From Dr. Blevins, 11:05:
Suit yourself, Major Sloane, but I believe you are grossly overestimating Magnus’s mental capacity. He cannot even speak English, much less type search terms into a navigational app.
From LTC Lyons, 12:00:
He’s been gone for four hours. Sitrep?
From MAJ Sloane, 12:01:
Just writing one up. Nothing yet. [Redacted]’s phone didn’t preserve any search history.
From MAJ Sloane, 13:27:
Bingo. We have a report from the Walmart Supercenter in Lexington that a man matching Magnus’s description has been using a computer in the electronics department for a couple of hours. It’s only ten miles—he could have Paul Revered it on foot. Sending all available DOSECOPS units.
From LTC Lyons, 13:30:
Please advise Walmart rent-a-cops not to engage Magnus. I can’t even . . .
From MAJ Sloane, 13:31:
Neither can I. Have already emphasized this to them.
From MAJ Sloane, 14:10:
Plainclothes DOSECOPS personnel made peaceful contact with Magnus and escorted him from the Walmart without incident. Interviewing witnesses. Magnus is in the SUV, should be back in DODO HQ soon. He’s calm and relaxed.
From Dr. Blevins, 14:15:
Any indications Magnus might have divulged classified information to civilians?
From MAJ Sloane, 14:23:
All eyewitness reports so far agree that he said nothing—which stands to reason since he doesn’t speak English! Sounds like he’d brought a Sharpie from the SARF and was using it to draw on his hand and forearm—that’s what freaked out the store management and caused them to call it in.
From MAJ Sloane, 14:39:
Magnus is in the building, being escorted to conference room for debriefing.
From LTC Lyons, 14:42:
Don’t you guys have a lockable room down in DOSECOPS land?
From Dr. Blevins, 14:45:
No need to escalate by placing Magnus in something that looks to him like a prison.
From LTC Lyons, 14:47:
It won’t look to him like a prison—he’s never seen a prison!—it’ll look to him like the nicest, cleanest room he’d ever seen in his life until a few weeks ago.
From MAJ Sloane, 15:05:
Still waiting on the Norman interpreter so we can interview him.
From LTC Lyons, 15:08:
FFS I can do that. No need to wait.
From MAJ Sloane, 15:11:
We are observing him in the meantime. As part of a psych eval. He’s scratching himself with a paper clip.
From LTC Lyons, 15:12:
???
From MAJ Sloane, 15:14:
Just superficial scratches. Not enough to draw blood. Maybe the ink irritated his skin.
From Dr. Blevins, 15:23:
Why are the alarms going off?
From SGT Jones, 15:25:
Major Sloane asked me to notify everyone that we got a report from the Walmart that Magnus has a knife. Apparently they reviewed their security camera footage and saw him taking it from the kitchen section and hiding it in his trousers. He’s had it the whole time.
From LTC Lyons, 15:25:
OMW
From CPT Gomez, 15:26:
Need medic conf rm
From SGT Jones, 15:26:
Facility is in lockdown. All personnel following active shooter protocols.
From CPT Gomez, 15:28:
Need medic Stairwell 2
From LTC Lyons, 15:28:
He’s on ODEC level.
He’s in ODEC 2 with a MUON.
It’s Constance Billy.
He’s gone. Constance shaken but unharmed.
From Dr. Blevins, 15:30:
Gone where? To what DTAP?
From LTC Lyons, 15:32:
Constance says he threatened her with a knife and demanded to be Sent to 912 AD Svelvik. It’s a DTAP she knows pretty well.
From Dr. Blevins, 15:34:
Isn’t that three centuries before his time?
From Dr. Melisande Stokes, 15:40:
912 Svelvik is like Grand Central Station for old-school Vikings.
From LTC Lyons, 15:45:
Magnus has always been fascinated by that era, it doesn’t surprise me that he would choose to go there. He knows he can’t come back, ever, after what he’s done. So he picked the one place where he could live out the rest of his days as his fantasy of a classic Viking.
From Dr. Stokes, 15:48:
Maybe he’ll go discover America:)
From LTC Lyons, 15:50:
Not actually that funny, Stokes.
