve, O plenty huge one?" Bungston slowly opened the box of Christmas ornaments, then stepped forward and laid the box down, leaving the plastic baubles to shimmer in the light of the burning puddles.
The dragon extended its forelegs, dug in its claws, and heaved its body scraping across the mound. It brought one opalescent eye to bear on the box. "Special, secret candy suited for no flimsy human to taste, but only for the palate of the fabulous dragon." This was very true as Bungston had hidden the sticks of dynamite under the Christmas ornaments, in the hope that the dragon's heat would set them off, blowing it up but good. Eat it, eat it, eat eat eat! Bungston mentally pleaded.
"I accept this offering," said the dragon, and lowered its jaw like a steam shovel to scoop up Christmas ornaments, box, dynamite, and the few cubic feet of tar, stone and treasure immediately beneath them. Bungston ran off to the opposite side of the cavern near a large stalagmite and dropped prostrate, making as if he were grovelling in submission before the dragon. He did not have long to grovel.
A muffled explosion shook the cavern. Bungston quickly rolled behind the stalagmite, where he was shielded from the fine spray of hot tar which he had anticipated. It was followed by a rattling rain of liberated scales hitting rock. The wizard yawned a few times to pop his ears, which had reacted to the sudden pressure change in the cavern, then after a few seconds he looked out. "Fudge on a stick."
The dragon was standing upright on its trunklike legs, its lower jaw hanging loosely. Its eyes were closed, and several barbs were missing from the corners of its mouth. Its mouth abruptly swung shut, then fell open again. Some smoke came out. Then the jaw swung shut and stayed shut. The eyelids flew open and the massive neckless head swung to bear on the wizard.
"The flavor was too sour for the palate of the majestic dragon?", Bungston quickly offered. "A few moments, and I could come back with a few more sticks. Of candy. And not so sour. Hang on just a second."
The dragon made no response except for an ominous gurgling "haaacccchh...". With a resounding "THOOP!" the dragon spat forth a smoking, viscous blob of asphalt, but Bungston had jumped back behind his stalagmite.
The monstrous beast grumbled in dissatisfaction, then trudged toward the shielding rock formation. A sideways swat with one mighty forelimb sent stalagmite fragments bounding across the cavern and into the river, leaving Bungston to confront the dragon. "How do you know if a dragon has been hiding in your refrigerator?", asked the wizard.The dragon paused to absorb this riddle. "What - refrigerator?", it rumbled.
"Because they smell so damn bad!" The dragon did not have to understand what a refrigerator was to grasp the intent of this joke, and it lunged for the wizard with a terrifying roar. Bungston arced over its blunt head with an aerial somersault, planted a foot in one great white eye, then trotted along the dragon's plated back with a noise like a steel drum band. The dragon turned around as quickly as it could. It was beginning to get irritated, a feeling it had not experienced for ages. Bungston was standing near the cave entrance, giving a spit shine to a gold basin he had pulled loose from the dragon's tarry hoard. "Nice pot. Thank you very much. I'll just borrow a few more small goodies." The wizard began to fill the basin with other odds and ends tugged free from the trasure heap. He hit the dirt with several seconds to spare as a second napalm lugey passed overhead. It was fortunate for the agile wizard that this particular dragon hacked up tidy lumps of tar instead of acid clouds or a flame blanket. It was also fortunate that the dragon telegraphed all of its moves, and Bungston had started rolling away long before the dragon bit a Volkswagon-sized lump of solid rock from the cave floor where he had been.
Now the dragon was incensed. With a lurch of its body, it catapulted the mouthful of stone at the ceiling above the goading human. As Bungston jogged out from under the falling stalagtites and debris, the dragon shut its mouth and sprayed molten tar in a horizontal fan from between its jaws. Bungston turned and accelerated, running up the the far wall. He scooted into a convenient crevice, then poked his head out to look at the dragon below. "Nyah nyah can't get me here!" He took a potshot at the dragon's right nostril with his pistol, then ducked back. Several blobs of asphalt proved him partially correct.
The dragon bellowed some words in a strange language, bunched up, then launched itself at the wizard's crevice with an earthshaking howl of fury. Yard long claws sank into the rock as if it were plasticine. "Pretty spooky," called Bungston's muffled voice. "I'm quaking just like jelly!" The dragon furiously scraped aside rocks in search of the intolerable human. Deeper and deeper it dug. "Hey, how many dragons does it take to screw in a light bulb? None - they're too dang clumsy! Haw haw haw!" The dragon could not pinpoint exactly where ahead of it the voice was coming from, so it kept digging, tunneling rapidly through the stone like a nuclear gopher. "Nope, I don't think you can get me here,"
Bungston held on tight to the dragon's tail, occasionally shouting up words of encouragement, but mostly just trying to dodge the larger chunks that flew back from the dragon's claws. They were travelling upwards at an angle, and moving at a good clip, so the wizard figured they would break out into the open air pretty soon. He wasn't sure what would happen then; maybe he could outrun the stinky critter and let the Pope deal with it. More likely it would just get tired and turn around and go back down to its lair. A long and leggy red creature moved out from under a scale and wriggled toward Bungston's perch near the end of the tail, no doubt intending to crawl in his ear. He took a breath and spat his well-chewed nutmeg at the nasty parasite, which scooted back to its hiding spot. "Hey, wormy dragon! You won't miss this little bit of gold. I promise not to spend it all in one place." The dragon bellowed and continued its efforts. Maybe Napoleon would go in and find the adze while the dragon was distracted. The wizard was at a loss about how to signal his pet mutant, though. He was also very muddy; the stones they were moving through were progressively wetter and wetter, and the dragon was kicking back gouts of mud and small stones instead of the sedimentary shrapnel it had been dislodging earlier.
Then Bungston realized what was going to happen. He let go of the tail and headed back down the tunnel as fast as he could move. His small stature allowed him to stand upright, but the tunnel floor was slick and loose, and he could not move fast. A muddy rivulet began to course down the incline, and the stream rapidly increased in size. "Not going to make it," panted Bungston. "HOLY GEYSER BOWLER TIRES FIRE TO MEET AND SWEET BETWEEN BE FOOT OF FLEET TO ROLLER CAIRO! WHAOH! MOGULMAN!" A dumptruck tire appeared next to him; he quickly grabbed it before it could roll away. The wet wizard crammed his petite frame inside the tire and pushed off, water and mud splashing around the sides. It was Bungston's least favorite kind of ride: pitch black, bumpy, fast, and in tight circles, plus he had no Human Cannonball Helmet handy to counter the torque. He was, however, thankful for the centrifugal force that he imagined was keeping him tightly wedged in the tire.
Wizard and wheel shot like a bullet out from the wall of the dragon's cavern. The tire compressed to an oval shape on impact, then sprung back and bounced into the air. This continued for several bounces until the tire was slowed by the sticky tar on the cave floor, and then it tipped over on its side. Bungston extricated himself, cradled his protesting guts with both hands, and began to list across the cavern. Furry paws grabbed his head. "Bung! We thought it ate you!"
Robigus leaned in close and peered at Bungston's face. "Are you hurt, Bungston? You do not look well."
Bungston pointed frantically toward the mouth of the newly excavated tunnel, from which an ominous rumble and a frothing brown spray emanated. "We gotta run. Hurry!" He promptly pitched over on his side and flopped around trying to regain his feet. Napoleon easily hefted the wobbling wizard into a fireman's carry and trucked across the treasure mound toward the entrance. Robigus followed, drawing his sword and scowling around in fierce confusion.
Just before the threesome reached the entrance, there was a resounding explosion from the dragon tunnel, and the muddy stream became a geyser. Like a rocketing champagne cork, the dragon was carried helplessly tailfirst along at the front of the watery blast. Its great scaled body caromed off the cavern floor and landed in the subterranean river. Still propelled by the torrent, the dragon tumbled through the vaulted waterway and disappeared. As they watched, a wall of water surged at them from the opposite side of the cavern.
Fortunately, the intrepid trio made it far enough up the passage that when the wave hit, it merely swept them uphill at high speed instead of washing them down the river as it had the dragon. The biggest job was navigating the turns and avoiding the side passages; it would not do to wind up submerged in a dead-end tunnel. Napoleon held the light between his teeth to guide the way, and Robigus in his armor made a decent anchor to steady the mutant and magician. The three encountered few problems. Only a few minutes after they had first been caught in the surge, their forward progress stopped and the water began to slowly recede. Napoleon shook himself to dry his fur, then lifted up Bungston to examine him once more. "Bung, we heard this boom, then the dragon roaring up a storm. You said you were going to come back and tell us the plan and you never did!"
"We feared you had stumbled upon the dragon unawares," admonished Robigus.
"That dragon was huge!" Napoleon shook his head. "Way, way bigger than that Korean carp dragon you shot in the nose. You are so lucky!"
"Luck? I merely used my superior cunning and wisdom and tricked the stupid beast into a trap. A simple scheme devised on the spot. Shrewd, yes. Luck -" Bungston suddenly remembered his gripe with Napoleon. He quit talking and slowly walked around to face the big soggy mutant. "But it would have been a lot easier if I'd had certain... equipment. Do you know what I mean?"
Robigus sighed. "It is even as I said; our weapons are well-suited for most uses, but not against such a titan! It was enormous!"
"I've seen bigger," said Bungston. "But Napoleon, maybe you know the equipment I'm talking about." He made with a meaningful monobrow.
Napoleon obviously had no idea what equipment Bungston was talking about, so the wizard decided to be more explicit. "Like my Nukomatic. Like my tactical nuke pistol that could have turned that dragon's butt into pi-mesons before it even woke up. Like that sort of equipment."
Napoleon tried to feign ignorance. "But Bungston," he whimpered, "you said you forgot the Nukomatic. You said you left it in the cabana when we were fighting the shoggoth. Remember?" Like all canines, Napoleon was a terrible bluffer. Bungston tapped his foot and looked stern, and the shaggy mutant cracked in a few seconds. He fell to the floor and grabbed Bungston's legs, wailing and howling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I busted it, but I was afraid you would blow us all up this time, and crabs chewed off the grip anyway, and I didn't know we would have to fight with shoggoths and dragons or I would never have done it, and I think I can fix it, I know right where it is, and it's in a bag so it's safe..."
"Not any more its not. I summoned it up, and now its washed away into little bits. What do you mean I'd blow us all up? I can handle that thing."
Napoleon let go of Bungston's legs, leaving a thin layer of shed wet maroon fur clinging to them. He stood up, hanging his soggy spike-tufted head in penitence. "Whenever you take the Nukomatic adventuring, you shoot everything with it. You kill bugs with it. You blow open doors sometimes. It's pretty scary. I was afraid you might accidentally blow up a building and it would fall on us, or make us radioactive or something. We're both probably radioactive from it anyway."
"What are you worried about? You're already a mutant." Bungston had to confess to himself that the mutant St. Bernard's worries about collapsing a building might have some validity; there had been close calls in that department before. Plus, Napoleon was probably still freaked out by the volcano Bungston had once caused in Iceland with a bit of errant nuclear fire.
Napoleon thought for a second, then continued his growly whine. "It's a lot more fun going on quests and stuff with you when you don't have the Nukomatic. You do plenty of magic, and come up with cool solutions to problems. Lots more elegant."
Bungston nodded stoically. "Yes, I can be elegant when I put my mind to it."
"You're more tricky without it," rumbled Napoleon, sensing approval. "Like the way you conned the dragon just now. And... and the way you got that shoggoth tied up in knots."
Bungston smirked in satisfaction and patted Napoleon on a shaggy shoulder. "Yeah, that was pretty clever." The short magician was puffed up with pride, and he strutted around chuckling at how he had tricked dragon and shoggoth. "Well, maybe getting rid of the nuke pistol was a good move after all, Nap. That old thing just crimped my style." Bungston turned and noticed that the water had disappeared from their region of the tunnels. "Guys, let's go get Irn. Once all this water drains out through the river, we can go over that treasure heap with a fine toothed comb. And I think Irn might even have a fine toothed comb. I feel success within our grasp." The wizard's enthusiasm was contagious, and the three began wending their way back to Irn's caves.

Chapter 14

"You did? Jovarillo! I can't believe it!" Irn was predicatbly astounded that Bungston had done away with the dragon, and for a few seconds her eyes actually opened all the way before subsiding into their usual state. She explained to the white apes what had happened, and they coverged on Bungston hooting with joy and pounding him on the back with many arms.
The wizard inflated to the maximum. "Yes, well, all in a day's work. I just used its power against it, turning it about, so to speak. It all derives from my intensive ninja training." He struck a pose and demonstrated a few intense ninja moves for the apes, which ooked and eeked appreciatively.

Irn rolled her eyes and walked over to talk with Napoleon and Robigus. "So, guys, he really did kill the dragon? He's not telling a fish story? Because that thing was a huger; biggest I've ever stumbled into."
Robigus nodded. "He provoked the dragon into digging a tunnel up to the surface, where it intercepted a lake bottom. The water which coursed down the tunnel was of enough force to carry the dragon away; Bungston himself but narrowly avoided the same fate. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it."
Irn caught the mildew god with a sideways glance. "Carried away? So its not actually dead, its just gone. Nang, nang, nang. So, Bung, we should search that place before the dragon comes back, huh?"
Bungston looked over from his crowd of four-armed nutmeg-chewing martial arts pupils. "Come back? That critter hit so hard its lucky it's in one piece!" The wizard then recalled the fact that the critter had not been damaged by three sticks of dynamite exploding in its mouth; this could be said for few other animals. "Mmm yeah. Maybe you're right. Ok, lets go."
The flaming puddles which had previously illuminated the dragon's cavern had been put out by the torrent. Irn quickly remedied this with a tarry basin plucked from the dragon's hoard. She filled it with river water and spun the full basin on her finger frisbee style, tapping it occasionally with the other hand, then set it on a ledge and threw in a match. Whatever was now in the basin burned with a brilliant sputtering white flame, and a few more strategically located bowls and basins provided more light than the room had probably ever seen. The next problem was the treasure mound, which was well cemented by layer upon layer of tar. The mound looked like a big tar and treasure fruitcake, and Bungston's earlier efforts had proven that it was not easy to pick out the fruit. Also, none of them knew how deep the treasure mound was - the layers might date back a very long time.
Irn gestured around in frustration. "Look at this! It's all gunked together! My aesthetic sensibility is offended. What's the point of gathering up gold and jewels and nice stuff if you want to bury it in a glob of sticky mucus? Might as well be chunks of dirt."
Robigus was digging out a small blue jade statuette with his sword. He got it loose and held it near a blazing basin to examine it further. "Truly, this is a worthy question you pose, Irn. And why would a dragon desire valuables at all? It cannot enter a bazaar or shop, and it has no-one to awe with its wealth as does a king or noble. What use a treasure with no value?"
"Truly, you guys ask lots of bozo questions," grumbled Bungston. "Maybe dragons don't have much reason to collect gold, but humans don't either. It's soft and gets banged out of shape if you look at it wrong. Gold is just nifty, and everybody likes it, and that's that. Let's find this adze." The wizard was a little more curt than usual with his companions because he had begun to realize that even without the dragon present, it would be well nigh impossible to find the magic adze, if it were here at all - everything in the mound looked the same. Also, Irn's point earlier had made him increasingly nervous. He kept on glancing at the point where the subterranean river exited the cavern, expecting the huge armored head of the dragon to poke out of the arch at any second. He was not too sure they could escape if it did show up; the thing tunneled through stone almost as fast as a man could run. It would certainly be pissed off, and so it would chase them. Chase Bungston, in particular. But then it might be dead, too. Bungston grabbed an ape and asked it to stand watch at the river exit, and to holler if it saw anything.
Irn had her old fashioned bug duster along, and after some experimentation she arrived at a reeking solvent that dissolved the dragon's tar fairly well. Bungston first pointed out the wooden haft he had earlier noticed protruding from the pile. Napoleon could not get a good enough grip on the thing to really pull, but after Irn had softened up the tar around it Bungston and Robigus working together got it free. It was just a stick. "Perhaps the head of this tool remains below," pointed out the mildew god. "Often it happens that the haft is wrenched free from an axe-head or shovel blade."
"Yeah, and maybe it's a magic wand!" growled Napoleon.
Bungston handed the stick to the excited dog, who proceeded to bonk various nearby objects with it. "This is so slow!" complained the wizard. "It took ten minutes just to find a stick! This sucks! There has got to be a better way." He scanned the lumpy treasure pudding in despair. There was a tap at his shoulder and he turned, hoping for a suggestion, but it was just Napoleon tapping him with the stick in hopes of awakening its magic powers. He pushed the mutant away and then yelled at some apes who were milling around near the exit. "You apes make yourselves useful!" Irn and Robigus took little notice of the wizard's tantrum, being busy with sprayer and sword retrieving small precious items from the pile. "Guys, tell me if you find it," said Bungston petulantly, then stalked off towards the river to sulk.
En route, Bungston's attention was suddenly drawn by a small item wedged between an ingot of silver and the top edge of a circular shield. The wizard fetched a cupful of Irn's tar dissolving solvent and managed to work the item free. It was a tiny brass spoon, not more than three inches long. It rang a bell somewhere in the back of Bungston's mind. An earspoon. He crinkled his brow, trying to remember. For some reason, he thought the thing he was searching for might just be an earspoon. Had Queen Z mentioned an earspoon?
"Found it," announced Irn. Bungston stashed the earspoon in a pocket, then ran back to where the sorceress and Robigus were standing amid a crowd of killer apes. Irn was polishing the remaining tar off the adze with a solvent-soaked rag. The adze was not overly flashy but was obviously not your run of the mill tool. Its haft was about a foot and a half long, made out of wood now stained brown with tar. The curved head was carved from an unusual blue black stone with tiny translucent light blue veins.
Bungston gently took the adze out of Irn's hand and tested it for heft, his eyes bugging from his head. "Well spice my thymus! This is it! This is it!" The grinning wizard leaped on Irn with a huge hug, then gave Robigus another one equally huge, then danced a high-speed victory dance with the magic adze above his head, whooping and yelling. SQUALID CRANER CRAZY GRAIN ITS ONE TOO HUP DO RIGHT IN THE GRAY OLD SPECIAL TIME ALMOST MY BRAIN! TRIP FLIPPING KIPPER CRYPTO KNISH! There was a burst of tiny magnificently colored paper flowers and small black plastic beads at the very top of the cavern. The beads came down in a fast noisy hail, but the paper flowers took their time, floating through the air in a beautiful display. The apes loved it. Bungston turned back to his comrades, ecstatic. "How the heck did you find it in this heap? And so fast! I was ready to go mope!"
"Yeah, I could tell," said Irn. "Well, Bob here and I just roamed around looking for something that looked familiar to me, or to one of the apes. They were a big help too - cause they're the ones who carted it all down here. So, eventually we found this." She held up a marble bust of some Roman official. For some inexplicable reason, there was a chain attached to a ring set in the nose. "There can't be more than a few chain-nose busts in the world, so we figured, this is where the apes dumped the loot, so it all must be here. In this vicinity, you know. So we dug around a little, and here's your adze."
Bungston tugged on the nose-chain, then rubbed his own nose in sympathy. "Gotta hand it to you, guys. That sure makes sense. No arguing with success. Wooo!" The wizard was so pleased to have completed his quest that he did not even try to think of some way he could take credit for the find.
Napoleon shuffled up with his stick and rubbed it on the adze. "Hey, Irn, is that reeky stuff you have safe for fur? Bung said you could make some WD40 and get this gunk off of me." Fortunately for the mutant the recent flood had solidified the tar to some degree, but still his fur was spotted with tar chunks, his feet were almost bald, and his rambles about the cavern were clearly marked by reddish hair stuck to the black floor. The apes were in a similar predicament.
Irn sniffed her bug duster and coughed, her eyes watering. "Well, there's probably something better than what I've got now. But say, I'd say we should grab the goods and go before that dragon comes back and bogues us but good. Bung, I don't suppose your magic ship is big enough to carry my apes?"
The wizard looked over the simian seven, who were engaged in gathering paper flowers off the floor and throwing them in an attempt to recreate Bungston's display. "Maybe a couple, in with us. Argh!" Bungston slapped himself on the head, leaving a vivid black handprint on his crewcut and forehead. "I forgot! That stupid coil is parked way out on the mouth of the Tiber! I don't want to walk all that way!"
Robigus frowned at the wizard. "I have thought on this matter," stated the mildew god, "and it must be that the wrapped carriage is controllable from afar. This must be, for when you and I were picked up by our carriage in Greece, the one controlling it from Avalon was at considerable distance. Yet the carriage still responded with celerity. So it may be that you could cause the wrapped carriage to move from the ocean through this tunnel to where we stand."
"No celerity for me, thanks," rasped Napoleon in his unoiled chainsaw voice. "It tastes funny. Plus it's full of threads." Bungston absently grabbed the mutant's nose and squeezed in retribution. Napoleon responded with a ferocious sneeze.
The wizard was in a fix. He did not like it when other people did the thinking for him, at least not when they did it as blatantly as Robigus was. There had to be an alternative to the gray warrior's suggestion. Bungston was still pretty pumped up about the adze, though, and after some disgruntled gruntling he had to concede that the warrior's plan involved the least work. "All right. Good idea and all. We'll just hope this river empties into the ocean and not into Pellucidar or some bottomless pit, or the coil will never get here." The slim wizard fished out the control statue and began to fiddle with it.
The adventurers waited and waited. Napoleon wandered around sneezing and using his wand to poke at various half-hidden bits of treasure in the mound. Robigus and Irn started excavating a hole in the great central tar heap, recovering older and older items as they progressed into the interior. After a half-hour Irn hunkered down next to where Bungston glared at the control statue. "Bung, do you think it would be OK if after we got to your place I borrowed your machine and took my main apes someplace nice, California or something?"
"Yeh, good idea. But I might be swimming this coil in circles on the bottom of the ocean for all I know. Fudge and fish."
Napoleon shuffled over with his special stick, now somewhat chewed, and tapped the end of the minature coil on the control statue. At that very moment a loud hum resounded through the cavern and the glowing coil emerged from the river and perched on the bank. Man and mutant stared at each other, then stared at the special stick. "Coincidence," declared Bungston. Napoleon responded with a soggy sneeze. Even Bungston's remarkable reflexes could not save him from a no-warning point-blank sneeze, and the wetted wizard jumped to his feet and ran away, wiping himself and protesting loudly.
"That's what you get for doubting my magic wand," rasped the mutant in tones that would have been self-righteous if they had been clearer. "And for honking my nose - you got some of that anti-tar stuff in it! And besides, you've got that black mucky junk all over your face. That's the same thing as dragon boogers. Worse, even. I bet you're cleaner now that I sneezed on you, since I had solvent in my nose." Bungston broke the head off of a stained ivory idol lodged in the tar and winged it at his intolerable pet mutant. The St. Bernard somehow deflected it with his magic wand, then nodded his great head knowingly at this further proof of his wand's powers.
"Enough! Enough, you guys!" Irn propelled the squawking mutant toward Bungston and the coil. She promised her apes that she would return for them soon, and directed them to return to her domicile and hold down the fort. Bungston took advantage of Napoleon's new proximity to kick strange smelling river water onto him. Robigus, with his usual diligence, loaded up the coil with their take of dragon treasure. Bungston broke out his nifty nutmeg grater and gave each of Irn's apes a pinch of freshly ground nutmeg to place between cheek and gum. He grabbed a platter-sized mirrored dragon scale from the tar as a souvenir, and then the foursome was off.
Strange white fish dashed and darted around the coil as the four adventurers cruised down the river. "We're moving deep into the bowels of the earth," intoned Bungston ominously. "The bowels of the earth." Napoleon pointed out a barrel-sized white form ahead of them. It was a giant white crab that flashed by the side of the coil and was gone.
"This thing really hauls," noted Irn as she watched the white form behind them dwindle and disappear. "I like it. How do you do the time travel bit, though?"
"You'll see pretty soon" said Bungston. "There's this series of time gates on the ocean floor. They all look the same, but the machine knows which one to pick."
"I have been thinking about those time gates..," started Robigus.
"You sure think a lot, Bob," interrupted Napoleon. The big mutant was trying to magic the wads of tar out of his fur with the magic wand. Robigus shut his mouth and rode on in silence. After about a minute Napoleon turned to look at the suddenly uncommunicative mildew god. "Yeah? You were saying?"
Robigus frowned fiercely at the mutant. "Perhaps it is not meet that a warrior babble of thoughts and theories."
The mutant snorted and bonked Robigus' armored shin with the magic wand. "I'll give you meat you can talk about!" Bungston backhanded his mutant for this lamest of pun attempts. Napoleon was already off balance, and the mutant St. Bernard lurched into Robigus, adding possible injury to probable insult.
Irn fended off god and dog; quarters were close with four bodies in the coil and one of them seven feet tall. Also between Napoleon and Robigus the air was pretty ripe; Napoleon smelled like the wet tarry dog he was, and Robigus' earlier mildewing activities against the plant creatures had caused the dissolution of the borrowed clothes he wore under his armor. "Let's hear a thought or theory, Bobzilla," said Irn. "My brain is always rassling with the time travel thing too."
Robigus hesitated a bit, then began to unpack his thoughts. "These time archways at the bottom of the sea are unutterably ancient, yes?"
"Unutterably," agreed Bungston.
"And the race that built them no doubt made use of them as we do - for travel. This is the function of the wrapped carriage. The time arches do permit access to recent epochs - to this, the sixteenth century, and to the time of Avalon, and to the time in which you live, Bungston and Napoleon." The gray warrior paused and looked at the great maroon form across from him. "In which time do you normally abide?"
Napoleon shrugged and turned to Bungston. "Post-modern," answered the wizard. "Go on."
"I have wondered, then, why it is we do not see representatives of the original time-travelling race exploring the many places accesible via the time arches? The builders of these arches could use them to visit recent times. Why do they not?"
There was silence in the wrapped carriage as the adventurers contemplated the mystery.
Not too surprisingly, Bungston spoke first. "Maybe they don't want to," he offered. "Maybe it's more fun in their own time. Maybe they can't eat our food."
"Maybe people are mean to them when they visit," rasped Napoleon."Maybe they look like Bigfoot," said Bungston.
Napoleon liked this idea, and the grating rumble of his voice rose in pitch. "Yeah, yeah, people are mean to them because those ancient toads look like Bigfoot. That's why they never visit us. That would explain it, Bob."
"You just like that idea because you think you look like Bigfoot," accused Bungston.
"Well, maybe I'm one of those ancient time travellers, huh? Ever think of that? Maybe these spring machines are Chariots of the Gods and I'm a Bigfoot god who came to visit. You guys should be nicer to me."
"I happen to know your grandma walked on all fours with a barrel of brandy on her neck," shot Bungston.
"That doesn't mean I'm not a god. Does it, Bob?" Napoleon looked to the frowning mildew god for support.
Irn perked up. "Hey, maybe Nap's right." Napoleon nodded fiercely and prodded Bungston to make sure he was listening to the thaumaturge. She did not, however, go on to confirm Napoleon's godhood or Bigfoothood. "Maybe these ancient arch builders are visiting, and they walk around, and we just can't tell. They could look like regular people and just shut up about where they come from. Look, we don't go shouting that we're time travelers when we're out and about, do we? It wouldn't go over well."
Robigus nodded solemnly. "And it could be that they do not appear as people do. It could be that they may take the form of animals." Napoleon tapped Bungston again, but again was disappointed. "No, Napoleon, not extraordinary animals such as you. Ordinary animals, like goats or birds. They may be shape shifters. The Egyptians and some others knew of gods who were part animal, part human. These, then could be the arch builders."
Irn looked closely at Robigus. "So, Robigus, you're a god, right? Did you know that guy Zeus and his bunch?"
Napoleon gave Bungston a third dig in the ribs. "What?" bellowed the wizard, cutting off Robigus' reply to Irn.
"Did you hear what Bob said?" ground the shaggy beast in his chainsaw tones. "He said I was extraordinary. He said I might be a shape shifter god."
"Like that shoggoth?" suggested Bungston.
"No, no, no! Not like that at all, right Bob? Like, uh, I don't know. Those Egyptian gods. A shape shifter. I've got it in my blood."
"More like a shit shaper," said Bungston.
"More like a sharp shooter," said Napoleon.
"A shaft slapper," said Bungston.
"A shark shipper."
The wizard turned a quarter turn and fixed a belligerent stare on Napoleon. "A skank sucker."
Napoleon jutted his lower jaw. "A star sparker."
"A sheep spanker."
"A short sheeter."
"A sheet spotter."
"A slick swinger"
"I do not understand," said Robigus, mystifyed by the high-speed exchange. "What does this talk mean?"
"A SPIKE SPANK SPARK SHANK SHIFTY SHAPELESS SCRIMSHAW STICK OF FISHY FLASHING SCRABBLING SANDBAG SCABROUS PLAID OLD FUNKY WONGER BANGER."
Red lightning crackled away from the coil, leaving trails of steam and froth in the water. Booming explosions due to cavitation rocked the moving carriage, causing its occupants to bounce off each other like gourd seeds in a maraca. When the bubbles cleared, the adventurers could see that there was something orbiting the wrapped carriage at tremendous speed. It moved in asymmetric elliptical orbits, darting smoothly out to varying distances and shooting around different sections of the coil. The thing had a three foot long cometlike tail of white fire and bubbles behind it. It moved so fast that none of the four could tell what it was, literally running circles around the wrapped carriage, which was itself was moving at no inconsiderable speed.
"That was a big one," said Bungston. "Thanks for the help." The mutant nodded.
"This jobby you called up moves like an electron, Bung," said Irn as she followed the newly summoned object with her eyes. "Sometimes when I'm transmuting I can feel those little shooters, and this moves just like that. Like an electron. I don't know if this looks the same, though."
"Thus we have become an Atom," proclaimed the wizard. "I guess we're all protons and neutrons in here. Hey, this is a pretty long river."
Robigus had been completely befuddled by this latest exchange, and he merely watched the carriage's fast moving satellite for a while. "I have just realized," he said after a few minutes. "We feared lest the dragon should return to his lair while we waited there. It is likely that, were the dragon to return, it would return via this watery passage, and if we run afoul of it as we travel there is nowhere to flee."
Bungston rubbed his blond crewcut, making some small-scale red lightning of his own. "Mmm. We questers have to endure plenty of peril."
Irn spoke up. "Well, you said that dragon crumped hard when it washed away. So maybe its dead, or maybe hurt, right? Anyway, if it is we'll either find it in the tunnel here like Bob says, or at the bottom of the sea at the end of the tunnel where it settled. And if not, it swam off. I bet it can't swim though."
"Yeah," said Bungston. "Not with all that metal on it. But it sort of looked like a fish, in a way."
The interior of the machine suddenly grew darker; this was due to the fact that the tunnel walls no longer reflected the glow of the wrapped carriage. They were out in the open ocean, and their cometoid companion took advantage of the increased space to fan out in wider sweeping arcs. Bungston took the humming coil into a steep dive, in hopes of finding a vanquished dragon in a lump on the ocean floor.
He was not disappointed. Mirrored scales winked in the distance, reflecting the glow of the wrapped carriage and its new luminous companion. Bungston steered in for a closer look. "Yo, Robigus, do you have the light? Shine it over there." The yellow beam played over the dragon's gargantuan form stretching away into the darkness. It had sunken sideways into the muddy bottom and its bladed jaws gaped limply. A pool of tar had formed around its head. Even in death it was impressive. "I bet the salt water killed all those cooties it had," said Bungston. "Hey, wouldn't it be great if we could get its head as a trophy? We could make an awesome throne out of it. Maybe even give it to Queen Z."
Robigus frowned a more furrowed frown than his usual. "Bungston, I think it would be prudent to leave this place. No good can come of toying with this fallen monster."
"Yeah, you're probably right." Bungston was steering away when he noticed something. "Wait! Bob, get its head in the light again." The wizard took the wrapped carriage in for a very close pass, pointing at the dragon's snout. "I hit it! I did shoot it in the nose! I bet that's what did it in." There was a bullet lodged in the right nostril of the beast. Everyone congratulated Bungston on his marksmanship. Then there was a soft thump as the carriage's magic satellite companion circled around and struck the closed eye of the fallen monster.
The adventurers clearly saw the immense body shift and the outermost eyelid slowly lift, and then the wrapped carriage left the dragon behind. "Now I think we will go," muttered Bungston, cranking on the control statue. The hum of the coil increased in volume and the machine cut a sharp turn and zoomed away. No conversation took place.After a long silence Robigus spoke. "It may be that what we saw was merely a twitch. Death comes slowly for reptiles and their ilk; it is said that a snake cloven in twain will twitch until sundown."
Irn picked up the light and pointed it out the back of the coil to check for any pursuit, but the feeble yellow beam did not penetrate far. She shook the former arc-light, eliciting a sinister sloshing sound. The sorceress began to unscrew the lid but Napoleon grabbed her arm. "That's a bad idea." He explained about the battery-eating crab and Bungston's nutmeg and scum balloons.
Irn looked again at the light and then balanced it on the back of her hand. "Well, heck. Some phlogiston is called for." She set the light in motion with a flip of the wrist, periodically tapping the casing with the nails of her thumb and little finger. Then she directed it out the back of the vessel and hit the switch.
No-one was quite prepared for the dazzlingly brilliant solar plume that erupted from the lamp. The dancing tongue of light penetrated the murky water like a safety pin into a baby's butt. It highlighted the gleaming metal-armored predator in hot pursuit. The dragon propelled itself with sweeps of its thick tail, and its white eyes glittered in the beam. The jaws were closed fast with mouth barbs extended and cutting through the water. The monster had pulled its legs into furrows along its body and did indeed look like an enormous fish. Irn turned off the light, plunging them into relative darkness. She ran a hand through her chopped hair and blew air out of her nose. "I should have left well enough alone."
"That was one heck of a light!" said Bungston cheerily. "Sure beats my old arc-light all to pieces."
Scowling fiercely, Robigus tuned to the wizard. "It was foolish to move so near and awaken the dragon. This monster can easily destroy us, and it will surely attempt to do so, all because of your desire to examine its nose."
"We've still got our force field..," Bungston weakly offered.
"If that globby worthless shoggoth could get through, you think that thing can't?" Napoleon gestured vaguely toward the back of the coil. "What are we going to do?" he rumbled.
"It wasn't gaining on us, was it? Maybe we can outrun it." Bungston turned to fiddle with the control statue.
"And you shall lead it directly to your home,"
Bungston looked at the stern warrior and maroon mutant, both glaring at him with disapproval. Irn looked as if she was considering turning the light back on for a second look. "Really, Bung, that was less than smooth, even for you. That's a big honker dragon to be fooling with. It can bite through this machine like a candy cane. Or gobble it whole."
The wizard looked claustrophobially around the cramped confines of the carriage, and the three accusatory occupants, then exploded with loud indignation. "It wasn't me! It wasn't my fault! I didn't wake up the dragon. It was that thing!" He pointed an accusing finger at the bubbling object, still speeding in circles around them. "The stupid thing whacked into its eyeball. You all saw it! I didn't do it." There was no reply. Bungston sagged in his seat. "Sorry guys. I really thought it was dead." He attempted a cavalier tone. "Well, it looks like I'm just going to have to vanquish this dragon again." Bungston popped a fresh nutmeg in his mouth and chewed furiously as he fiddled with the control statue. Irn turned back on the power light. The dragon was still chasing them, its mighty tail swishing back and forth behind it. Thin ribbons of tar streamed backwards from the sides of its mouth.

Chapter 15

Fortunately for the intrepid adventurers, the dragon did not appear to be quick enough to close with the coil. It maintained its distance behind them, tail lashing furiously. "We could just tire it out," offered Irn. "Switch off driving. It's so big and it must be going full out; I can't believe it's going this fast in the first place. It can't keep it up forever."

Bungston tugged on his upper lip, pulling it down to cover his lower. He was encouraged by the fact that the dragon couldn't catch up, as opposed to the shoggoth which had had no trouble in that department. "Yeah Irn, but endurance contests are no fun. What if it keeps it up for a week? We'd be bored stiff in here. Plus there's no toilet." His compatriots gave him disparaging looks. "Jeez, lighten up you guys. You'd think it had chomped a chunk of you already. OK, we'll can try to wear it out as a last resort. But here's my plan. We'll head home but turn north, and see if we can get it to go into Russian territorial waters. Its so big that if a sub catches it with some sonar, it'll shoot torpedoes at it for sure. There's no way it can hold up against an armor-piercing torpedo. And maybe we can even keep its head for a trophy. Not bad, eh?"
"Why don't you just summon up a torpedo, or a bomb or something and blow it up?" asked Napoleon. "We could just go home."
"If a certain dildo mutant hadn't wrecked my tactical nuke pistol we'd have nothing to worry about," retorted Bungston. "Plus I already tried dynamite and it was immune."
Irn was pressing against the force field which kept them within the coil. "That toilet thing you said got me thinking. Is there any way to jettison stuff? I know a fluorinated aromatic that would really make a mess in this water; if it's a water breather it would bogue that beast bad,"
"Nope, probably not. The force field's pretty sturdy, at least underwater." The wrapped carriage started to level out and Bungston reached back for Irn's hopped up power light. The leaping flare picked out the long row of paired arches on the sea floor, tiny below them, and Bungston pointed them out. "Here are the time gates I told you about. I should really mark the important ones; after I have to give back this machine I'll never be able to tell which is which."
Irn looked back at the dragon, several football fields behind them, and then back at the row of arches. "We're going mighty quick. You're not going to clip your arch on the way through?"
Bungston shook his head. "Nope. I mean yep, we're not. This carriage has a `rude intelligence', and it does most of the steering itself."
"Well, that dragon is sure going to have to put on the brakes. It might be too fat to fit anyway."
The wrapped coil skimmed along the bottom and zipped neatly under one of a pair of arches. As they made the transition the dragon behind them abruptly winked out, leaving the water empty. "I guess we'd better find out if it's too fat or not. We all know how dangerous assumptions can be." Bungston shook his multi-knuckled ring finger to drive home the sagacity of his point, then returned to the control statue and slowed down a safe distance away. He noticed several gaudy pink and orange ribbons lying around in the mud near the arches.
"Say, boys," said Irn. "What's that paper clip looking thing over there?" The object to which she referred did look like a big paper clip, unbent and refolded in that certain way so it would bounce high into the air when triggered. It was resting on the bottom.
"I didn't see that when we were here before," rasped Napoleon. The mutant's rheumy eyes grew wide. "Bung, Bung, the ribbons are all on the ground. That means the shoggoth got away!" It was too late; as Napoleon frantically shook his master the pseudo-paper clip bounced up into the water, stirring up a cloud of mud where it had been. The protoplasm shifted as the creature flattened its body from a wiry cylinder into a flattened manta ray with three black oval eyes. It glided directly along Irn's spotlight beam toward the humming golden coil.
"Damn, Bungston! That's a shoggoth! We're really up shit creek now!"
"Yeah, I know its a shoggoth," yelled Bungston, trying to see straight after Napoleon's frantic shaking. "He's our old bud, right Nap?" Napoleon said nothing; he was busy drooling in horror at the approaching creature. The wizard gritted his teeth and hammered the control statue to turn the coil sharply around and head back for the transporter arches. Irn had been keeping the light on the pursuing shoggoth in the rear. She redirected it to the fore of the carriage, and revealed the great blunt head of the tar dragon as it emerged from one arch ahead of them. The dragon was walking along the bottom, its flanks gently scraping both sides of the arch. It suddenly realized that its quarry was less than fifty feet away and the armored jaws opened to spew out a bubbling glob of tar. The advancing coil plowed right into it. "We're OK, we're all OK!" shouted Bungston.
He was right; the black ooze spread over the force field, merely obscuring the vision of the passengers. Bungston took the wrapped carriage into a steep climb, narrowly missing the top of the arch. As the tar solidified and flaked away in the freezing abyssal waters, the adventurers were treated to a most unusual scene.
The shoggoth had discontinued its chase and rested quiescent on the ocean floor. It was now a barely shifting blob replete with eyes and more mysterious sensory organs, all of which were fixed upon the enormous dragon. The dragon stood its ground and likewise watched the shoggoth.
Napoleon was transfixed, staring at the shifting shoggoth in the pool of light below them. "I sure do hate that blob," he growled passionately. "I hope the dragon rips it to shreds and eats the shreds."
"Bungston, do you think that they will do battle? The shoggoth is very aggressive; perhaps it will attack."
The wizard watched the scene below with growing dismay. "Yeah, but we know its no dummy," he replied over his shoulder to Robigus. "Like you said, that's a big dragon. Maybe they're calculating odds. Sizing each other up." The shoggoth made no move to attack. It slowly began to assume a new form. A long tail sprouted from the rear and four stumpy legs pushed out below it, raising the main bulk off the ground. The shifting mass elongated. Finally a blunted head took shape at the front, complete with whiskery barbs and two multi-lidded white eyes that were perfect replicas of the tar dragon's own.
"That's not bad," said Irn as the ersatz dragon's flanks rippled and became scaly. "I give it an 8." Napoleon made a grab for the control statue. "Look what it did! They're going to team up! We've got to get out of here, Bung!"
Robigus restrained the mutant. "You will lead both of these enemies to your house. It is better to remain and watch."
The real dragon remained still, watching what had become a smaller scale model of itself. Now the shoggoth extruded a tentacle from a hind limb. The tentacle wrapped into a springlike shape as it grew, until finally there was a simulacrum of the wrapped carriage floating beside the gelatinous dragon. "It looks like the shoggoth is talking about us," said Irn.
Bungston bit his nutmeg in half. "We can't have that. UNCTION OINTMENT GREASY TREATMENT CAN'T BE BEAT BUT MUFFLE SHUFFLE SMELLY FEET! MEET EM TREAT EM LEAD EM READ EM FEED EM EAT EM MY ADVICE CAN'T JOIN EM BEAT EM!" A fifty-gallon drum appeared in a cloud of bubbles several feet above the dragon's head. It immediately imploded from the tremendous water pressure, and as the drum collapsed it squirted a cheesy orange substance into the water around it. The stuff completely covered the dragon's head, congealing onto the cold metal plates. The great beast reared back, tossing from side to side and jetting forth beachball-sized lumps of napalm. One of these collided with the coiled shoggoth tentacle and stuck fast.
"Jovarillo, Bung! What was that stuff, acid?"
"Cheese, it looks like. Artificial cheese spread, maybe, since I can't summon food. OK, OK, this is what we came to see." The part of the tentacle adhering to the lump of tar broke away and fell inert to the sea floor. The shoggoth quickly withdrew the remainder of its damaged tentacle into the body of the dragon simulacrum. Then its reptilian form split and folded into two flaps, and the draconian head lost its features and became a wicked spike. The flaps swung together, propelling the shoggoth at high speed over the short distance to the dragon. Still shaking the sticky cheese off of its head, the dragon was completely unaware of the creature bearing down on it.
The advancing spike struck just below the left shoulder of the dragon. It stopped dead. Now aware of its attacker, the dragon reached up with a hind leg and batted the shoggoth down into the mud. A swipe of one of the massive foreclaws ripped deep into the blubber, which stuck to the claw. The dragon extended its foreleg and shoggoth in front of its jaws, which opened in preparation for a withering asphalt blast.
Spidery arms sprouted in a ring from the shoggoth, sticking to the dragon behind the head. The protean creature fluidly assumed a donut shape and flowed out along its new arms, wrapping the dragon in a translucent collar. The tremendous beast tried in vain to dislodge the shoggoth, but it had lodged behind the great plates of the head and the dragon's powerful foreclaws could not get a purchase on the clinging horror.
The adventurers watched this epic battle in silence. "Bung, can't you help it?" asked Napoleon. "That shoggoth is going to win." Bungston shushed him. The living collar sprouted turbine blades and started to spin as the dragon tried ineffectually to scrape its attacker off against one of the transporter arches. Saw blades emerged on the inside of the spinning shoggoth, and the water around it grew cloudy with a sparkling haze of metallic dust.
Then both combatants suddenly disappeared in a turbid black cloud. Buoyed up by their own heat, globules of tar seperated from the inky mass and rose past the four adventurers in their circling carriage, disappearing in the lightless water above. The adventurers could see the mortally wounded dragon staggering erratically along the bottom; its head completely hidden in the gouts of liquid tar gushing from its gashed neck. It paused, then collapsed on the bottom and lay still.
Bungston took the wrapped carriage away from the scene and headed for home, their faithful satellite in tow. "That was impressive," he said. "But I've got to admit, guys. I felt bad when the dragon died. Even though I fed it dynamite before." He cleared his throat and rolled the two nutmeg halves around in his mouth.
Irn was quite surprised at this admission, so Napoleon explained to her about Bungston's aversion to unhappy endings. "Cheating slimebomb," growled the mutant. "The dragon would have whupped on it if that greasy scumsack hadn't cheated. At least it got boiled alive."
The humming golden coil emerged on a typically beautful sunny day on the Black Sea coast. It landed and disappeared into the sand, and the adventurers disembarked.Bungston surveyed the damaged cabana. The storm door was lying on the beach in flinders, a rear window was broken, and the green brick circle had two cracked furrows in it from the shoggoth's claws. Inside, things were worse. A tribe of crabs had taken advantage of the open door and moved in. They had disassembled everything they could lay their filthy claws on. Bungston could not tell whether the shoggoth or the crabs had reduced the couch to its sorry state; maybe they had worked together on it in some unholy union. Confetti that had been Napoleon's magazine collection lay strewn about, making the cabana look like a hamster cage. Bungston shook his head sadly. "Alright guys," he said. "Quest's not over until we clean all of this up."
Actually, it looked like most of the damage was attributable to crabs. The shoggoth had got the stereo, the fire-extinguisher, the refrigerator, and the salad shooter, and it looked like it had started in on the acoustical tile on the altar, but had quit. Bungston guessed that the disgusting blob had cut short its destructive activities when it chased them into the ocean. The crab crew had then taken over - raiding the damaged refrigerator, chewing on the beds, pulling down the posters and tapestries, disassembling the throw rugs, and probably carting off lots of the choice items in Bungston's motley assemblage of good stuff. They had even worked on Napoleon's rawhide chew toy, but it could withstand a lot of abuse. At least they hadn't bothered his petrified watermelon collection, but there were a lot of great things he had acquired during his travels that would never be the same. The clawed culprits were still present, although they had mostly scuttled under the ravaged couch to avoid Bungston's wrath. "Guys, lets do something about these crabs." He picked up a lacrosse stick and began to scoop them up and chuck them out the door, then thought better of it and chucked the vandalizing crustaceans into his big cooking pot instead. Robigus yelled something from the bathroom.
After a few seconds Napoleon poked his head into the main room. "Bung, come take a look at this."
The bathtub was filled with a knot of oily black fangworms, which Robigus was dispatching with his shortsword. They were hideous and eel-like, bristling with hollow red fangs. "These creatures came from under the toilet, I would guess," announced the mildew god between chops. "It might be prudent to shut the hatches now."
Bungston had to agree. He checked for hidden fangworms, then tugged the Cossack sabre loose from its position between the hatches. The sabre was unusually shiny in some places, black and blasted looking in others; Bungston attributed this to the fact that the shoggoth must have flowed around it when the creature emerged from the toilet. The sword was still serviceable, though, so Bungston mustered up his guts and started spearing wriggling bits of slimy bloody fangworm with the sabre and depositing them in the toilet. He did not find out until it was too late that the fangworms had slimed all the toilet paper and towels.
It took the rest of the day to clear unwanted animals out of the cabana and block off the doors so no more could get in. Dog and god crashed at sundown. After duct taping the storm door back together Bungston massaged an eyebag and tried to figure out what to do about Irn, who had helped with the cleanup and was equally tired. "I don't know where you're going to sleep, Irn. The couch is out." After the crustacean attentions it had received, the couch was definitely out. Robigus was already on the spare futon.
Irn patted the puffy altar, which at the moment was silent. "This looks comfy. I'll crash on here."
Bungston shook his head and took her by the arm. "Just the idea gives me the willies," he said. "Tell you what, sleep in my bed. I'm not in any romping mood." He pointed at an eyebag for evidence. Irn thought it sounded OK and the wizard stumbled after her to bed, where he dreamt of cold fangworms with candelabras crawling under the covers and nuzzling up to him.

Chapter 16

It was a glorious morning. Bungston bounced out of bed then ran around banging Robigus' helmet with a fork to insure everyone else was awake too. It was time to celebrate the end of the quest. Crabs had depleted the larder, and crab soup is not good morning food, so it was Irn's bug duster paste for breakfast, and then the adventurers assembled in the main room. Bungston cleared off the altar to take inventory, assigning Robigus to write it all down. The wizard first poured out the small sack of dragon trasure in front of the altar. Irn and Robigus had kept some of the valuables they had discovered in the hoard, and these consisted of exotic figurines and big jewels. Also the bust with the chain in its nose was there. "We have - one bag of assorted loot, and one marble bust with a chain in its nose."
"Noted," said Robigus.
Bungston then set the blue-headed adze down gently on the altar. "We have the object of our quest, one magic adze." He set the modified arc light next to it. "We have one souped up ultra lantern, thanks to Irn and myself." The wizard checked his pockets and discovered the crazed enamel ball he had summoned in England. "One pottery ball of uncertain identity." Napoleon handed the wise wizard the magic wand. "We have one chewed-up stick."
"It's a magic wand and you know it," growled Napoleon. He stalked out the door in a huff.
"We have one earspoon," continued Bungston, "which I am saving just in case. We have a scale from a dragon, which we practically slew. We have two fine floppy hats, purchased in Rome. And the rest of this gold that we didn't spend. We have a pair of green spectacles. How did I get these, Bob?" Bungston passed them to the warrior. "We have a drawing of triangles." He paused, scrutinizing the drawing. "Guys, what is this a picture of?" Neither Irn nor Robigus knew.
Napoleon came back in bearing an unusual object. It looked like a bowling pin upholstered in a bright plaid print, with feathery antennae protruding from the small end. "I found this on the beach," he rasped in low-speed lawnmower tones. "Right where the spring machine went in, I think."
"What is it?" asked Bungston.
Napoleon shrugged and passed it over. "Is that not a wonger banger?" asked Robigus.
Everyone looked at him, surprised and amused expressions on their faces. "A what?" asked Irn.
Robigus squirmed uncomfortably and frowned. "Bungston, that is no doubt the thing you summoned to spin about our carriage, the object which struck the dragon's eye. You should know its nature, since you caused it to appear."
"Well Bob, you're the wonger banger expert here. I'm sure you're right. No arguments from me." Bungston examined the item critically. "You know, maybe this is our quest thing," he said half to himself.
"You've got the adze," said Irn. "That's your quest thing."
"Right, right. Well, you never know." Bungston set the plaid object on the altar by the earspoon. "One carriage-circling wonger banger. And I think that's it. We're done!" Stoagies were in order, and the crabs had benevolently spared one boxful for the adventurers to enjoy.

Life at the cabana continued as it had before. Bungston summoned up a ream of new magazines to occupy Napoleon. There were a bunch of scientific and technical journals among them, and although these didn't interest Napoleon, Robigus carried them into the side room and renewed his tinkerings on the mangled teak Harley, attempting to apply any knowledge he could garner from the magazines. Bungston lay in the sun and read On the Origins of Tree Worship, taking detailed notes in the margin. He vowed loudly and often that he would take the adze to Avalon and be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams very soon, but he also vowed that everybody should relax for a while first, to settle their nerves after their harrowing adventures.
For a while Irn was content to lie around on the beach and shoot the breeze with Bungston and Napoleon, but she felt a growing guilt about the white apes she had left waiting for her in the catacombs. One day she reminded Bungston about his promise to lend her the wrapped carriage. Bungston nervously pushed some sand around with his foot upon being reminded of this. "Mmm. You know, Irn, I've got to bring that back one of these days. You can't just tool around the world with it."
"I know, I know," she said. "I promise I'll take my apes to Canada, set them up, and I'll be right back with it. No cause to wig."
Bungston looked at her suspiciously. "I thought you said California before."
She waved it off. "Someplace nice. What say, B.T.?"
He rubbed his crewcut in distraction. "Well, if you don't bring it back, I don't know what I'm going to tell Queen Z. I gather that we've got just about their nicest one. Napoleon! Bring that spring statue out for Irn!" Napoleon obligingly shambled out of the cabana bearing the statuette and Irn's bug duster.
"Thanks Nap, you big teddy bear." She messed up the mutant's fur, which had been restored to its fluffy maroon glory. "And I'll see you soon, Bung. It sounds like Bob's busy, so say bye for me." The adventuress ran down to the beach, the humming coil emerging from the sand to meet her. She jumped in, waved, and took off.
Bungston looked at Napoleon and sighed. "I bet she doesn't bring it back. It's just too good."
Napoleon nodded. "You wouldn't,"
"I might. The thing is, Irn's so fired up about this adventuring business, plus she doesn't have a great place to live like our cabana. That machine is a free license to wander,"
The incessant tortured roar from the cabana rose in pitch and Napoleon involuntarily howled a pained howl. "I've got to go talk to that guy," he ground. "That poor motorcycle doesn't deserve him." The big dog covered his ears as he entered the cabana, and he quickly made his way to Robigus' room.
Robigus shut off the screaming engine when he saw Napoleon. The teakwood of the once glorious teak Harley was the only thing recognizable from its former incarnation. It barely looked like a motorcycle anymore, and more like an Flash Gordon tangle of vacuum tubes and nozzles and other eclectic bits. "Napoleon, I am pleased you are here," said the armored warrior. "Do you know of a device called a magnetic bottle? I read of it in this journal, but I cannot comprehend all of the terms used."
Napoleon was happy to help, since he thought a magnetic bottle sounded nice and quiet. He took the magazine and gave it a once over. "No pictures, huh? Well it can't be that tough. Magnets we can salvage from our amps; Bungston can't fix them after how the shoggoth ripped them up. And bottle..." There was a tremendous assortment of bottles and jars of all sorts in the cabana, some filled with spices or strange creatures preserved in alcohol, some empty. Napoleon scanned the lot. "Well, any of these but Bung's genie bottle would be OK. How about this gallon jug?" Napoleon poured out the handful of alligator teeth that had been in the jug, storing the teeth in a mason jar which also contained reptile teeth. Robigus took the magnets and jug and put them together in an interesting way, hooking them to the motorcycle project with a long metal tube. Napoleon left the room, content that the mildew god was doing something besides making terrible noises.
The big dog had not even reached the door when there was a muffled but portentous pop from Robigus' workroom. A cloud of greasy greenish smoke billowed out with Robigus at the fore. His armor and face were blackened and soot smeared and he coughed and gagged helplessly. Napoleon grabbed one of his outstreched hands, but then got a whiff of the toxic gas himself. Watery St. Bernard eyes got waterier, and he could barely see well enough to get them both clear of the cabana. Outside on the sand neither of the two could speak well enough to explain what had happened, being too involved with paroxysms of coughing. Bungston watched the green plumes of smoke coming out of the windows of the cabana. "Ok, you guys just sit here and breathe," he said. "I'll figure this out." He threw a sweaty beach towel over Robigus' shoulders to ward off the sun, then headed inside.
Bungston owned a sharp looking gas mask, so good looking that he kept it hanging by the door to inspire any visitors the cabana might have. The crab horde had been less inspired than most, and their pincers had been cruel to the mask's once gaudy ornamentation of long braided tassels and feathers. However, its essential function was unimpaired, and Bungston pulled it on then forged ahead into the smoky cabana, blocking the storm door open behind him for more ventilation. He found the source of the smoke in Robigus' workroom. The foam rubber seat of the motorcycle had apparently caught on fire; it was smoldering and putting out great greasy clouds. No wonder, thought Bungston. Some of the pipes fixed across the gooey wrecked seat were still glowing red hot. Plus there was probably thirty years of accumulated caustic butt sweat in that seat. Bungston put on his alligator oven mitts and grabbed a protruding thing that might have been a handlebar once. He started to slide the entire smoking contraption across the smooth stone floor of the cabana; once he had it outside it could smoke all it wanted.
He stopped. Two orange eyes blocked the wizard's advance. They glowed hellishly at him through the smoky miasma, and a body resolved itself from the swirling mists. It was a huge stooped muscular body topped by a tremendous head. It was not Napoleon. *****italics here. "You who hold the Chazberglaith," said a hollow echoing voice. "Render it unto me, and I shall not harm you."
"Chazberglath!" exclaimed the wizard, releasing the machinery and slapping his head with an alligator-mitted hand. "Chazberglath!" He grabbed a magic marker and quickly printed `Chazberglath' on his arm. That was what it was called. He looked up at the demon, which was still standing in the swirling mists. Old Angar Firestorm was pretty clever after all; he probably figured once Bungston did the scutwork and collected the Chazberglath, this demon would mug him and take it, and then Bungston would get no wildest dream reward and Firestorm would be sitting pretty. "Hah!" spat the wizard, full of vitality now that the entire plan had become clear to him. His spit, however, stayed in the gas mask with him.
"Render it unto me or I shall bite away your legs." Very direct, thought Bungston. This demon looked equipped for the job too - more than enough teeth and a healthy mandible to work them. He had to make it leave somehow. Bungston's brain shifted into high gear. This was not a very smart demon, if he remembered correctly. He put his hands before him in a V and swayed his masked head from side to side.
"None can deny or confront the shield it creates, demon!" declared Bungston in oratorial tones. "What benefit is it to one such as me, sweaty and lonesome, stick armed and swarthy, overwhelmed by the aura and vehement virtues this thing does fling with abandon to all sides, sideways to sideways? Also up and downways." The demon opened its toothy mouth, then shut it again. Sounding good, though the wizard. He began to slowly flap his arms up and down and continued. "Yep, yep, yep, the Chazberglath is what it's called, an air of power so potent and poignant, so purple primping patchy pugnosed puffer fish power, it deflects the ambitions of those who would clutch at it and carry it from place to place, boldly thrusting it forth at parties so the women say `Wow, that is a cool thing.' So what use has a mortal for such a thing? Huh? Huh? What use?" He paused and waited for the demon to answer. While waiting, he noticed that his diatribe had caused a fine looking conga drum to unobtrusively appear.
"You have no use for it," the demon eventually said.
"And thus," droned Bungston from inside his mask. "Big wheel keep on turning. If it passes you can procure it, it is yours. Let us press on and I shall show you, demon, how it can be done. It is not something I can do, not my sort of thing; I break out in hives. Out." The demon paused again for almost a minute, then turned and lumbered through the hazy cabana. Bungston heard the altar begin a high-pitched wailing chorus as the supernatural being passed. Its footfalls resounded heavily through the cabana, and Bungston got the idea it was pretty massive. All the better, as far as kinetic energy was concerned.

Bungston grabbed the smoking machinery again and slid it along behind the demon and out the open storm door into the light. The sun was concealed by swirling infernal mists, no doubt a direct result of the demon's presence. And it was a nasty, noted Bungston - head like a warty horn toad with an underbite, long gibbon arms, forked tail. It stomped out into the open, the sand fusing to glass beneath its hooves. Napoleon and Robigus sat on the sand among the cabana's onyx gargoyles; Robigus almost leaped to his feet on seeing the demon, but Napoleon had the good sense to clap a furry paw over the gray warrior's mouth and hold him still. Bungston left Robigus' smoldering handiwork on the green brick circle and led the demon around back to the railway gun.
"Behold, the shrine, the tubular home of the thing which you seek." Bungston pointed with an alligator oven mitt at the rusty orfice of the giant cannon and shook his masked head. "No mortal may enter without blastifying himself to popcorn, but anyway therein it lies. Go hither and take it if you want." The demon pounded the ground thunderously with its hooves and floated into the air, then slid down inside the barrel of the cannon. Bungston ran around to the back. "Do you see it yet?" he yelled. Then he fired the railgun. There was a bright flash and a loud bang, and the infernal mists occluding the sun dissolved away. Bungston wriggled out of his gas mask and hightailed it back to Napoleon and Robigus.
Napoleon was examining a cooled glass hoofprint he had picked up from the sand. "Whoah, Bung. That was a mean looking demon. You summoned one after all. How come?"
"I didn't summon it," replied Bungston. "Angar Firestorm sent it to get the Chazberglath from me."
Robigus pounded his palm with a fist. "That scheming, er... butthead!" he spat. "We should have known he would attempt to prevent our success." Robigus, with his fungal vigor, had fully recovered from his smoke inhalation problems, and now he leapt to his feet indignantly. "Let us repair at once to Avalon and report his traitorous act to the Queen!"
"Calm down, calm down Bob. But some repairing is a good idea, because... because our quest is not over. There are places to see and things to do. Let's hurry."
"Bung, you know this isn't how you do quests," complained Napoleon after hearing this news. "You don't go home during the quest. You finish and then you go home. And here we are, home. We must be done."
Robigus frowned. "Although I am ready to return to whatever tasks remain, I also fail to understand. Do we not possess the goal of our quest?"
Bungston started getting ancy, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He knew the demon was going to come back as fast as it could. Hopefully the time travel railway gun would make it dizzy and disoriented, but probably not. "Uh, we've got to go because Firestorm switched our magic things around, so we might have the wrong one now, you understand. His demon masters commanded him. That was one of them just now, and it might be back. In a leg biting mood." Bungston was already in a speech-making mode, and he drew himself up to his full unimpressive height and gestured with both mitted hands. "Yet despite demonic interference, despite scheming skulduggery, despite deceptions and drudgery, we must return to finish our appointed task, and we will not be stopped or even slowed down. Our experience will serve us well, and we shall overcome. Right guys?"
Due to his eagerness to leave, the speech was faster than Bungston's usual drawn-out oratorical style, and the wizard omitted his customary pauses for effect, but it left Robigus ready to go. Napoleon was not so sure. "Wait, Bung, if he switched the magic things then why did he want this demon to come..."
Bungston cut his mutant off with a pained groan, and his inspiring poise deserted him. "Oh no! I'm so stupid! Why did I give our carriage to Irn? We can't go anywhere! What are we going to do now?" The wizard anxiously massaged his legs in anticipation of demoniac teeth.
Robigus walked over to where the remains of the teak Harley hunkered on the green bricks. "It may be that this modified vehicle can help us."
"Modified?" growled Napoleon. "You modified that cycle like I modify food that I eat."
Bungston gave the modified cycle an appraising look. Robigus had a fondess for chrome, and the thing looked as if Dr. Frankenstein had taken up plumbing as a hobby. The wizard recognized Irn's modified arc-light lodged among the tubes; it was hooked to an old moonshine jug which dimly throbbed with an inner light. The teak was well oiled but somewhat mildewy. "Where do you sit?"
Robigus brought up a leg to demonstrate and swung it through a gap in the machinery, but then yanked it back. "How did it become so hot?" he asked. "It is not even turned on."
Bungston fingered his chin. "Is it fast? Really fast?"
"It should be. I believe it has a Tokumak engine, running on Irn's spiced azogem of phlogiston. I am uncertain, though, whether the wheels turn."
There was a series of wires and a thin pipe threaded through the spokes, so Bungston guessed they probably didn't, or at least shouldn't. "A spiced azogem, huh. You're a brave man, Bob. Last question. Can we steer?" Robigus sputtered and frowned and examined the magnetic bottle he had recently installed. Bungston nodded in understanding and motioned for Napoleon to follow him into the now ventilated cabana. Bungston jogged out holding several chains, including the long chain he had attempted to convert into a helicopter many days ago. The wizard held open the door and Napoleon trudged out dragging a full-sized bobsled on his back. Robigus looked on in confusion. "I think we're going to put your hobby to good use, Bob. Fire it up."
The warrior immediately started cranking on gaskets and polishing the teakwood. Bungston hooked the shortest chain to Robigus' phlogistified progeny and attached the bobsled, and fitted the other chains to either side. "Looking good, looking good. Almost ready, Bob?" The warrior redoubled his efforts. Bungston charged back into the cabana to fetch his essential Voyageur pack. It went in the bobsled, and Bungston went in after it. The wizard tossed Robigus a welders mask to wear with his crested helm and he himself donned the trustworthy Human Cannonball Helmet. Napoleon got the big cooking pot. "Sorry bud," said Bungston. "Short notice."
"It stinks like crabs in here," echoed Napoleon's grumble from within the pot. "And I can't see. Can't you fix that, Bung?"
Bungston took the pot and heaved it into the air, noticing as he did so that the sun had begun to cloud over with familiar looking dark mists. The wizard drew his Peacemaker and plugged a hole in the falling pot. He caught it before it hit and reclaimed the bullet then passed the pot to Napoleon. "Better?"
A rheumy eye stared out the bullet hole. "No depth perception,"
Bungston swiveled the pot so the eye disappeared and Napoleon's wet black nose poked through instead. "Now you're set. OK. Are we on? Do we have it?" Robigus hooked a string deep in the vitals of his machine and ran back to the bobsled, assuming a place behind Napoleon. "OK! We're back in business." Bungston took a quick look at his arm. "Chazberglath here we come!" He flipped down the visor on his Helmet and yanked on the string.
Chapter 17

A wave of hot air washed back as the machine came to life. Its many tubes and pipes glowed incandescently. Various parts blurred with independent vibrations, causing the machine to hop impatiently like an excited jumping bean. Then it leapt from the beach in a spray of sand and smoke and roared off along the beach, bounding faster and faster with the bobsled in tow. Bungston managed to pull hard enough on one of the chains to get the machine to turn left and move into the water. It moved across the water in the manner of a chunk of sodium metal - supported on a hissing sputtering cloud of steam, the phlogistified azogemobile barreled along two feet over the surface. At first the bobsled with its three intrepid passengers skipped behind with periodic spine-bruising skips, but Napoleon and Bungston together reeled in the attaching chain until it was short enough that the bobsled was riding atop the same cushion of steam as the modified motorcycle.

"Where do you think those time arch transporters are?" yelled Bungston over the wind and the ear-piercing scream of the engine.
Napoleon pointed down. Robigus wiped the water droplets off his welder's mask and held a hand to his ear.
Bungston pulled hard on a chain and the engine dipped down. Salt water and spicy fire essence met and annihilated each other in furious spurt of steam and charged vapor. The bobsled followed beneath the waves, and with the azogemobile in the lead they left the sunlit world behind. Now the adventurers travelled in a frothy submarine bubble of warm steam and hydrolytically seperated water; fortunately water is one-third oxygen, so the three compatriots could continue to respire. Napoleon was forced to hunch low or his kettled head would cross the outer zone of the bubble and seawater would go up his nose. The high local hydrogen content revivified the passengers, and Bungston broke into song. His high-pitched hydrogen-inspired aria was an improvisational piece extolling the enormity of the bottom of the Black Sea, and how easy it would be to get lost, and how they might easily drown if Robigus' machine stopped working. Rushing steam clouds confused vision somewhat, but their flaming juggernaut illuminated things well.
Robigus reached around Napoleon to tap Bungston on the shoulder with his sheathed shortsword. "Look, Bungston," he shouted. "Is that not the corpse of the dragon?"
Bungston fiddled with his telescopic visor to sharpen the image of the gleaming scales. He turned the azogemobile to move in that direction. Lolling in the slime, the tar-clotted corpse of the dragon slumped in front of the time arch it had passed through, distinguishing the arch leading to Renaissance Rome from the array of identical arches crossing the sea bottom. Bungston would have liked to pause and look at the colossal body, but he did not know how to slow down Robigus' fiery creation. In fact, it seemed to be gradually accelerating. The wizard figured it was best to go with what you know, and some careful steering got them through the arch and back to Italy in 1527.
Once through, Bungston directed the engine toward the surface again; the rich atmosphere around the bobsled had started giving him visions of paisley squids and Halloween-colored crabs. A fresh nutmeg from the Helmet's built-in reservoir served to banish these hallucinations back to the steam, and then the sled burst out into the light. This time the reborn Harley did not skip along the surface of the water, but continued along its trajectory in the air. This was no doubt in accord with the laws of physics, thought Bungston; because the fire had become so light it was trying to move to its natural place above the air. Fresh hot plasma snaked away in long tentacles from the top of the marvelous mobile. It was a pretty smooth ride, all things considered.
Once they were airborne Napoleon's nosehole exposed the canine to a panorama of smells, including a disturbing one. He leaned forward and pressed his kettle against the back of Bungston's helmet to convey vibrations better. "Hey Bung. I smell teakwood burning." Bungston smelled nothing but sweet aroma of nutmeg inside his helmet, but he believed the mutant's words were true. The reborn Harley had become so bright it was difficult to look at, and waves of heated air broke over the three passengers trailing behind. Hopefully a little charring would strengthen the wood, thought Bungston. Evaporate the impurities, like those Cro-Magnons did with their spears.
The ride was much more comfortable in the air, and as it heated up the fire cycle seemed to wear into shape; its painful roar diminished to more of a furnacelike whoosh, and instead of the awkward knot of pipes and chrome it looked more like an Art Deco marvel from a pinball machine. The wind of their passage still made a lot of noise, though. The sun was low as they flew northward along the Italian coast, and through his telescopic visor Bungston could see fishermen pointing at them as they passed. "I bet we look pretty cool!" he shouted back to his companions. "A portent of great things to come!"
Robigus leaned past Napoleon, holding tight to the wooden rails of the bobsled to make sure the wind did not scoop him out; it was a long way down the the water below. "Bungston, what area will we search now? Are we returning to Rome?"
Bungston held up a hand to pacify his gray compatriot, then settled back into his seat. He had been so pumped up both to finally learn the true name of the thing he was supposed to get and to escape having his legs chewed up that he had not given much thought to their destination. Also, driving the azogemobile had kept the wizard occupied. After some communication with Napoleon, he persuaded his mutant to swap positions with him so Bungston could talk to Robigus more easily. Napoleon picked up his hind end and let Bungston crawl underneath him, then the big dog took the chains of command while Bungston began a planning conference with Robigus.
Both men bent low to avoid the wind; Napoleon was a fine windshield, and the bobsled was spacious for three, so there was not much problem. Bungston showed the warrior his bare arm with the name printed on it. "Bob, remember when we were at Mr. Erskine's? Did we find anything about anything named this?"
Robigus frowned at the arm, then looked up in concern. "No, I cannot recall this name. Is this the true name that traitorous Firestorm concealed from us?"
Bungston also tried a concerned frown, but only for a second to keep his monobrow from sticking that way. "This is the name, OK. Humm. What can we do with it?"
Napoleon leaned back until the back of his head kettle rested on the top of Bungston's Human Cannonball Helmet. "Bung," he rasped in a loud chainsaw-on-aluminum siding rasp, "how about your map? Your triangulation. Maybe that ultra magic object you were talking about is what we want."
The wizard paused while he tried to figure out what the potheaded mutant was talking about. Triangulation? He had to think for a long time. Then he remembered the brief adventure with the three crazy old men. "Yeah! Good thought, Nap. I'm bet that's it!" Bungston dug in his pack and found the piece of paper with the triangles drawn on it. He spread it out on the curved floor of the bobsled and duct-taped the corners down to protect it from wind.
The picture was a series of lines which formed many triangles, all with one point in common - the point at the tip of the smallest angle. Bungston had a black magic marker in his pocket, and he used it to embellish the drawing. The triangles pointed northeast from Rome, that he remembered. So Rome went in the bottom left corner. He drew a circle and labeled it with an R. Italy is around Rome, and it looks like a boot. Mountains are north of Italy, and water is east, and some west too. Northeast is non-Italian countries. Bungston looked up to see if Robigus was following along with the map; he seemed to be. "What else do we need here, Bob? Hungary?" Bungston made drew an elongated blob for Hungary, then added some mountains just in case. An adjacent shape was Austria. The wizard paused, then quickly drew in Scythia, Poland, Romaina, Lemuria, Mongolia and Montenegro. He relabeled Poland to be Bohemia, but decided Poland was right after all. There was not room to write "Poland" with the marker in that area again, so he had to write it in off to the side with an arrow indicating where it belonged. Robigus' welding mask was fogging up, so it was not clear whether or not he approved of the map; he seemed to be pointing at some of the labels but Bungston couldn't hear him due to the chill wind. Next on the map went some more mountains and rivers, and then the mystic triangulation which would ascertain their goal.
The common point of the triangles fell in the mountains between the shapes representing Lemuria and Romania. Bungston capped his marker with satisfaction and his teeth chattered. His generous nose had also started to generously run; even with the hot wash from the azogemobile the weather had certainly turned cold in a hurry. There was even some frost on parts of Robigus' armor. The wizard tilted back his head to see a glorious riot of stars in a black sky, more than he had ever seen before. The stars were not twinkling. "Bob, look at the stars. They're pretty."
The frosted warrior looked up, then looked down. "Bungston, perhaps you should take out your blankets if we are to travel at such an altitude." Bungston peered down at the ground far, far below them and realized why he was cold. They were at least a couple of miles up. He turned and banged on Napoleon's pot headgear with the back of the marker. "Nap! Nap!" he shivered. "What were you thinking? Look how high up we are!"
Napoleon turned halfway around so Bungston could see his wet nose protruding through the bullet hole in the pot. "Say what? Where are we?"
Bungston grabbed his homemade map and crammed it up underneath Napoleon's helmet. "Here, hang on to this. Way to try for a low earth orbit when there's questing to be done." The wizard clambered back under the mumbling St. Bernard and picked up the control chains again. He pulled the fusion-fired wonder so it curved around to move eastward and earthward. With gravity on their side the adventurers moved at a meteoric rate, and the ever accelerating azogemobile glowed brighter red. It was only about twenty minutes before the Transylvanian Alps spread below them.
Trees were pretty thick in this area, noted Bungston as he flew their craft low over the mountains. A hamlet shot by underneath, momentarily lit by the passing blaze of the azogemobile. "Say Bob," yelled Bungston. "How do you turn off your machine? Or slow it down?" No answer was forthcoming, so Bungston decided to put his formidable brain to work. A landing strip would certainly be nice, he thought; there was just no substitute for good old-fashioned friction to slow things down. A frozen river would do in a pinch, and be easier on the bobsled. "Keep your eye out for frozen rivers," he admonished Napoleon. The mutant nodded his kettled head and wiped off his nose. There was not any snow in sight, so probably any rivers would not be frozen. Bungston drew his Colt .45 and took a shot at the flaming azogemobile; this caused a ropy spurt of phlogiston to float off into the sky, but their speed was not decreased. "Ok, ok.
"TORSION FISSION BLASTING CORE RIP FASTER THAN BASTARD AND MASHED IN A CASTOR WHEELED SQUEALING WEASEL-ASSED MISSION! LEWD LUGEY ZEUGMA! WOOP WOOP MUSTARD FLUID!"