Magnus’s search history
(recovered from computer on display in
Walmart electronics department)
TRUCK
BOOBS
FREE BOOBS PIX
LIE DOE CAIN
LIE DO CAIN NUMM
NUMB
LIDOCAINE
TOPICAL ANAESTHETICS
SCAR
HOW MAKE SCAR
SCARIFICATION
BLACK FRIDAY
BLACK FRIDAY WALMART
TRUCK BOX
METAL TRUCK BOX
BIG METAL TRUCK BOX PIX
BIG TRUCK PICTURES
TRUCK WITH BIG STEEL BOX
SHIPPING CONTAINER
SHIPPING CONTAINER IMAGE
SHIPPING CONTAINER WIKIPEDIA
SHIPPING CONTAINER DOOR
SHIPPING CONTAINER TRAILER
TRACTOR TRAILER
SEMI TRAILER
18 WHEELER
NAKED WOMAN
NAKED WHITE WOMAN
[redacted]
FUGGER
FUGGERS WHERE LIVE
FUGGER BOSS
GUN
BEST GUN
GUN SHOOT HOW
GUN HOW SHOOT YOUTUBE
REVOLVER HOW SHOOT
SEMIAUTOMATIC HOW SHOOT
SHOTGUN
SHOTGUN HOW LOAD
BULLET ARMOR
GOLD
GOLD WHERE
AMERICA WHY RICH
AMERICA WHY RICH HISTORY
CONQUISTADOR
CONQUISTADOR GOLD MAP
EL DORADO
CIBOLA
TENOCHTITLAN
TENOCHTITLAN MAP
TENOCHTITLAN HARBOR
TENOCHTITLAN CLOSEST PORT
VERA CRUZ
VERA CRUZ HARBOR
VERA CRUZ MAP
VERA CRUZ NAVIGATE EUROPE
GOOGLE MAPS
THE LAY OF WALMART
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE: “The Lay of Walmart” comprises two parts. Handwriting analysis confirms that both were written by the same author, self-identified as Tóki Olafsson, a skald originally dwelling in the village of Sverðvík (modern-day Svelvik) on the Oslofjord in the early tenth century. Part 1, written on sheets of birch bark using oak-gall ink, was recovered from a peat bog outside of Sverðvík by a covert DODO archaeological extraction team in the wake of Part 2’s discovery.
The overall style is typical of Norse epic verse of Tóki’s era, though somewhat rough-hewn as many parts seem to have been written in haste. Not all skalds were literate. Tóki was, and seems to have used written documents as an aid to composition and memorization. Of note here is his use of modern English loan words such as “Walmart” and “ditapp,” which is his transliteration of DTAP (Destination Time and Place), a common acronym in the Department of Diachronic Operations.
PART 1
A hearing I ask. A skald am I.
A witch woke me, hurried to my hut,
Summoned me from sleep,
Beseeched me to bear witness,
Record in runes a traveler’s tale.
Tailing her out of town, I heard tell
Of what had happened: a man Sent
From distant time and place,
Magnus, mighty one, subject of sagas,
Treasure-taker, ship-shaker, ring-bearer.
Yet when he came, n
ot as well clad
As the cats the witch kept.
To her home we hastened.
Magnus, blanket-bundled, on a bench,
Sat by the sparking fire, staring
Amused at the flames’ antics.
“Say nothing,” he said, stretching out a hand.
“Hear only, heed me, memorize my words,
O skald, story-stretcher, keeper of epics.
Write them in runes on the morrow.”
“Sent hither was I, just now, naked.
A witch-friend, fair Frankish girl,
Got me away in good order
From a far place, a fat land.
“Walmart is where the thralls
Of that land store up their wealth.
A fat fool took me there,
Thinking he would make me quail,
“Cock-shriveled, cuckolded,
Shamed by the sight of such treasure.
While the memory of that mart remains mine,
I’ll make it yours too, tale-teller.
“We’ll wend our way to other times,
Tell the tale, hiring a host of heroes,
Return as raiders to plunder that place
And carry on viking thenceforward.
“Of the fat land I’ll say little now.
Too many tales to tell of its weird wonders.
Walmart is what I have just seen,
Not so long ago as when you lay sleeping.
“Greater than any Goth village
Is the width of its walls, sheer and strong.
Thrice-gated, though, with glass:
Frail fencing for a treasure-trove!
“For in Fatland, visits from vikings
Are few and far between;
Fear rules fellows, makes men meek,
Glass gates are good enough.
“That barrier breached, all the land’s luxury
Lies ready for reaping.
Here’s what my memory holds
Of how it is sorted.