A package the same colors as Bungston's Human Cannonball Helmet appeared in the wizard's lap; he quickly hooked it to the side of the bobsled and threw it over the side. It unfolded and billowed out into a star-spangled drag chute. The bobsled lurched sideways from the sudden asymmetric pull on its wall, and Bungston steered the whole ensemble of chute, sled and cycle down into the forest.
The fusion-powered azogemobile moved down through the pine trees, mowing larger branches off and causing more flexible small ones to burst into flames. The passengers did their best to ward off the sparks and fiery needles that showered back on them. The former motorcycle hit the trunk of a large tree halfway up and broke it off, momentarily slacking the chains to the bobsled, and then the chains pulled tight again and they were through the forest canopy. Once through, the machine touched down gently, immediately igniting the forest floor below it. It roared along the ground with the bobsled skipping behind. Smoking pieces of teak and various chunks of machinery occasionally broke free and bounced away into the underbrush, no doubt loosed from their moorings by the lengthy heat treatment and tree beatings. The drag chute spun behind in classic drag chute fashion, but then caught on a tree and ripped away, taking one side of the bobsled with it; without lateral support the adventurers tumbled out. Freed from its payload and the restraining chute, the azogemobile leaped forward and smacked into a venerable pine, then blew up. Squirts of raw phlogiston described hyperbolas out of the broken machine and upwards, marking their paths into the night sky with luminous trails of air plasma. The pine tree could not resist the temptation of so much fire essence, and it lit up like a Fourth of July sparkler. The remains of the bobsled caught on fire too, but its combustory efforts were overshadowed by the immolation of tree and machine.
Bungston pinched out a few embers which had glided into Napoleon's fur. "Well! There's something you don't see every day!" The inferno was very impressive, and the trio watched the machine at its center goad the wood into ever greater conflagaratory efforts. "Lucky we got out when we did or it would be quester flambee. That turned out to be one heck of a machine you built, Bob. I wish I knew how you did it. Did you take notes?"
Robigus watched his wounded progeny engulf itself in flame. "Truly, it is a shame that it should be destroyed."
"Maybe its not destroyed. Maybe it's just going through a phase. We'll come back once all this burns out and see if it still works. I just hope that tree doesn't topple over on it."
The fire made the forest in the immediate vicinity more cozy, but the light did not seem to penetrate far. Bungston strapped on his pack and adjusted the tumpline. "Well, I guess the first thing is to go to that village and ask where the big magic things are."
They had passed over a village during their flight, and it was easy to backtrack; the adventurers just walked along the swathe left by the incoming azogemobile. It was a fine swathe; pieces of steaming chrome twisted up from the scorched earth here and there and the vegetation was blackened and charred. Napoleon picked up the larger pieces and heaped them together to make it easier to clean up. "I bet people will think a UFO crashed here," joked the canine. "But it was just us and Bob's machine."
Bungston nodded. "Or even better, maybe they'll think it was the Chariot of the Sun. We looked radiantly solar, if I do say so myself. Bob, isn't there an old myth about a kid who rips off the Chariot of the Sun and raises hell?"
"Indeed," said Robigus. "Helios is an old god; it was his son Phaethon who borrowed the chariot. It was so cruelly parched that day, I tremble to recall."
"Chariots of the Gods," rasped Napoleon. "It goes with my godly ancestry, and Bigfoot and all."
"More like Chariots of the Dogs," retorted Bungston.
Napoleon had removed his cooking kettle for better visibility but now he put it back on. "Plus we look like alien gods in these wild helmets." It was true; Bungston still sported the globular Human Cannonball Helmet, and Robigus wore his crimson crested helm and welders mask, which he had flipped up to protrude from his forehead like a Plexiglas beak. "Maybe these Transyvanians will respect us more if they think we're from space," added the shaggy mutant. Bungston could appreciate this idea and he gave his mutant no more guff about being an alien god.
The woods became dark quickly as they walked away from the fire. Despite the alien dignity it might provide, Bungston soon removed his Helmet and vigorously rubbed his crewcut until he had a blue static halo. This provided light locally, but the net effect was to make the dark forest around them loom even darker. Wolves howled not far away and Napoleon had to stifle an involuntary urge to respond in kind. Bungston charged his aura some more and looked around. "Guys, what we need are some torches. I guess we should go back to the bonfire and whip some up. I wish we still had Irn's ultralamp, but I'm sure it's toast by now."
Napoleon ran back along their path and returned with the lamp, somewhat worse for the journey. "It must've fell off when we hit," he rasped. "I didn't think we wanted it anymore, so I piled it with the other junk. But I bet the motorcycle used up all the gas in it, right Bob?"
"Gas? As in gasoline?" spat Bungston. "You mutants just don't have the mentality for physics. This thing runs on red molecules of pure fire. Bob, do you think you can get it working?"
Robigus shook the damaged light and was rewarded with a faint sloshing. The mechanically inclined god borrowed a converging condenser lens from the Human Cannonball Helmet, and the soon the light was bulkier and perhaps a little less bright but working fine. Robigus stood and swung the brilliant plume of light through the trees, picking out individual trunks far out into the gloom. "I would guess these woods are haunted."
Man and mutant had to agree with this pronouncement; the woods did have all the hallmarks of a haunted forest - evil trees, howly wolves, and a dearth of illumination. The burnt trail ended and they had to walk through undisturbed forest on their way to the little village. After a while they heard an inhuman laugh sound from a treetop nearby. The adventurers forged onward. Napoleon liked the haunted forest and he sniffed around trunks to find out what might have been doing the laughing. A little later there was a bone-chilling scream followed by more evil laughter.
Robigus drew his sword and looked around warily. "I like this not, Bungston. We are surrounded by lemurs and spirits."
Bungston directed the ultralight into the treetops. "Bob, a light like this takes half the haunt out of a haunted forest. Look." A pudgy imp was sitting on a branch, startled and squinting in the sudden glare. It was about one foot tall. "Yo, scram!" yelled Bungston. He threw a stick at it. In an effort to dodge the imp fell out of its tree, and landed with a painful-sounding thud. It ran off screaming like a banshee with Napoleon in pursuit. "See?" said Bungston. "If that was a lemur, it was the chubby worthless type. But just to be safe I'll make a special weapon." Bungston took a rubber mallet from his Voyageur pack and tied it to a branch, then took out his nifty nutmeg grater and grated fresh nutmeg to anoint the rubber. With his improvised staff, the wizard again took up the hike.There was no activity in the village. It looked deserted. Not even horse sounds occupied the silent air. The houses and buildings, however, appeared to be in good repair - they were just closed up tight. The three adventurers walked down the road, which though empty bore fresh looking foot and hoofprints. "Could the people have retired at this early hour?" asked Robigus. "It is not more than two hours past sundown."
Bungston inspected the door of a small cottage, which was thickly decorated with garlic, aromatic herbs and religious symbols. "Maybe they're really hard working. My type of people."
"I bet they're worried about witches and werewolves," said Napoleon. "Look at all this stuff they left out." He picked a weed off of the door and sniffed it, then popped it in his mouth. "Wolfsbane. And hey, look!" ground the mutant in a bass rasp. "Wolf tracks." There were indeed wolf tracks in the dirt, or at least big dog tracks.
"Well, we're probably not making them sleep any better, what with you outside their door growling and grumbling. How about you go hide, Nap, and Bob and I will go in and find out who takes care of the magical goods around here." The wizard braced his rubber mallet staff and knocked the door with the business end, but he got no reply. He pounded again and said reassuring things in Transylvanian. Still there was no reply. He was about to knock again, but then narrowed his eyes and withdrew the mallet head. "Bob, Nap," he called quietly. "Did either of you guys ever see that movie where the whole town was full of vampires? Where everyone in town was a vampire?"
Napoleon nodded. "Yeah, I saw it," he rasped. "Vampires suck. We don't want to meet any vampires."
Bungston again looked up and down the street, a vampire paranoia gnawing his reptilian brain. "They can turn into bats or pink clouds of gas. Or wolves."
Robigus frowned his familiar frown and gestured to the carefully painted eaves of the house - someone had gone to the trouble of painting each of the carved leaves green. "Surely no vampire would deign to paint his haunts with such care. And mount garlic on his own door - no vampire would do such a thing."
Bungston nodded. "That would be out of character, but you never know. Maybe they painted it and became vampires afterwards. Or it might be a trick to lure us in and then slurp slurp - no more blood. The undead are tricky, right Nap?"
"Yeah, some are. Some aren't. Zombies aren't."
"Vampires are. Better safe than sorry." Bungston picked a clove of garlic off the door and rubbed it on his neck, then passed it around. As an afterthought he slipped an Avalonian gold piece under the door as payment. "In case its just a regular guy; we don't want to hork his garlic."
"Even were he not a vampire," pointed out Robigus, "he would no doubt be unwilling to speak with us; as Napoleon has said we appear strange and alien. There is no honor in frightening simple peasants."
"Oh, I don't know," said Bungston. He pulled a succulent wad of turnip greens off of the door and thoughtfully macerated. "But hey - maybe from up on the roof we can look around and see the treasure storehouse. We can go, get our thing, drop off the gold to pay, and leave."
"A better vantage point would be the church," said Robigus. "It is the tallest structure here." The adventurers made their way through the silent town to the church. It too was locked up tight. But even the tallest building in the small hamlet was not very tall, and with a few boosts Napoleon was able to shimmy up the wall onto the roof. From there he ascended to the steeple and looked around. The village was in a valley, with wooded mountains rising up on either side. The night was clear and visibility was good, aided by the rising full moon.
"Might be a forest fire starting back where we were. But I saw a castle over that way," Napoleon told the wizard and warrior when he had climbed down to the street. He indicated the mountainside opposite from the one where they had landed. "If there's magic stuff, it'll be there. The count probably collects all the good stuff from miles around." With the dancing plume from Irn's ultralamp shearing away the darkness, the trio entered the forest and walked up a small path towards the castle.
As they walked up the trail, a wind picked up, and the night became colder and blustery. Low clouds moved across the silver moon. Loose leaves rustled along the forest floor, giving the impression that the woods were alive with rat-sized assailants. Also, the howling wolves were no longer distant, and Napoleon sniffed the air suspiciously. "Say boys," he rumbled gruffly. "Do you hear those howls? I think those wolves will get to us before we get to the castle."
Bungston shook his mallet staff. "Are we going to fight? My Wolfwhacker here will be waiting." Robigus readied his sword. "Nap, do you think you can whup a wolf? I read a book where a St. Bernard fought a wolf and he lost."
"The wolf or the St. Bernard?" asked Napoleon.
Before Bungston could reply, Robigus suddenly grabbed his shoulder and got wolfwhacked in the helmet for spooking the wizard. "Bungston, Napoleon," he whispered, swinging the light around madly. "I saw a beast moving through the forest. I believe it was a wolf."
Bungston popped a new nutmeg in his mouth and motioned for the others to continue ahead. "Wolves can smell fear. We can bluff them out." The three only walked a minute longer when the wolves became obvious. At first they could only see shining green eyes skulking through the trees in the distance. Then their gaunt gray forms slid into the light, and they closed in on all sides of the adventurers. Bungston took the light from Robigus and did his best to blind the beasts, but they were good at ducking behind trees. They moved closer and closer.
One huge gray wolf stepped out directly in front of the adventurers, no more than twenty feet away. Its shaggy ruff was almost as high as Bungston's shoulder and it grinned a toothy wolf-grin. Bungston shone the ultralamp in its eyes but then Napoleon stopped him with a paw. The mutant St. Bernard showed his own awesome teeth and growled a challenge to the gray patriarch. The wolf wagged its tail and growled back. Around the adventurers, the ring of wolves drew tighter, their tounges blood red in the light. "Hey, Nap," whispered Bungston. "What are you telling him?"
"I'm telling him we're a bunch of badasses and we'll shave his tail. But I don't think he believes you guys are badasses."
Bungston and Robigus waved staff and sword at the mighty alpha male to emphasize that they too were badasses. Napoleon resumed his growling. The gray leader crouched low and took a few short steps toward Napoleon, then lunged at the maroon mutant's throat.
Napoleon met him halfway with a paw and cuffed him to the ground, then jumped on top of him. This was the sort of fight Napoleon did best, and where his mutant heritage gave him a tremendous advantage. The wolf had teeth and claws, but Napoleon had bigger teeth and somewhat prehensile claws, and about twice the bulk of the biggest of big wolves. However, the timber wolf was faster than Napoleon, and it squirmed out from under him.
A smaller wolf dashed in from the sideline to nip Napoleon's ankle, but Bungston hooked its snout with his Wolfwhacker and levered it away from Napoleon. "Fight fair!" bellowed the wizard. The wolf backed into the circle. With Napoleon now down on the ground, the huge gray leader whipped around and locked its jaws on Napoleon's neck. Napoleon stood up with the wolf hanging from him, and just stood for a second, thinking. The wolf scrabbled with its back feet, trying to get some leverage against the ground or Napoleon's legs. Napoleon then reached up and pushed it the wolf to arm's length. It came away with an unproductive mouthful of maroon shag. Napoleon pinioned its legs in his hands then reached over with his great jaws and seized the wolf by the scruff of the neck. Then the mutant St. Bernard pranced around the circle of wolves dangling their alpha male like a bad puppy and pointing at him with both hands.
The wolves cringed and shrank away. The big male laid its ears back and snapped some desperate sideways snaps, but succeeded only in loosing some unneeded shag away from Napoleon's chest. Bungston walked up with his Wolfwhacker staff and gave the captive wolf a nutmeg-scented bonk on the snout to teach it more respect. Then Napoleon let it go and it raced away with its tail between its legs. The rest of the pack followed in a hasty retreat.
Napoleon sent a few sharp barks after the fleeing wolves. "Just rubbing salt in their wounds," he explained.
"You don't bark too often around me," said Bungston. "But you were definitiely badass there, big guy." He ruffled the mutant's drool-dampened fur. "We should get you out fighting more often."
"Indeed!" agreed Robigus. "Never have I seen a dogfight over so quickly. I was certain my sword would taste blood ere we won our passage,"
Napoleon chuckled, enjoying the praise. "Yeah, he's going to have more fighting tonight if he wants to stay boss of the pack. You can't have your king getting beat up by strangers. But I thought that was a fair fight, all in all. What were you yelling about, Bung?"
"That wasn't for you." said the wizard. "You can fight cheap if you want. I usually do."
"Perhaps, though," continued Robigus, "the wolves attacked because they were starving. It bodes no good that wolves should attack three stout warriors such as ourselves. And we have seen no deer or other animals on which wolves might normally feed. Their hunger may drive them to return."
Bungston shook a finger at the cautious mildew god. "I happen to know that wolves mostly eat mice and grubs and moss. I saw that in a movie too. Deer are a holiday thing. This place is crawling with wolf chow."
The wolves did not return. The three intrepids did hear occasional maniacal laughter and shreiking, but assumed it was from the same type of pudgy imp they had seen before and so did not worry. Once off in the distance they saw a bobbing light as if someone were carrying a lantern. Bungston directed the puissant beam of the ultralamp at it, revealing an unnaturally gaunt skeletal figure loping along with a lantern held over its head. It did not appreciate the attention, and it fled deeper into the forest. Another time they discovered a gaping pit in the ground, more than four feet in diameter. Dangerous looking furrows marked where something with claws had either come out or gone into the hole. The beam of the ultralamp could not negotiate the sharp crook in the tunnel to light up any occupants there might be, so the adventurers decided to leave well enough alone.
Although the light did reveal many wonders, as they drew near the castle Bungston decided to do without it to avoid unduly alarming the residents. They would make torches as per the original plan, and thus would approach with a veneer of normalcy. However, it proved very difficult to make torches in the stiff wind that had come up. Even when Robigus took off his helmet to use as a windscreen for Bungston's lighter, they couldn't light up the sticks they had cut. Eventually it was decided that they would just flash the ultralamp on every now and then when they needed it, and so they proceeded slowly through the woods with an occasional strobe flash hurling back the darkness like a miniature sun.

Chapter 18

As they drew near, Napoleon caught a terrible odor. Following it, he led Robigus and Bungston to some grisly shapes decorating the cleared perimeter of the castle. Gory heads mounted on long sticks had been planted around the cleared area, all in varying states of decomposition. There were also a few unfortunates who had been impaled whole, with the stake running clear in one end of the body and out the other, and a crosspiece to keep the disgusting mess from sliding down to the the ground. "It doesn't look like the count is the friendly sort," growled Napoleon. "He might not want to give you his magic thing."
Bungston wrinkled his nose and gnawed his nutmeg to kill the stench. He got madder and madder as he stomped around surveying the brutal trophies. "There's nothing I hate worse than torture and sad endings. We should steal all of this jerk's treasure. We ought to rob that mean monkey's ass blind then hide his cane. I hate meanness. I wish I had been here when he was doing this; I would have showed him a thing or two."

Unlike the irate wizard, Robigus was completely unfazed by the grisly trophies decorating the castle grounds. The warrior's attention was focused on the castle itself. It was not a huge castle, but it was solid with high walls adorned by merlons and spires. No life stirred within. He pulled man and mutant back into the forest edge and whispered intensely. "Bungston, the chance is great that they will refuse us entry. We are too few to storm this castle if we are detected, and so we must disguise our presence here. We must hope to secretly enter, by way of ropes or a postern door."
Napoleon was about to come up with a lame pun on postern, but he paused instead and sniffed the air. "Hey guys, this is weird, but do you smell something really good?"
Bungston looked at him sharply. "You think those reeky dead people smell good? That's sick."
Napoleon was about to reply when Robigus shushed them. A torch came into view on the ramparts of one of the high towers. They were too far away to tell who or what was carrying it. Bungston reached around for the ultralamp but Robigus shook his head and scowled murderously, so the wizard relented. The torchbearer lingered for almost a minute, his torch almost blown out by the wind. Then it disappeared. "Did you see?" whispered Robigus? "Surely, our unguarded conversation has caught the ear of some sentry, and he scans the grounds for intruders."
Bungston nodded. "You're making sense, Bob. Let's rub my black makeup on our faces and go reconnoiter ninja-style. We'll look for that postern gate you mentioned; maybe I can transmute it and we can sneak in there." The wizard turned to fetch the makeup from his Voyageur pack, and noticed Napoleon was no longer by his side. "Nap? Napoleon?"
The trademark chainsaw rasp called back across the clearing. "Just a second. I want to check something." Napoleon's shaggy silhouette moved in a crippled tiptoe towards the castle.
"Nap! Come back!" At least the big dog was trying to be sneaky, but sneaky was not a mutant forte. Bungston decided to forgo the makeup, and he slung the pack onto his back. "Bob, I guess its do or die now. Let's go knock."
Robigus dashed with the wizard towards the main door. "We must watch for secret openings in the ceiling; a barbarian like this would not hesitate to pour quicklime to burn an innocent visitor." The gate was iron-bound wood, with businesslike black spikes set in the metal bands. It was recessed in past the wall, so anyone approaching would have to stand beneath an overhang; this gave Robigus' trepidations about quicklime some validity. Humanoid sculptures watched them from the stone pillars on either sides; probably saints, though Bungston. Or maybe not; saint sculptures didn't usually smirk like these were. Robigus kept his eyes up as they walked through, watchful for any falling portcullis or other assault from above.
Napoleon was sniffing around the gate when wizard and warrior caught up, and Bungston beat on him with the Wolfwhacker staff. "What were you thinking, running off half-cocked like that? Bob and I were making a plan."
Napoleon did not even try to retaliate for the rubber mallet thumps he continued to absorb. He looked around in distraction, constantly sniffing at the air. "Can't you smell it, guys? You've got to smell it. There's something great in here. Mmmm."
Bungston stared at the fixated mutant; he had known Napoleon a long time and had never seen him act this way. The wary wizard raised his noble nose and snorted fiercely, but smelled nothing special except nutmeg and the putrid cadavers behind them. Robigus didn't smell anything either. "What is it Nap? Is it food?"
"Not food," he replied absently. He sniffed a small square opening about six inches across set into the gate.
"Maybe its our magic quest thing, then. Excellent! I like the idea of a good smelling magic thing. But say, Nap, you should go hide around the corner while I knock. We don't want them taking out the candelabras, at least not until I explain what's going on. Not even then. Go on, hide." Robigus escorted the reluctant mutant around the corner then returned to stand by Bungston. The wizard gave the mildewed patch on his arm a quick scrub, then got his mallet staff swinging and pounded a solid series of pounds on the wooded gate. "Open up! We just want to talk! We won't steal your stuff!" Bungston gave Robigus a conspiritorial wink after this last.
The window in the gate opened and the pyramidal head of a crossbow quarrel poked out. It pointed at Bungston heart. The wizard moved sideways, but the pointy tip tracked him. "Who are you?" asked a strange gruff voice from inside. It sounded like someone who didn't really have a gruff voice was trying to make it sound like he did.
"I'm Bungston Schagg, a wandering savant. This is Robigus, and he's a knight errant. We would like to talk about magic."
There was a long pause, and the quarrel disappeared back into the window. "Who else is with you? Tell me!" asked the pseudo-gruff voice. The voice did not sound threatening. It sounded strained and frantic.
Bungston cleared his throat nervously, guessing that someone must have seen Napoleon skulking across the grounds. "That would be a certain friend of mine. He has, ah, a skin condition, atrocious yet completely harmless and not contagious, and I assure you... Napoleon! Get back where you were!" Napoleon had slipped up during Bungston's ad-lib and was sniffing at the window. "You're going to get a crossbow bolt in the nose!" Bungston and Robigus teamed up to drag the mutant away from the window. But now Napoleon was now actively trying to keep his ground, and instead of dragging him away the two men just pushed him lower and lower. His great furry head and black nose stayed trained on the door. "Bad!" said Bungston, feeling stupid. "Bad Napoleon!" The wizard shouted back toward the gate. "I'm very sorry please excuse him he's wearing a costume. I mean a coat, a big fur coat he's had a bad accident he's a trained ape..." Then he shut up.
The gate opened slightly and a woman emerged. She was carrying a torch and wore an elegant dark blue dress with a lace collar. All three adventurers ceased their struggles to stare at her face. Her eyes were huge and so dark they seemed to be all pupil. Wild black hair tossed in the wind, and her eyebrows were thicker than Bungston's, and like his they even met over the bridge of her nose. The eyebrows set off skin that was alabaster white, and her fingernails were long. She was beautiful, but definitely very weird; Bungston appreciated her unassuming nature but thought that it was pretty careless of her to march out and greet three utter strangers wrestling with each other on her doorstep. Especially when one was as scary looking as Napoleon. She had not even brought the crossbow outside. The nostrils in her chiseled nose flared.
Napoleon shook off his coadventurers and stood, then walked over the woman. She stood still as he approached until the mutant dog was standing inches away. Then she drew her lips back from her teeth. "You smell good," said Napoleon.
Robigus and Bungston both began to shout warnings to the mesmerized mutant - that the woman was a vampire, that she would put his head on a stake, that she was a shoggoth and ate beets. The woman did not take any notice of the shouts, completely ignoring the two men. She shuddered and a change swept over her features - her lips protruded horribly, her ears swept up and grew, and her hairline descended over her face. "Nap! Shapeshifter! Look out!"
No longer chiseled alabaster, her face had become classic wolfman, but not as ugly and with fine black fur instead of the more typical matted brown. She growled and snarled at Napoleon, who growled and snarled back. Then she grabbed him and pulled him through a gate. Bungston's reflexes propelled him up in time to grab Napoleon's other arm and tug back, but Napoleon shook it free. Bungston and Robigus followed into the castle. Napoleon was chewing on the wolfwoman's left ear tuft as they ran off into the darkness, and she occasionally slowed down long enough to return the favor. "Nap? Everything is OK?" Napoleon freed an arm long enough to wave, and then the couple disappeared up a staircase.
Bungston rubbed his crewcut and made a spark, then turned to Robigus and grinned. "Well Bob, looks like they just let us in the door after all. And to think I used to give Napoleon crap about finding a female mutant. Who would have thunk it?"
Robigus frowned, his fingers still twitching over the pommel of his sword. "I think we have met a wolfwere, Bungston; a wolf that can assume human form. She was exceeding fair, but I fear for Napoleon should she seduce him from us then slay him alone in his weakness."
"I don't think she's going to slay him," replied Bungston. "I think she likes him a lot. She should, big burly beast like Nap. Plus he can take care of himself if she should get in a slaying mood. But unless her sisters show up we get the castle to ourselves now." After firing up the ultralamp it looked as if Bungston were right. Immediately past the gate was a defensible atrium that could be cut off from the rest of the castle; they had already walked through this. They now stood at one end of the main hall. It had high vaulted ceilings with more of the same smirking pseudosaints, and a few shields and hides on the wall, but otherwise it was cold and grim. A long low table with a few chairs was pushed up against a wall, but there were no other furnishings. Cobwebs wafted from the ceiling and the faces of the statuary. There were one or two doors on either side, and at the far end of the hall was a staircase leading up and one leading down. Napoleon and the wolf woman had taken the stairs leading up.
Robigus and Bungston walked across the flagstones into the center of the hall, their footsteps echoing. "It is not meet that a hall of this size should house no servants," said Robigus. "The woman who admitted us was no servant; from her dress I would mark her as nobility. And unaccompanied noblewomen do not greet strangers late at night,"
Bungston had been checking the small doors on the left and right. "These are kitchen type places over here, Bob. And as far as Nap's friend, from my experience your run of the mill noblewoman can't turn into a wolf. But you're right about the servants. I think that maybe tonight everyone is hiding under their beds, here and in the village. It must be Halloween or some other monster night, and only wolfweres and other spooky things are up and about." The wizard walked toward the paired staircases, tapping the wall with his staff as he went to check for secret doors. "Bob, how about you take the top and I'll take the bottom. It's so quiet in this castle that if either of us yell for help the other guy will hear."
Robigus drew his sword and scowled up the staircase. "The wolfwere may be lying in wait, having disposed of Napoleon."
"Come on Bob, I wouldn't let anyone dispose of Napoleon. I have a sixth sense about those things. Here, you can have Irn's lamp. If you think things look bad or Napoleon needs help, call and I'll come with a big spell ready." He passed the ultralamp to Robigus and patted his armored shoulder. "Collect any goodies you find. Let's regroup here in about 15 minutes; we can get Nap too." With that the wizard trotted down the stairs.

It was a longer trip that he expected; the stairs curled down quite a ways below ground level. There were, however, no cobwebs blocking his path, and the wizard deduced that this stairway must see fairly frequent use. Bungston's glimmering crewcut proved adequate for the small spaces. At one level there was a door which opened out into a study room; this contained several thick and possibly hollow leather-bound tomes and looked promising. Bungston decided to skip it and the other doors and go all the way down, then work his way back up. On the way down he heard a low moan echo past him, but it didn't sound like Robigus, so he continued to hump his pack down the stairs. There was definitely a potential for ghosts in a castle like this.
The staircase ended in a series of passages culminating in a row of locked doors; probably the dungeon. Bungston found a penlight in his pack and poked it through each tiny barred window as he went. None of the cells held any occupants; not too surprising, figured the wizard; the boss of this place probably used up his prisoners pretty quick with the nasty games outside. The last door was sheathed in metal and reinforced, and there was no tiny window. Bungston knocked with his staff. He was rewarded by a frightful roar, and the door vibrated from a a collision with a heavy body on the inside. The wizard readied his Colt .45 just in case. Most likely no-one would keep valuables in with a caged monster or zombie, so he decided to save the metal door for absolutely last.
At the end of the hall was a spacious torture chamber, and Bungston's expressive lips writhed in disgust. It was the best furnished room he had yet seen, estblishing once and for all where the count's priorities lay. A fireplace, now cold, boasted a terrifying array of pokers and jabbers and pincers and other things some depraved jerk could heat up to burn people. There was a rack, which was stained with the marks of frequent use. There was also a black well or pit in the corner of the room, and a charnel odor floated out of it; this was probably where they put torture residue. There were thumbscrews and cages and spare impaling stakes and several other hideous machines Bungston could not identify. Bungston had to stop at the thumbscrews. Thumbscrews were Bungston's special peeve; he just could not tolerate the idea of mushing someone's thumbknuckle. Action was called for. There was a crusty bucket next to the corner pit, and the willful wizard used this to collect all the thumbscrews and gougers, then dumped them all into the pit. The stakes and fireplace tools followed soon after. The pit must have been deep, because none of the jettisoned instruments made the satisfying clang of impact.
The wizard then turned his attention to the iron maiden in the corner. There was a smirking saint face molded into the front cover, and the thing was closed and latched. Bungston hesitated before opening it, afraid a purulent old corpse would lurch out at him, but he steeled himself with the thought of the good works he was doing and opened it up. There was nothing inside but freshly sharpened spikes. Bungston leveled his Wolfwhacker staff at the brutal device and stood back. "WYVERN QUIVER SAUTE MIGHTY OUGHT YOU TRY THE TOASTED LIVER FIVE IT BUYS A BUSHEL FULL OF SHRIVEN RIVET CIVET WHISKERS!" The spikes bloated and became colorful, and it turned out they had been replaced by an assortment of festive party hats, complete with elastic and mylar tassels on the tip of the cone. Bungston took one off the Iron Maiden and put it on his head; it fit well and his charged crewcut made the mylar tassels stand on end. He liberated two more hats, planning to spruce up the two pseudosaints guarding the main entrance.
The wizard decided he had spent enough time in the torture chamber, but as he walked toward the door to leave Bungston was confronted by a fearsome apparition. The man was dressed in a giant black bearskin coat, bound shut by a leather and black iron belt. His Rasputinesque beard rolled over the front of the coat and his eyes burned with a demented intelligence. The thick black hair across his forehead concealed a strange mark there; a brand or tattoo of some kind. Bungston marked him as the likely perpetrator of the violent deeds done outside the castle, and no doubt the torture buff as well. The wizard rapped the butt of his mallet staff against the ground to pull the man's attention away from his newly modified festive Iron Maiden. It did the trick, and he turned his cruel glare at the slim wizard, then hurled the pine torch into the fireplace. "Who are you?" he snarled. "How did you gain entry?"
Bungston grinned his best grin and held out a hand to shake. "Hi, my name is Bungston," he said. "Just looking over the grounds. Quite a place, you must have good help. I don't suppose you have any magical items around here; I'm on a quest, you understand. I'm always willing to haggle. By the way, was that you who put all those heads on sticks out on the front lawn? I noticed them as I came in."
The fur-garbed man lowered his brow and stared as if sizing Bungston up. Blond crewcuts was probably unusual in the Transylvanian mountains, as were electrical halos. Bungston stepped up onto the platform of a table fitted with arm and leg cuffs, puffing out his chest to impress the man sizing him up. After a moments pause, the bearded man reached within his coat. "I have a thing I would like you to see, friend." He smiled at Bungston and the wizard noticed his teeth were unusually pointed.
From out of his fur coat the man slowly withdrew a toad. It was smooth and black and it had two heads, disproportionately large compared to their common body. Each head had two round yellow eyes that stared up at the wizard on the table. The bearded man gradually lifted the two-headed toad until it was touching his own nose. "That's one creepy toad you have there," Bungston said sincerely from his tabletop. "Are you going to lick it?"
"Perhaps," the man replied in a soft voice. "Why don't you wait and see? Six eyes stared up at Bungston, two human and four amphibian. Bungston vaguely wondered if there were any other animals under the voluminous bearskin coat. The room wavered in the orange light of the fireplace, and Bungston's head swam. His world became fuzzy on the edges, shrinking down to just six eyes. The eyes slowly began to chase one another, making a turning wheel. They spun faster and faster, unaffected by centrifugal force. One of the types of angels looked like a wheel of eyes, thought Bungston. What was it called? He could not seem to concentrate; his brain was foggy and numb. As the wheel of eyes spun faster, one shining eye began to open from the darkness within its center. It opened wider and wider, staring at him from across unfathomable gulfs. Bungston watched in a reverie as the great unblinking eye moved closer and closer to him.
Bungston abruptly found that he could not breathe, and his mighty autonomic system decided to take control of the situation. "Huk..huk..huk!" he choked, hands at his throat. His own eyes watered and he could no longer see the wheel of six eyes or the big central eye. Panic bubbled in his brain. Then he remembered what to do - he clasped both hands into a double fist and jerked the fist into his belly. It did the trick - dislodging a well chewed nutmeg from its dangerous position lodged in his airway and violently expelling it out of his mouth. It hit the bearded man square in the eye. The sorcerous trance broken, Bungston suddenly realized what had been going on before he had fortuitously choked, and he was not pleased. He swung his Wolfwhacker staff like an avenging croquet mallet, smacking the two headed toad away from the bearded man's hands. It flew across the room, bounced off a post and went down into the pit. On the backswing, Bungston pounded the evil hypnotist in the chin with the business end. The man bared his pointed teeth and whipped a wicked dagger from under his coat, slashing at Bungston's groin in the same motion.
Bungston jumped straight up and the blade passed beneath him. He hit the bearded man in the chin again with a serious thump, but like the first time it seemed to have little effect; probably the beard provided padding. "Cut it out!" yelled Bungston. "Let's be reasonable!" Bungston knew that in actuality anyone who kept cadavers on his lawn and two-headed toads under his clothes was unlikely to be reasonable, but the wizard hoped that Robigus would hear him and sneak in and bash the guy over the head with a chair. The sorcerer slashed again, and this time Bungston jumped onto his assailants head, quickly jumping off and onto the ground when the sharp point jabbed at his Achilles tendon. On the next slash Bungston was ready with his staff, and he parried with the rubber mallet end. The blade lodged in the mallet head, and with the extra leverage provided by his longer weapon, Bungston was able to pull the weapon away from the sorcerer. The wizard freed the dagger and waved it at the bearded man, who growled and snarled bestially from between pointed teeth. "Now I have the knife. Let's talk about treasure."
The sorcer lunged recklessly, and Bungston's lightning reflexes interposed the point of the dagger. It struck a hard surface beneath the bear fur and skittered off, tangling itself in the man's coat. Bungston let go of it and rolled away, sticking the mallet staff between the man's legs as he did so. The bearded brute plowed into a spiked wheel on the wall, knocking it off its hook. He turned, unhurt, and lunged at Bungston again with his hands outstretched. His fingernails were long and twisted.
FOOD IS MOOD IS BROODING FLUTED CRENELATED BAITED COOKIE TIME TO CHANGE THAT STYLISH LOOK! A pail of paint appeared in Bungston's hands; he did not dally, but launched the pink liquid to intercept the charging sorcerer. Intercept it did, tinting his black coat and hair and face a delicate shade of rose; Bungston's agility allowed him to dodge the oncoming body with time to spare. Bungston splashed the remainder of the paint over some torture machines to give them a less menacing look. The sorcerer did not roar with berserk anger as Bungston had hoped. Instead he turned and ceased the growling he had been doing before. His wiped the paint from his eyes and spoke. "Now I see. My guest is not without his own skills."
Bungston did not like his enemies to be cool and calculating; he liked them to be stupid with rage; then he could dodge them and trip them until they got tired and went away. "You look nice in pink," he said. Probably he should have summoned something more effective than paint, like a pail of crazy glue. Maybe it wasn't too late.
The sorcerer smiled at him with those sharp teeth. "Meet my allies," he said softly. He extended a hand and a black powder billowed out in a plume, evidently from under his fingernails. The plume floated toward the charnel pit in the corner. Bungston knew that this was bad; he threw his staff at the black cloud but the weapon passed through without altering it at all. The powder gathered above the pit, then dropped as if suddenly heavy.
Nothing happened immediately, so Bungston decided that a bluff was in order. "OK, listen up you butthead bullying mangy toadlicking freak! You might be able to torture a bunch of scared farmers but not me. You're dang right I have powers! Like this!" Bungston shouted a series of words at the top of his lungs and watched for a response. It was tough to tell if the sorcerer was impressed or not because of the pink paint drying on his face, but he did not seem too cool and calculating anymore. As well he shouldn't, thought Bungston; the wrathful wizard had come up with many a powerful spell in his time, and would right here if he could think of an appropriate one. Then Bungston noticed movement in the pit and cut his tirade short.
A scabrous ulcerated gray head poked into view at the rim of the pit. It was followed by a mangled monkeylike body. It looked like a body mutilated by torture and then left underwater for a few weeks; Bungston realized that was probably pretty close to the truth. The reanimated ghoul had long slimy tufts of hair and unnaturally grown talons. Bungston grabbed the sombrero decorated with wax fruit that his short spell had summoned and fired it backhand at the monster. It struck it in the throat and the thing toppled backwards into the pit in a shower of fake cherries. Bungston dusted his hands together in triumph, but the pink sorcerer watched and laughed a malicious laugh.
Gray clawed hands clutched the rim of the pit in a dozen places as more ghouls pulled themselves into the firelight, and Bungston realized he had a job on his hands. They avoided the corner in which the necromancer who had raised them stood, and instead moved howling and skipping across the floor towards Bungston. These were no slowpoke mummies - they were high quality speedy ghouls of the first rate. The wizard rolled an iron cage across the flagstones toward the band; it brought down the one in the lead but the others leapt over and advanced. They attacked from all sides, and Bungston had no time to think of a spell. He dodged one lunging from the side, then ducked and rolled from the ones in front, almost rolling back into the one on the side. It was lucky he had shucked his pack earlier and did not have it to slow him down. He jumped onto a torture machine to avoid two which were scurrying toward him on all fours. Still more poured out of the pit, adding their howls and bubbling shreiks to the chorus of those present. Bungston cast a frantic eye toward the door, but it looked like several had massed there. "uhhh..um...GERMANIUM GERANIUM GLOP-CLOGGED..," He had to duck as one came flying at him, almost grazing his skin with its outstretched nails; it caught the party hat Bungston was still wearing and pulled it off. The snapping elastic stung his chin. If one of these ghouls got their nails in him, he was a goner; he would no doubt get paralyzed by the ghoul poison and then they would close in to feed. Bungston did an aerial somersault down to the floor, drew his Colt .45 and fanning the hammer, rapidly shot five slugs into the breastbones of the five scampering ghouls closest to him; each was thrown back by the momentum of the big chunk of lead. In the moment of respite he drew a bead on the forehead of the necromancer chuckling in the corner, aiming for the arcane symbol blazoned there. The man's pink beard flew into the air and he rocked back with the impact of the bullet, then hooted with laughter. Still more ghouls were clambering from the pit and the ones he had shot were getting back up; there had to be at least twenty or twenty five now - and the room was very small for such a crowd. They were all around him, and all of them moved fast. Bungston felt a cold sweat; he definitely needed a spell now. "FEBRILE KNEE-HIGH..," He was forced to jump out of the way of a savage skull-faced specimen. He lashed out with a boot at a second, then did a flip and a twist, but immediately had to crouch to duck from a third assault. Just a minute to think and he could fill the room with bathtub caulk or holy water. He dodged again, part of his shirt ripped away by a swiping talon. Lightning reflexes had saved him till now, but he was getting tired. He found the sombrero with wax fruit in his hand and prepared to use it as a shield for a last ditch dash for the door.
As Bungston prepared to charge, Robigus stepped through the entrace to the torture chamber. His weapon was in his hand and his gray face was fierce. He wasted no time in talk, and his Roman shortsword cut through the torso of one ghoul and the cranium of another. A gibbering fiend bounded up and latched its jaws around Robigus' armored forearm; the warrior swung it around into a wall and kicked it away. Then Robigus switched the sword to his other hand and paused for a split second, reassessing the situation. He raised his right hand, fingers spread, and the wizard panting in the corner saw a strange light come into his face. "Dead things!" he called, his voice resonant. "Now return to the earth!"
The air swirled with the smell of a thousand caves, the clean mustiness overwhelming the foul stench of the ghouls. All around Bungston, the undead crumpled and caved in upon themselves, their sluglike flesh sprouting with soft gray fuzz. They disintegrated into featurelss heaps; in one second a room that had been packed with raving howling ghouls was empty except for three men and many mildewed gray piles on the floor.
The crest of Robigus' helmet had changed from crimson to gray, and he walked out of his new sandals with his first steps, their straps now worthless and weak. He strode across the room frowning in concern to where Bungston leaned panting against a black-stained wood frame. The mildew god was apparently oblivious to the necromancer who advanced from the corner behind him. The pink bearded man had taken up a three-pronged poker that Bungston had not seen earlier, and he raised it to smash Robigus on the neck. Bungston saw it coming. "Bob! Duck!"
Robigus did duck, but not enough, and the poker clanged on his helmet. The chin strap gave with the blow and the helmet bounced away across the floor. Robigus whirled and caught the next swing of the poker on his sword, then countered expertly. Robigus proceeded to earn his title as one time war god, handling his sword like a pro.
It was an uneven fight; the necromancer had, after all, laughed after getting nailed in the forehead with a .45 caliber bullet, and he was oblivious to Robigus' offensive. Robigus sword strokes were certainly depreciating the value of the man's bearskin, but the man underneath was unhurt and he continued to thrash with the poker. From where he was catching his breath, Bungston saw Napoleon's big maroon head poke in through the door and watch the battle for a few seconds, and then it jerked back and disappeared.
In the face of the necromancer's invulnerable onslaught, Robigus had to devote more and more of his attention to defense, especially as the mildewed leather straps on his armor were giving way one after the other. Despite this, the mildew god's swordsmanship was good enough that the clumsy but single-minded attack of the sorcerer could not harm him. Robigus seemed to realize his hits were doing no good, and he concentrated on the three-pronged poker, hoping to knock it out from the madman's grasp.
Then the sorcerer dropped the poker clanging to the floor and took a step back. Long slashed strips of shedding bearskin dangled down from his coat. "You are no priest, that you know so well the sword." It seemed that after seeing Robigus dispel the ghouls, the necromancer figured Robigus was a priest. Bungston had a bad feeling about the look on the sorcerer's face, and he took a deep breath and started mumbling.
Robigus leveled his sword at the man and scowled fiercely. "I am Robigus, god of war and mildew. Yield and I will give you quarter."
The sorcercer brought up a clenched fist. On one finger he wore a ring with a scarlet gem; Bungston knew for a fact it had not been there before. "We will see if you are god." He extended his clenched fist toward Robigus.
"... THAT WOULD BE FUN TO SEE TRIP ON YOUR SLIP SPIN FIST AND PLAY!" As the red ring swirled with a nimbus of power, a flurry of big leather medicine balls stormed out of the air immediately above the sorcerer's ring hand, knocking his outstretched arm to one side. The ring lashed out with a misdirected tendril of scarlet force intended for Robigus, but which instead blew the torture rack into flinders. "Look what you did!" yelled Bungston.
The sorcerer bared his sharp teeth and reoriented his ring at Bungston, at the same time Napoleon quietly stepped into the room behind the man carrying a weighty looking five-stemmed silver candelabra. Napoleon adjusted his grip, then whumped the sorcerer over the head with a two-handed overhand bash. The man staggered but stayed up, so Napoleon gave his skull another whack to help his descent. This time the mutant's not-too prehensile digits lost their purchase on the silver candelabra, but the sorcerer was on the floor so he didn't worry. "Tah-dah!" he growled. "I figured maybe I should be the one breaking out candelabras for a change."
The sorcerer rose groggily with a hand on his head, then turned to face Napoleon with an inhuman snarl. The St.Bernard backed away in surprise, but Bungston was ready. As the necromancer's features became fluid and started to shift across his face, Bungston ran up with the crusty bucket he had used earlier. Black fur raced across the lycanthrope's pink-painted skin, and then Bungston jammed the bucket over his head and hid the new-grown hair from view. The iron on the side of the bucket bulged, but it was thick, and it prohibited the continuing lycanthropic transformation by not allowing enough room for the necromancer's face to metamorphose into an elongated muzzle. The man tried to pull the bucket off his head, but Bungston was waiting with a length of duct tape - he slipped off the magic red ring and then the transforming yellow-nailed hands were soon swathed in a silver tape mitten. Bungston was tempted to pull the bucket off himself just to take a look at what must be a beautiful panface, but instead he spun the bucketheaded sorcerer around and propelled him into the iron maiden, which was wide open with party hats waiting. Robigus slammed the lid and latched it shut. Chains and rope were plentiful in the torture chamber, and the three adventurers quickly gathered all they could find and wrapped them around the iron box to ensure that its captive did not escape through some feat of superhuman strength. They then tipped the iron maiden on its back and piled everything loose in the room on top of it.

Chapter 19

Bungston wiped his brow after the frenetic burst of activity and sat on the face of the prone maiden. He held up a hand for Robigus to shake. "Robigus, that was the nick of time. I couldn't have held out another minute. And I must say that that mildew performance you did beats the stew out of any magic trick of mine. And Nap, a very fine job braining that jerk - I think anything less than big silver would have been useless."
"Didn't look like Bob was cutting him, and then I figured any guy who lived with that woman upstairs was bound to be a werewolf," rasped Napoleon. "So I took the candelabra, since you always say that's what people use. But still, I couldn't believe he got back up!"
The mildew god nodded stoically. "I had searched but two or three rooms when I heard screams as from a crowd of madmen - I hastened here and found you beleaguered by undead creatures. The dead are very vulnerable to mildews, so as soon as I ascertained their nature..."
"You did great. And nice swordfight with that guy too; you would have made him a pincushion if he weren't a freaking werewolf. Speaking of which, let's see how he's doing." Bungston picked up the three pronged poker and beat a rhythmic tattoo on the long metal box. "Yo, Count! Are you ready to apologize and hand over your treasure?" There was no reply, so Bungston turned back to Robigus. "You know, this guy is a total jerk, and if we leave him he'll probably go on lopping off heads and mounting people on pointed sticks. But I hate to kill him in cold blood."
"Which would be no mean feat - he seems well nigh invulnerable."
"We could beat him with the candelabra some more," suggested Napoleon. He picked up the badly bent instrument and looked it over. "I don't think it's good for much else."
Bungston remembered something. He jabbed suggestively at Napoleon's maroon shoulder, which looked more tousled than usual. "You sly dog. I know what you've been up to." Napoleon mumbled in embarrassment, but then got serious. "But say, Bung..." The mutant's voice was hushed, and therefore so raspy he was difficult to understand. "I think I got bit by her - that werewolf woman. A few times. Is there a cure?"
Bungston shook his head sadly. "Nope. You're going to grow fur and fangs at the full moon like the rest of them." He suddenly stared wide-eyed at the shaggy mutant and jumped back in fright. "Oh no! Bob, look out! It's happening already!"
Robigus glared at confused Napoleon in alarm, but then both understood and yelled at the wizard, who was overcome laughing at his own humor. Napoleon was about to wreak some sort of vengeance on the wizard while he was doubled up chuckling, but then was distracted sniffing the air. "Uh, guys, I'll be back to help search for treasure in a bit." He got up and quickly left the torture chamber.
Bungston followed to the door and dimly saw the woman in the blue dress waiting for Napoleon at the end of the corridor. "Hey lady, no biting this time! I need his hide whole!" She ignored him, but Napoleon grinned a toothy canine grin over his shoulder. Bungston went back to the firelit torture chamber.
Robigus was beetling his brow in concern at the iron maiden under its heap of braziers and cages and medicine balls. Bungston sat back down on its head. "Bob, I can't say that I found our magic thing. Any luck with you?" The mildew god shook his head, losing his chestplate in the process; he was now down only to Bungston's ginkgo tree design nylon baggies. "Maybe we can get this butthead to hand it over, now that we've softened him up. And maybe get some clothes for you, or you're going to freeze." Bungston noticed that the mildew patch on his arm had become grotesquely hairy, undoubtedly because of Robigus' mildew ambiance earlier. He borrowed Robigus' shortsword to shave it back down to an innocuous splotch.
Robigus craned his neck as if listening, then pointed at the iron maiden under Bungston. "I think the warlock speaks. Do you hear him?" It was true; muffled words rose from within the Iron Maiden. "What?" Bungston pressed his ear to the metal, but between the thick case and the bucket on his head, the sorcerer inside was incomprehensible. Whatever he was saying had a certain rhythm to it that worried Bungston. He caught what sounded like an infernal name and a vow of sacrifice. "Cut that out! Shut up!" yelled the wizard, banging on the lid with the poker. The chant from within grew faster and higher pitched, and a dark miasma began swirling over the pit.
"BAFFLED CRUMPLED GLASSLIKE FLAGSTAFF PORTEND AND BAKE OF GREAT PROPORTION! DAD-BLASTED FOAM AND WARMER DAFT DRAFTED MUFFLER BUSTERS! STUFF!" Fiberglass batting bulged from the cracks around the lid of Iron Maiden, drowning the mystic chant still more. "Dang it, that'll just make him itchy. Whoah Bob, we're not out of the woods yet." Tapering red worms writhed through the demonic cloud over the pit, anchored in a nebulous substance which resolved itself into a thing like a big yellow ball. It had hundreds of red dredlock worms which looked like they might have hairy barbs on them, or mouths at the tips, and the whole mass floated without apparent support over the pit. A clear fluid oozed from its feeler pores and collected on the bottom of the body, dripping into the void below. The yellow ball had two tiny sharklike eyes but no mouth, and the eyes stared malignantly at the two tidbits in the corner. Robigus held up his sword bravely; Bungston considered making a grab for the silver candelabra but he would have to move closer to the demon to get it.
The demon spoke in a dozen voices from a dozen tentacle mouths. It spoke wet sibilant English. "There iss no esscape. I will ssuck your marrow and drink your meninges."
"Yeah, I'll give you something tangy to drink!" Bungston slapped Robigus on the shoulder. "Bail out Bob; get Nap and run. I'll do some magic and hold this thing off." Robigus backed away uncertainly, then left the wizard facing the horror from the abyss. Bungston took inventory; maybe that red ring he had just acquired would do some good?
Robigus ran back into the room, rejoining Bungston. Familiar thunderous footfalls resounded down the hall, and wizard and warrior backed into the corner farthest from both the demon in the pit and the door to the torture chamber. Faint screams echoed from far away, and the horntoad-headed demon which had visited the cabana pounded slowly in, its hooves leaving acrid smoking indentations in the flagstones. It was no beauty, but it certainly looked a lot better than the necromancer's pet from the pit. Its glowing eyes fixed on Bungston, and it leveled a knotted finger. "You, mortal. Render unto me the Chazbirglath. You shall not escape a second time." Bungston grinned nervously.
Then Firestorm's demon noticed the other demon, and it stood and gaped its toothy toad mouth at this new player. The red tentacled thing floated several feet away from the pit, and the two demons confronted each other. Neither spoke nor moved. Napoleon chose this moment to saunter jauntily through the door. He stopped and bugged his eyes at the infernal pair, then did an about-face and jogged back out.
The red tentacled demon was the first to speak. "Why have you come, brother?" it said in chorus from many mouths. "These mortals have not said the Words. I have been promised great sacrifice to murder them, so stand aside."
"I am bound by another to recover an object possessed by the one called Bungston," answered the hooved demon. "He did trick me once before, but I shall not be tricked again."
Bungston stepped up to this unholy conference. "Hey, listen to him, wormy," he said, addressing the oozing yellow sphere from the pit. "You leave me alone or he'll stomp you into Vaseline. I have something he needs."
The wormy demon replied immediately, apparently a faster thinker than Firestorm's tracker demon. "My brother shall take what he needs from you, and then you and your comrade shall be mine."
"Yeah? Well, what if I don't give it to him right away?"
The toad-headed demon stepped closer, its gnarled and smoky hand reaching for him. "I shall bite you away piece by piece until you render it unto me. Yet I shall leave much for you, sister." Bungston did not like the direction this conference was going at all. His crewcut lit up as his cerebrum shifted into high gear. "Wait! Wait!"
"I shall not wait." The demon's hand gripped Bungston's midriff and turned him upside-down, bringing his poor feet close to the mighty jaws, which opened to receive them. Bungston could feel the heat through his clothes.
"You cannot harm me, for I am that which you seek! I am the Chazbirglath! I am the living talisman!" Bungston triumphantly pulled back his sleeve, revealing the name Chazbirglath written in smeary black magic marker for the world to see. "Unhand me, demon."
The demon closed its mouth, abandoning its intent to nibble Bungston's boots. "Now I shall bring you to my master, and I shall be free."
Hearing this, the floating yellow sphere reached out for Bungston's head with a dozen thin tentacles, each with a lamprey-like mouth at the tip. Bungston, still upside-down in the grip of Firestorm's demon, did a sit up to miss the deadly worms and wound up wrapped around the huge knobby hand that held him. "Look, demon!", he yelled into the infernal eyes a foot from his face. "Sis is trying to shred me! I am the Chazberglath! Save me!"
The hooved demon reached out with his free hand and grasped the questing tentacles, then tore them off in a spray of ichor and threw them over its shoulder. The demon from the pit shrieked from all of its mouths and lashed out with still more tentacles, several of which bored into the hooved demon's legs. The roar shook the castle, and Firestorm's demon dropped Bungston and bounded on top of its levitating sister, knocking the yellow ball to the ground with its great weight. The horntoad demon opened its mighty maw wide to take a bite and wormy tentacles lashed around it, then both creatures were enveloped in infernal smoke. For an instant the cries of the abyss could be heard, then the smoke cleared and the demons had vanished.
Bungston shook the sweat out of his crewcut and swaggered back over to Robigus, who had stood quietly in the corner the entire time. "You alright, Bob? Gees, lucky Firestorm's demon buddy showed up when it did. I'm not sure which of those two would win a scrap, but whichever one does won't be in any shape to come after us afterwards."
Robigus stared in amazement at Bungston. "You told the demon you were that which it should protect? An amazing stratagem!"
Bungston made with a manly monobrow and gingerly rubbed his legs, which were a little black and blue after being manhandled by the horntoad demon. "You should know by now, Bob. Stuff like that just comes to me. The best thing is, though, summoning up that disgusting yellow coot will have taken a lot of fight out of our bearded pal in here." Bungston kicked the iron maiden, which was quiet. "You don't just work a spell like that and then go do kung-fu for dessert. They take a lot of energy. So help me unpack him." Bungston started shoving furniture off of the iron maiden, and Robigus helped.
Napoleon soon returned. "You got rid of the demons, Bung? Good." He did not seem to require further explanation, but helped unwind the chains and ropes tying the iron maiden. Once it was open, Bungston used the three-pronged poker to pick out the ream of fiberglass insulating the sorcerer, and then pulled the bucket off of his head. The man blinked dully and sat up inside the maiden. Napoleon got the candelabra ready just in case he got rowdy. "Hey, how come he's pink, Bung? Was he always this way?"
"I thought black on black was boring. Plus to get him mad, but it didn't work." The sorcerer either did not understand English or did not care; he just sat in a stupor on the crushed remains of the party hats. Bungston switched back to Transylvanian. "That was an ugly demon you summoned. I bet when it recovers from the spanking I gave it it's not going to be very happy with you." The sorcerer looked at Bungston hopelessly; he definitely was deficient in vim and vigor. "So, back to the reason I came. Magic stuff. I know you've got some, and I want to take it." Bungston pulled the man's pink and tattered bearskin off and shook it in case there were more toads or rings inside. He handed it to Robigus, who needed something to wrap up in. The warlock looked skinny without it.
He stared dully at Bungston, his painted face showing a few creases from the episode inside the bucket. He said nothing. He looked beaten. "Wake up. Wake up." Bungston tugged the man's sticky pink beard. The sorcerer stood up and slowly walked to the fireplace, Napoleon following with candelabra ready. He lit a torch and handed it to Napoleon, then indicated for Bungston to follow and went out the door. They followed.
There was no sign of the wolfwere woman in the hall; Bungston figured she had wisely hidden herself. The sorcerer took them back past the row of cells, up the stairs and into the study room. He slid a panel and revealed a secret compartment, inside which was a small chest. He set this on the table. "Therein lies that which you seek."
Bungston was about to open it, but then his old paranoia kicked in. Too easy. He looked over at the necromancer, who was watching with shifty eyes. "You open it."
The sorcerer started, then looked nervously at the door. Then he looked at Napoleon and his candelabra after the big mutant got in front of the door. "I do not care to open it. You may open it."
"But I do not care to either. My fingers are sore from playing banjo. You open it." Bungston put his hand in his pocket and brought it up wearing the red ring he had purloined from the man. He wiggled his ring finger.
Bungston's multi-knuckled ring finger wiggled a singular wiggle; either this or the red ring had an effect. The sorcerer blinked, then indicated Robigus with his chin. "Have the god open it. I too am weary."
"Nope. Nice try, but now I know that there is some sort of trap waiting for whoever opens that box. Probably something nasty, knowing you." Bungston drew himself up and made a fist with his ring hand. His voice grew terrible. "No more of this touchie feelie mumbo jumbo! I grow weary of your tricks, your fumbling spells, your hogwash balderdash tantrum torturing of regular joes! I've got a four-lobed pineal as big as a lime and I'm a hundred percent piezoelectric!" His crewcut shot a spark for punctuation. "Now I've had a bellyfull - you better bring me to the big magic! Before I get mad!" He waved the red ring around to highlight his concern.
Bungston felt certain that a lot of what he had said had not made sense in Transylvanian; he had felt obliged to borrow some foreign words to create the effect he wanted. But the message was clear. The sorcerer slumped and walked to the door; Napoleon let him through and then followed.

He went back down to the dungeon and stopped at the metal-sheathed door Bungston had knocked on earlier. To one side of the door was a tan stone set in the wall, and he pressed this. A scraping like metal on stone began, accompanied by a frenzied roar similar to the one Bungston had heard earlier. Robigus grabbed the sorcerer's thin shoulder. "You shall enter first," the mildew god commanded in English. Bungston thought that after his latest antics that might be a good idea, so he said it over again in Transylvania. The sorcerer complied, and they trooped in behind him.
Something crouched in the shadows behind bars in the back of the room; Bungston could see how the cage wall would lower and sweep across the room on tracks in the ceiling. It was pretty clever, and Bungston complimented his host on the design. Whatever was back there was now quiet; no doubt wary of the necromancer. Bungston got an impression of many coils and white bony claws, but he did not want to take his eyes off of the necromancer too long. The necromancer in turn paid no attention the creature, and led Bungston to a stone lying in a pile of crushed velvet. The stone was carved with glyphs and runes, and it had a fist-size indentation worn into it, which looked crusty with old blood. Besides crust, in this indentation was a small brown object about the size of a racquet ball. The owner of the castle, pink bearded and small without his coat, gently picked up the object and held it out.
Bungston looked at it, then walked to a new angle and looked again. He sniffed it, then motioned for Napoleon to sniff it. It looked like a hairball. "What is this thing?" he asked. Napoleon tapped the lycanthropic sorcerer on the head with the bent candelabra to keep him in line.
"It is a bezoar of the old goddess Waldborg," he answered. "It possesses a formidable spirit." His eyes grew crafty again, but it was a different sort of crafty - cringing and hopeful instead of evil. "Now, you and I, lord Bungston, we are men of knowledge, of power," he murmured. "And the bezoar can serve us both, and well - I know of which I speak. We need not be enemies. Certain you know that which..."
"A bezoar!" exclaimed Bungston. "That means it is a hairball! A goddess hairball! I thought only cats and goats and stuff got hairballs. You'd think goddesses would be more careful."

"I thought it was a hairball from the start," stated Napoleon, who had a certain understanding of such matters. "You know, I saw a movie where there was a guy who had a hairball he could ask questions. An ox hairball."
"Probably not much smarter than the ox," observed Bungston. "Should we ask this one something? Hello, how are you?" he asked the hairball. There was no immediate reply.
"There was a witch in it, I think," said Napoleon. "You know what I mean, Bob?"
Robigus did not. Bungston turned back to the necromancer. "Well, thanks after all. I would have bought it from you if you hadn't been such a jerk." The sorcerer did not see fit to reply to this. Having achieved the object of his quest, Bungston's thoughts turned to what to do with the evil sorcerer. Probably he should just kill him; if it were a book or a movie that's what he would advise. But maybe that wouldn't be necessary - maybe he could just lock him out of the castle. Without his red magic ring or his hairball or his toad or coat he didn't seem to amount to much. Except he was a werewolf, which was pretty bad in and of itself. Bungston tossed and caught the bezoar, trying to decide what to do. "Bob, what should we do with this guy?"
Before Robigus could answer, the sorcerer planted a hand on his bare chest and gave him a tremendous shove. It sent the tall gray warrior reeling, and the sorcerer dashed past him toward the door. Napoleon had wandered over to the cage to get a better look at the creature hiding back in the shadows, and was too far away to interfere. The three adventurers took off after the fleeing sorcerer, but Bungston paused to wrap the hairball and its throne stone in the crushed velvet and stash it in his Voyageur pack.
The sorcerer made it up through the castle and out the front door before Napoleon caught up with him. The man shifted into wolfman form and turned to face Napoleon in the light of the setting moon. The sorcerer qua werewolf apparently did not realize that Napoleon was just a mutant and not a supernatural, because he hesitated as might be expected when confronting another lycanthrope twice his size. Napoleon stood his ground and growled back. Then Bungston and Robigus arrived and Bungston menacingly waved the usurped red ring. The sorcerer dropped to all fours and took on full wolf form, then sped off at top speed into the woods. Bungston waved the ring some more for luck, although he did not have the foggiest idea how to make it shoot energy or do anything else. As they stood in the door, the woman in the blue dress walked out past them, in human form and carrying a bag over her shoulder and the crossbow. She cast an arch look at Napoleon, then strode off into the forest, her long hair tossing in the wind. She went in a different direction from the sorcerer.
"She didn't like him much," said Napoleon.
"It is unseeming that a woman should venture alone into such a wood," worried Robigus. "Perhaps we should see her to a new haven."
Bungston lifted half his monobrow. "Bob, you thought she was going to kill us all a few hours ago, remember?"
"Yet I was in error - she proved friendly."
"I'll say she did. Maybe Bob's right," added Napoleon.
"Guys, guys!" expostulated Bungston. "You forget, she can whip her weight in warthogs! Or twice her weight, or as many warthogs as were interested, since they couldn't hurt her. Her dress would get ripped up though..." Bungston pinched his chin, which was getting stubbly. "I hope she has a spare in her bag. But there's barely any warthogs native to this area. Not locally, I'm sure."
Once again, Bungston's razor-keen reason won the day; both dog and god agreed to let the wolwere female leave alone. As the woman disappeared into the trees, a shadowy figure left the woods and walked across the corpse-studded clearing toward the three adventurers. She gave the wolwere woman a wide berth and was ignored in return. "Bung? Nap? I sure hope it's you guys!" a familiar voice called.
"Irn!" sang Bungston. "We did it! We finished our quest! We fought werewolves and Napoleon got laid!"
"Shuddup!" yelled Napoleon, cuffing Bungston on the head hard enough to send him sprawling on the ground.
"I am pleased to see you Irn," said Robigus. "How is it you located us? I do not believe Bungston told you of his intent to come here."
"I'll say werewolves!" said Irn, still trying to sort out Bungston's proclamation. Her normal placid expression was in danger of losing out to a paranoid one, and the adventuress gripped her bug duster with white knuckles. "I was going to bail bigtime in a second - thought maybe I'd missed you or showed too late. This place you picked is nowhere to wander by yourself - I had to hide up a tree - these woods are crawling with the creepiest creeps I've seen. Now I'm sap city." She paused for a moment and noticed Robigus' fur coat. "That's a beano bearskin you have, Bob. Run over by a lawnmower?"
"The screaming in the wood is caused by the chubby worthless kind of lemur," explained Robigus, whose coat was indeed trailing long strips. "But yes, we three did battle with a warlock who could take the form of a wolf - this coat was his and it was I who slashed it so. Together we defeated him, and a legion of the undead. And Bungston defeated two demons. Perhaps you saw the prints left at the cabana - those were of a great demon who sought to thwart our quest."
"Demons now!" exclaimed Irn. "Bungston, I get more and more impressed you magical dude."
"Well, that's what I'm for." The tan wizard walked back from where he had retreated from Napoleon's aggressions. "But how did you find us? We're too far from water to use the wrapped carriage."
Irn motioned for them to follow. At the edge of the forest where the threesome had earlier paused to plot, there was a newly sprouted ring of mushrooms. "Remember what you said about a dead cat and a bag of fertilizer? Well I tried it and it worked, except all you had for dead cats were these rubber kittens, and instead of fertilizer I used some socks from your laundry bin, some of the Bobster's sandals and Nap's leather chew toy.
"Not my chew toy!" wept Napoleon.
"I have socks?" asked Bungston.
"Not any more. I think Bob's sandals were what did the trick, though." A deep throated call rumbled through the woods from not far away, and Irn whirled and pointed her bug duster in its direction. A wisp of smoke rose from its nozzle. "I don't know what the hell that is, but it's no chubby lemur. And its been getting closer. Let's go back, quick."
Bungston shone the ultralamp in the direction of the call, but saw nothing. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I've only done a mushroom ring once. How does it work?"
Irn spun her bug duster around her waist and shoulders like a set of nunchucks, then stopped it with two fingers. "Best to get a running start, or if its a certain type of shroom ring you might just wind up dancing with fairies for a few dozen years. Best to have a mouthful of booze, too, to keep your mind distracted. Can't concentrate or you might start dancing." She backed the threesome up and pointed her bug duster at Robigus' mouth. "Open wide." Robigus complied and she shot a spray of something fragrant into his mouth. He coughed and doubled over, but Irn got behind him and propelled him toward the ring. He stumbled off through the trees. Napoleon was next, and Irn gave him a triple dose of whatever liqueur she had conjured. As the mutant ran off toward the mushroom ring, the throaty call sounded again; it sounded very close.
"Chances are that thing is just a lemur," said Bungston reassuringly. "Noise can be deceiving. We haven't met anything here we couldn't whip."
"That's cause you're so ripping lucky," said Irn. "Alright dragon slayer, you can bring up the rear. Make it through - I need my bug duster back." She gave herself a shot, handed the bug duster to Bungston and lunged away.
Bungston pointed the bug duster in his mouth and sprayed, then took off running. Whatever Irn had whipped up had a very pleasant flavor, a sort of citrus creosote pastis. He swished it around, dodged past a tree, and then heard the elf music. It had a great beat and he couldn't help shuffling his feet a little in response. At his speed shuffling feet were disastrous; he tripped over a root, inhaled his mouthful of liqueur and lunged into the ring.
Chapter 20

Bungston awoke in the familiar red world behind his eyelids. He opened them a crack and saw sunlit sand. He also saw an orange and black engine of destruction moving in with outstretched claws and malice in its tiny stalked eyeballs. The wizard tried to roll away but ran up against a hairy barricade behind him. As the crab closed, Bungston managed to steamroller up and over the impediment. The crustacean was evidently unable to stop in time, and continued on to plow into Napoleon's maroon shag. Bungston jogged into the surf to clear his head of cobwebs, then walked back to where Irn was reclining in a lawn chair in front of the black cabana. "Hey, we made it. Is Bob OK too?"
"I wrapped him in a shower curtain and he was up in five minutes," she replied. Irn wore a pair of Bungston's boxers and a long-sleeved oxford. "Sunburn," she explained. "I forgot you have to ease into these things." She picked up a half-full glass standing in the sand next to her bug duster. "Lemonade? You had quite a trip."
"Yeah I did." He took a sip of hot lemonade, still woozy from the mushroom ring. "I guess Bob's just used to fungus. I guess you are too." He walked back to where Napoleon was snoozing on the beach and disentangled the crab from his fur, benevolently leaving it to scuttle on its way. "Nap and I sure aren't. But thanks for getting us back." The wizard walked into the cabana.
Someone had placed their newly gained loot on the altar next to what was already there - the red ring, a clove of garlic and the hairball in its stone were all there. In retrospect, he probably could have let the sorcerer keep his hairball since it wasn't really what he was after, but it was probably just as well he had taken it. Maybe its formidable spirit would be good for something - answering questions or whatever it was Nap said hairballs did. There was also some other new goodies with traces of tar on them; Irn must have gone back and pilfered them from the dragon's lair. Bungston picked up the red ring and toyed with it; it would be nice if he could shoot energy like that sorcerer had. He put it on and tapped it against the hairball but nothing happened. The tapped the ring with Napoleon's magic wand or stick and thought that maybe, just maybe, he felt something. He tried again.
Napoleon shambled in through the screen door. "Bung, the Queen is here from Avalon," he rasped, sounding like a flooded engine trying to start. "She's come to get the quest thing and she's pretty excited. Good timing, eh?"Bungston jumped to his feet in a panic. He had an adze and a wonger banger and a goddess hairball but no - he checked his arm - Chazbirglath. He could hear Irn conversing with someone outside. "Stall!" he whispered fiercely at Napoleon, smacking the red ring with the stick for emphasis.
"What? Huh? Why don't you just give her the thing and she'll leave? I think she might even have your wildest dream reward along with."
Bungston looked at his mutant. Napoleon's suggestion had pulled a big piece of thought out of the wizard's murky subconscious, and now it rattled around his head where he could get at it. No-one had ever heard of this Chazbirglath except for crazy Queen Z, and likely not even her. She wanted to use it to keep an island from sinking that probably wasn't sinking, and everyone else just wanted to humor her. Bungston slowly nodded.
A red and white uniformed royal guard stepped in through the storm door. "Her Royal Highness, Queen Z.!" Then the queen walked in. Behind her followed a big Siegfried-looking guy, with blond braids, a bare chest and a longsword strapped across his back. Behind him was another palace guard, and then Angar Firestorm, sweating profusely in his star-and-moon purple robes and dunce cap. Irn and Robigus walked in afterwards. Robigus glared at Firestorm from behind, and Bungston prayed that the mildew god would keep quiet about the court magician's supposed demon worshipping escapades.
The Queen looked even more drawn and crazed than Bungston remembered; this was definitely a woman in need of medication. And there was no better medication than Bungston's favorite drug, placebo. "Hello, Queen Z.," said Bungston. "Sorry this place is such a shambles, but we've been away."
The Queen glared at Bungston for a second, then whirled a fixed the guard in her stare. "We have the utmost confidence in you, Wizard Bungston. The utmost confidence," she stated imperiously, in a voice that sounded like a shriek was hiding just around the corner. Then the Queen looked back at Bungston, a sly, almost seductive look out of the corner of her eye. It wasn't very regal, and Bungston made a private vow to just take everything in stride, unless she went wok and actually bit him or something. "It must seem to you as if we are checking up on you. I hope you are not offended."
"No, no, not at all," said Bungston. "In fact..."
"Because I have the utmost... the utmost confidence in you." said the Queen softly. She began to pace, wending her way among the trophies of Bungston's travels and the several people who were standing around in the cabana. She never bumped into any. "But I am here because I could not wait any longer. I had to come."
"I am not offended," said Bungston, "because you are just in time. I have completed my quest, and thought long and hard about this matter, and I have come to a ... conclusion," he finished dramatically.
Suddenly the Queen rushed up to him, her face only inches away. "What is it? What have you discovered?" she whispered intently. Her breath smelled like she had been eating grass or green weeds. Probably she felt bad, reasoned Bungston; Napoleon sometimes ate grass when he felt bad. It sure looked like the other people in the cabana were feeling pretty bad and nervous about the Queen's wacky behavior, although she herself did not take any notice of them.
"I have completed my quest, and have realized that the most effective way to aid the island of Avalon is to aid its Queen, by increasing, magnifying and multiplying her mighty powers!" It was like switching on Irn's ultralamp inside the Queen's head. Her eyes became radiant. Bungston continued. "And there is only one item, one artifact, one source of power which can achieve this task like no other... the Chazbirglath!". The wizard noticed that Firestorm was smiling beatifically at him. What the heck did that mean? The Queen looked frantically over the treasure set out on the altar, but Bungston shook his head. "Mere baubles. I have placed the Chazbirglath in an vessel secured against its mighty power - pardon me while I get it."Bungston jogged into his bedroom and pulled a wax papaya loose from the sombrero decorated with wax fruit. It was a fine looking papaya; the mold marks barely showed. Probably Queen Z and her entourage had never seen a papaya. Bungston gave it a spit shine then wrapped it in his fuzzy terrycloth towel.
He walked back into the other room and climbed up onto the altar, pushing the assorted loot away with his feet to make room. "Behold!" he shouted, holding the papaya and towel over his head. "The Chazbirglath!" Queen Z and the other Avalonians all drew excited breaths and leaned close. Bungston kept the papaya held high, since it looked like the Queen might make a grab for it before he got out his speech. "Long and treacherous leagues have we trooped, seeking this mystical marvel! We have done battles with monstrous beasts of all persuasion, with murderous enemies mundane and magical; we have pitted our valor and vitality against a leprous lecherous legion of implacable foes! And we have prevailed!" He shook the papaya and went on. "We have thrown our resolve time and again against obstacles intractable and inflexible, but we have not faltered, we have not doubted, nay, we - have - prevailed!" Bungston's voice grew hushed. "And in the deepest darkest hour...when there was almost no light.. when the future was grim and grisly and grizzled... did we lose hope? No! Undaunted, we pressed on! And we have achieved our goal! The Chazbirglath! Here it is!" Bungston's features fairly radiated heroism, and he lowered the papaya and towel into the Queen's arms. The royal guards had become misty eyed from Bungston's impressive speech, and even the Siegfried-looking guy was quivering in the chin a bit. Tears ran freely down the Queen's face, and it looked like she would lop off her ear and hand it to him if Bungston asked. It really had been one of Bungston's finest. Irn and Robigus stood open mouthed near the door.
Queen Z accepted the wax papaya qua Chazbirglath with royal dignity, though it took some time for her to recover enough poise to speak. "I knew that you were the right choice for this mission; in truth Avalon has never doubted your abilities." Already the magic papaya seemed to be working; dignity from long untapped dignity reserves was flowing into the Queen as she spoke. "The court wizard Firestorm had told us that you might have already accomplished your quest, and we have your reward - a magic lamp that will grant you three wishes. It is among the finest items in the Avalonian treasury. You may wish for anything your heart desires - and you deserve it all. Thank you."
One of the royal guards took out a purple velvet sack, inside of which was the old-style type of brass oil lamp, the kind you might expect to grant wishes. She handed it to Bungston, who nodded solemnly. The Queen nodded in return. "I am only too happy to have performed this service," stated Bungston. "I hope that your enhanced puissance..." At this point Irn began to cough uncontrollably and she had to bolt from the cabana. "Enhanced puissance together with this potent tool can... uh, keep the island from going under. Avalon is lucky to have such a caring ruler."
The Queen stepped up to Bungston, who steeled himself for whatever might come next. But instead she reached down into her collar and fished out an amulet, set with a oval emerald. This she placed around Bungston's neck. "There is no way I can thank you enough," she said. Then she turned and left, the royal guards preceding him and carrying the Chazbirglath papaya. The Siegfried guy also left.
Irn walked back in the back door as the Queen and her entourage left, and she and Robigus walked up to Bungston, each one spouting questions. They were interrupted by court magician Angar Firestorm. "Bungston, I believe you and I have a matter to discuss," he said with a sardonic smile.
Robigus scowled and placed a long gray hand on the Firestorm's shoulder and gave him a shove, then reached for his shortsword. "Demon-worshipping buttface!" spat the mildew god at the astonished old man. "Your deviltrous magic near cost us our lives. It would be just should I gut you as you stand!" He drew his sword, and it looked very much like the god would carry out his threat in the next few seconds.
Bungston slid between the two, carrying the magic lamp under his arm. "Bob, Bob, you're right. But let me talk to him first. Maybe it was an accident."
"In private," added Firestorm.
"An accident!" blustered the mildew god. Bungston made pacific gestures and Irn put an arm around the outraged warrior's waist, escorting him from the cabana.
Bungston turned back to the sweaty purple magician. What the heck was he smirking about? The wily wizard's paranoia kicked in, but he clamped down on it and put on an ingenuous grin. "So, Angar. Looks like I did it after all, eh?"
The fat old man smirked even more. He had his tiny scrying glass in his hand, and he rolled it around in his palm.
"Looks like the Queen was right about me," said Bungston, as paranoia slowly won out over ingenuous. "Uh, and I got rewarded after all."
"Wax fruit." said Firestorm rather casually.
"Mmm." hummed Bungston. He decided to try bluffing it out to the bitter end. "Good stuff. You like it too?"
"I think that piece of wax fruit makes a fine Chazbirglath. I think it will suffice for the Queen's purposes." said Firestorm. Bungston relaxed just a tad. "Yep, all she needs is a good placebo. Not that I didn't try to find the stupid Chazbasher."
Firestorm smirked some more, rolling the scrying glass significantly around in his palm. "As I said, I am afraid you were set an impossible task. I myself tracked much of your progress, and I know you never acquired the Chazbirglath. But I am certain the Queen would be displeased should she hear of your little ruse. Very displeased. And it would not be good for your reputation." The fat man grinned even wider.
Bungston's crewcut drooped. The woeful wizard sagged against the tile-plastered altar as he realized the import of the magician's words. "What do you want?" he asked bleakly. "I'll pay hush money. I've got a hairball with a formidable spirit here..."
Firestorm walked up and gently withdrew the magic wish lamp from under Bungston's arm. He tucked it under his robe and Bungston watched his wildest dreams vanish beneath sweaty purple fabric. "This will do." he said gleefully. Firestorm was probably happier than he had ever been before; it looked like his sour old face might break from all the smiling he was doing. "All is well that ends well, right?" Bungston glared murderously at the pleased magician. He should have let Robigus mince him up. "And, in case you might be plotting some revenge on this poor old man," continued the purple magician, "I would advise against it. The Queen will learn of your... shall we say, failure? And I myself" - he gave the magic lamp a pat - "will be well protected. Farewell Bungston." On the way out the happy old magician grabbed the control statue for the Avalonian wrapped carriage. Then he paused and also grabbed Bungston's lacquered stuffed crocodiles. "Always wanted one of these," he said. He giggled as he left.

Bungston slid into a heap on the cluttered floor of the cabana. It had been going so well; all he had needed to do was explain to Robigus why he had given Queen Z the papaya, and then sit back and live his wildest dreams. But that Firestorm! And he couldn't even get revenge. GNASH BITING ASS LIKE FLASH OF BASH PLASTIC RIPPING SPIT PICKLE SACK-WRAPPED WAFTING PASSING GAS HALF-WRISTED FISH HASH! A stained paper shopping bag appeared in front of him; Bungston stared at in misery then picked it up and put it over his head. It smelled like beets inside. He sat in bleakest despair.
After a few minutes the bag on Bungston's head started to crumple and rustle as it was pummeled from the outside. A small tear opened up and a familiar bloodshot eye peered in. "Bung," rasped the mutant owner of the eye, "I invited Bob to stay at the cabana a while. And Irn. OK?"
Bungston nodded his bagged head, overcome with self-pity.
The eye left the rip in the bag for a brief moment, then returned. "Where'd you put that magic lamp? Can I try it?"
"Firestorm stole it," mumbled Bungston in piteous tones. "He blackmailed me."
"Blackmail? That monkey's ass!" ground the mutant. "What's he got on you?"
"I gave the Queen a wax papaya instead of her magic thing. Firestorm knew it cause he's got a crystal ball."
Robigus' voice penetrated Bungston's beet scented world. "I thought it ignoble of you to so deceive the Queen, who is a fine ruler despite her shortcomings. Yet I bade my tongue be silent until I heard your explanation."
Bungston ripped the small tear Napoleon had made until it was big enough to poke his face through. "We never found the real thing, Bob. We never got the thing the Queen wanted. I don't think it exists; I think the Queen made it up. So I had to bluff. But Firestorm found out."
Robigus, Napoleon and Bungston sat quietly around the cabana. After a while Irn came in, and sensing the general mood joined in sitting quietly. "Well, its not like we failed or anything," ground Napoleon. "We got all this great stuff." The maroon canine indicated the heap of loot.
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Bungston continued to sit on the floor and mope. "He stole my crocodiles too."
"Bungston," began the mildew god, a perplexed scowl crossing his features, "you say that Firestorm knew you did not possess this magical item. Yet did he not send his demon after you to claim it? Why would he do such a foolish thing?"
Bungston pulled off the bag and stood up. "Pretty foolish, OK. I guess I should have asked. I'm not really sure he knew the demon came here; I think he just sort of turned it loose." The wizard's mind wrestled with this dilemma but came up with nothing.
"I was wondering something too," said Irn. "If that magic lamp could grant anything, why didn't the Queen just use it to get the thing she needed?"
Bungston pondered this too, with little more success. "Maybe `anything' is kind of a figurative term. Like any thing. I don't know that either."
Napoleon added his two cents. "Say Bung, what do you think the Z stood for in Queen Z's name? We never found out, did we?"
"Zarbawargafarga, probably." This drew a chuckle from Irn and Napoleon. Bungston drew a deep breath. "Well, like you say, Nap; not a bad quest all in all. I should be able to figure out how to use some of this stuff to make food. I'm not in the mood for Irn's bug duster paste just yet."

Epilogue

It was a brilliant day on the Black Sea - a few fluffy clouds drifted in the slight offshore breeze. Napoleon was hungry. After being asked nicely five or six times Irn had made a bucket of bug duster paste for Napoleon, and now the big mutant camped in the shade of a tusked statue and slowly ate it. He was pretty dang sick of it; they had eaten nothing else for several days, but now Bungston actually liked the stuff, and so wouldn't try to transmute it into beef or lamb or something meatier. Dogs weren't meant to eat paste. The St. Bernard grabbed another pawful, then let it plop back into the bucket. It needed spice. He wedged the bucket in between the statue's gaping jaws to keep the food safe from crabs, then shuffled over to where Bungston and Irn lay prostrate in the sand.
The wizard and sorceress had embarked on a new Tan and Muscle Improvement Program, and were apparently working on the Tan part; Napoleon had yet to see Bungston work on the Muscle part, although Irn did some sort of calisthenics from time to time. The mutant stood over Bungston, blocking the sun. "Bung," he rasped. "We got any more nutmeg?"
Bungston looked up but shut his eyes quickly because of the hail of sand and small shells tumbling down from Napoleon's fur. "Yep," he snapped to avoid getting sand on his teeth. "But you have to grind it." Napoleon turned and loped into the cabana.

Bad crunching noises came from Robigus' room; the mildew god was apparently tormenting another one of the dwindling supply of mechanical devices in the cabana. One by one the remains of the stereo, microwave, and other damaged mechanisms had been incorporated to some new composite monstrosity Robigus was building; Napoleon was happy that it was not as noisy as the motorcycle had been. The mutant dug through trophy heads and plastic lawn sculpture until he found some nutmeg and Bungston's nifty nutmeg grater.
Napoleon had seen Bungston use the nutmeg grater numerous times, but had only used it himself once or twice; it was tough for him to operate the device with his clumsy paws. It was very nifty; all shiny handworn metal, with a round part to clasp the nutmeg and a rough piece you moved back and forth across the nutmeg to grate it. That was what Napoleon had trouble with; moving the rough piece. He carefully wedged the nutmeg in the round part and found a petrified watermelon rind to collect the gratings. He couldn't seem to grab hold of the rough part, though.
"Woops," he mumbled. The rough part had bent, due to Napoleon's efforts to get a digit underneath it, and now it wouldn't touch the wedged-in nutmeg no matter what. Maybe he could fix it. "Woops." Now it was really bent. The mutant looked around guiltily. Probably he should just hide it now and not mention it. But Bungston would find out since he used it so often; he would search and search and then find it and then chase Napoleon with a rolled up magazine. Napoleon hung his great shaggy head and walked back outside with the bent nutmeg grater.
"Bung? Bung? I think I bent this. I'm sorry. Can you fix it?" Bungston sat up and took the nifty nutmeg grater from his mutant. "Jees! What were you trying to do with it?" The wizard looked over the nifty device, noticing that in its bent position the rough part exposed some small engravings in the metal that he had not noticed before. He bent it some more until he could read the engravings. They said `Chazbirglath'. Bungston pointed out these engravings to Napoleon and Irn. "Check this out. I guess my nifty nutmeg grater is the Chazbirglath. That quest thing we were supposed to get."
Irn was asleep and so she didn't hear. Napoleon examined the engravings, then looked up at Bungston. "So, are you going to bring it in?" he ground like an unoiled chainsaw. "Since the Queen didn't make it up after all?"
"Heck no!" said the wizard, bending the nutmeg grater back into usable form. "We use this baby all the time. We need it." He ground a handful of nutmeg and passed it to Napoleon, who shambled back to his bucket and shady gargoyle. Bungston loosened the partly ground nutmeg clove and popped it under his tongue, then settled back to enjoy the sun. -fin