“Long lanes, laden with loot
Wide ways, well made for waging war
Like the roads of the red-crested Romans
Ordered just so, as warp and weft.
“Too many for merchants to memorize,
Marked, therefore, with runes they can read.
Romans wrote them first. The fat ones stole them,
As well as Arabs’ numerals, arranged below.
“For each district of the treasure-town,
A Roman rune written, raised high
For each lane lying below it,
An Arabic number to know it.
“South face the glass gates; the fat fool
Northward led me, shouldering them aside
Greeting a guard, vested in blue,
Scarcely strength to stand had that old ogre.
“To our right, ranks of clashing carts
Waiting to be wheeled and weighed down
By Fatlanders too frail for fardels.
Sight-seers only, we spurned these.
“Till-keepers’ tables cluttered our view.
Beyond them, still north-questing,
Kiosks and cairns covered the place,
Towers of trifles.
“From there, to the west, lies all the food in the world.
North, a cornucopia of clothing, all colors.
Doubling back south, white witches
Doling out drugs, physicians’ philtres.
“Eastward, though, lies victory for vikings.
Counting the cairns, the merchandise-mounds
Standing in the center of the wide east-west way,
Stop at the sixth. Atop it’s an image:
“A fair lass, tresses flowing,
Like the lush Linndalsfallet,
Where it rushes over rocks,
Teeth shining like Snæfellsjökull.
“Cradled in the lass’s hands, a bottle,
Bewitching brew, beautifying the hair.
Below it, many more such, stacked like soldiers.
That is the landmark that leads you to the left.
“A long lane, laden with loot.
Its rune is like Berkano: the Beginning.
Its number, one score and five.
Let it lead you north. Little more to say,
“For in fewer than five paces
Is what your hand has hungered for
Since you found yourself in Fatland,
Alone and naked: Numberless knives, new and needy.”
Thus the blanket-wearer, who now bated,
Hefting a horn, whetting his whistle.
“More mead, if you are willing, witch.
There’s riches in this tale.”
Ingibjörg was the witch’s name.
South of Sverðvík, alone she abided
Here in this hut, cozy, kept clean,
Cats her companions, dogs her defenders.
“Let none say I don’t serve a guest sweetly.
Here is your horn, more mead for Magnus.
Gladly I’ll listen to more of your story
But the riches you rave of mean ruin for me.
“Here in my hut I am happy.
Grief-bringing gold, land needing labor,
Swords, slaves, silks, swag: to what end
Should, I, Ingibjörg, buy into this business?”
“For that there’s an answer,” said Magnus.
“Gráinne’s grief made her great with rage,
Drove her to desolate ditapps,
Reddened her hands with friends’ blood.
“To you, welcoming witch, I’ll have more to say
When the sun sheds its light on the shore
And cocks crow. Now is night-work,
Telling the tale to Tóki, the skald.”
Drinking deep of the mead, whetting his whistle,
Magnus made the most of it then,
Telling to me, Tóki, tales of Walmart,
Where the weapons were, how to find food.
When the sun shed its light on the shore,
When the cocks crowed, home I hied,
Wrote it in runes, left nothing out,
Then slept soundly.
“Tóki, time to depart!” were the next words I heard.
Magnus and Ingibjörg stood staring.
“Distant ditapps await us. Hardy heroes
Restless to ramble, we’ll sway them to our side!”
Blanket-bound was he still, blowing on blue hands.
“Furs I will fetch you, friend,” said I. “No need
To ride so rude-clad, cold and uncovered.”
“We won’t ride,” said he, “naked will both of us be
“When the witch has her way, and we’re at the ditapp.”
“Sending it’s to be then,” said I, “travel through time,
Dark and dangerous. Ingibjörg’s will
Isn’t what it was when last I heard tell.”
The witch was fur-clad, fierce-faced,
Fingering her skein, but half in this world.
“I have heard tell from the man Magnus
Of a future that is to be feared.
“Alchemists and astronomers, addling
The wits of witches, stripping us of our strength,
Helpless hags they’d make of us. I’ll not have it.
Put away your pen. In a peat bog, bury the bark.
“Let it lie there, a legend
For our friends in the future to find.
The story will stay in your mind, son of Olaf.
Tell it true, when you get to the ditapp.”
Exchange of posts by DODO staff on
The Rise and Fall of D.O.D.O.: A Novel Page 56
