by Robert Bevan
“In the name of His Majesty, King Winston the Wise,” said the older of the two soldiers, a dark-skinned human with stern eyes, a deep, commanding voice, and an immaculately trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. “I demand that you lower your weapon.”
Denise put down her arms and ceased her embarrassingly anti-erotic dance. She wiped some vomit off of her beard with her arm and turned to face the soldiers. “In the name of his black, commie ass, King Obama, how about I lower my pants?”
The two soldiers glanced at one another. The younger of the two, blond-haired and clean-shaven, was obviously a rookie on the force, and looking to his superior for guidance on how to proceed, but it was clear that neither of them knew what to make of Denise’s proposition.
The younger soldier cleared his throat and took the initiative, addressing Denise cordially. “That, um… will not be necessary, M’lady.”
Denise staggered toward the young soldier. “What’s the matter, boy? You holdin’ out for one of those skinny Disney bitches up in a tower? Let me tell you, son. You ain’t never had a woman like me. I’ll make you come like a fuckin’ Howitzer.”
The distressed young soldier stepped backward, his spear held defensively in front of him, obviously not wanting to stab this sad dwarf woman, but possibly considering it. “Sir?”
“Good Lady,”said the black soldier with the forced politeness of law enforcement officers engaging drunks that Randy had witnessed on countless episodes of COPS. “I demand you stand down at once!”
Denise shifted her stagger in his direction. “Oh, I ain’t forgotten ‘bout you, big daddy. Don’t you worry. We gonna get that beard of yours good n’ sticky.”
The seasoned veteran’s face betrayed a flash of embarrassment and outrage as he glanced at the small congregation of onlookers who had stopped to see the spectacle. It lasted only a second, replaced by tenuous professional stoicism.
“I warn you, Good Woman. Advance any further, and I’ll have no choice but to charge you with disrupting the King’s Peace.”
“If the king wants a piece, I got plenty to go ‘round.” Denise stumbled at the older of the two soldiers and grabbed him by the crotch.
In the space of a second, Denise was whirled around, her face planted into the street and her crotch-grabbing arm pinned behind her back.
“Oh snap!” Randy said to himself.
“Motherfucker, that hurt!” cried Denise.
The soldier held the shaft of his spear against the back of Denise’s neck. “I charge you with assault on a Kingsguard and –”
“Get your hands off me, KuntaKinte,” shouted Denise, fruitlessly kicking her little fat legs. “I’m a fuckin’American!”
“And disrupting the King’s Peace,” the soldier bellowed. “You are to be tried by the High Court and awarded whatever Justice they deem fit for your –”
“Excuse me!” said Randy, stepping forward, hands raised non-threateningly. “Might I have a moment?”
The soldier looked up at him impatiently. “Sir, I am currently occupied. Perhaps you might address my partner?” He looked at the younger soldier, then back at Randy.
“It’s about your prisoner,” said Randy.
“Randy?” said Denise, her cheek still smushed against the street. “What the fuck are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
“I’m here to help you,” said Randy. “So mind your tongue.”
“I don’t need help from no cocksuckin’que—hmmphgrrmphstrfff.” The last part of her sentence was muffled by her face being pushed into the pavement.
“Do you know this woman?” demanded the soldier.
“She’s a friend of mine,” said Randy. “And I would like to personally apologize for her atrocious behavior.”
“She may speak her own apologies when she stands trial.”
“Please, sir,” pleaded Randy. “I beg the King’s Mercy.” He tried to think up a story to inspire sympathy in the guard, but found he was literally unable to tell a lie. Relying heavily on metaphor, he came as close as he could. “She has recently lost someone very dear to her,” he said, referring to the person Dennis was before being stripped of his manhood. “It’s driven her mad with grief.”No embellishment needed there.“If you release her to my custody, I swear by my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, that I will –”
The soldier stood up straight, pressing the tip of his spear against the back of Denise’s neck. He scrutinized Randy. “You claim to be a follower of the New God?”
“I am a paladin in His name, sir.”
The guard smiled broadly, his white teeth gleaming against his dark brown face.
Randy smiled back, thinking maybe he should have opened up with that little name drop.
“You see, Sir Pip?” the older soldier said to the younger. “Did I not tell you that, within hours of the announcement, the streets would be filled with charlatans claiming to represent the New God?”
“That you did, Sir Walter,” said the younger soldier.
“I beg your pardon,” said Randy, just a little indignantly. He wanted to remain respectful, but could not allow his integrity to be called into challenge.
“I would remind you,” said Sir Walter. “Blasphemy is also a crime.”
Randy looked Sir Walter in the eye. “While I may disagree with that in principle, I have committed no blasphemy.”
Sir Walter nodded. “Very well.”
“Ow!” cried Denise. A trickle of blood leaked from the back of her neck where Sir Walter’s spear had pricked her. “I was already in custody! I’ll have your ass in chains before you can say police brutali—ugh.” She was cut short by a kick in the gut.
“I’m afraid I have to agree with her on that count,” said Randy. “That was an unnecessary use of force.”
“If you are what you claim to be,” said Sir Walter. “Treat your friend’s wound.”
“Um… okay,” said Randy, kneeling next to Denise. “If that’s what it takes. Do you have any gauze? Or maybe just a strip of clean cloth?”
“What use of these worldly remedies has a paladin? Heal her wound with the power granted through you by the New God.”
Randy laughed. “Oh, that’s not how it works. Believe me, I pray for Dennis’s soul every day. Those faith healers you see on TV, those are the charlatans.”
The two soldiers glanced at each other. Sir Walter shifted the focus of his spearhead from Denise to Randy. This time, when he spoke, his voice was loud and impatient.
“Lay your hands on the dwarf and invoke the power of the New God, or you shall stand trial before the High Court together.”
Well, shit.
Seeing no other option, Randy got on one knee and placed his hand on Denise’s neck. It was warm and sticky with sweat and blood. He looked up at Sir Walter.
“My patience grows thin, paladin.”
Randy nodded and looked back down at Denise. “In Jesus Christ’s name, I heal you.” A surge of warmth flowed from his chest, down his arm, and out of his hand.
“Oh damn,” said Denise. “That felt nice.”
Randy removed his hand. Denise’s neck was still smeared with blood, but the wound was clearly gone. He jumped back and landed on his ass. “Jesus Christ!”
Sir Walter and Sir Pip each took a knee and spoke together, “Jesus Christ!” Theirs seemed more out of reverence than surprise.
Sir Walter was the first to stand back up. He looked down at Randy. “I beg your forgiveness. Please accept my humblest apologies, Sir…”
“Randy?” said Randy.
“Please accept my humblest apologies, Sir Randy.”
“It’s cool, man,” said Randy, getting to his feet. “Jesus is always ready to forgive when you’s ready to ask him to.”
Sir Walter bowed his head. “I thank you, sir.”
“Can we, um… Can we go now?”
The two soldiers looked at one another. Sir Walter seemed as unsure of himself as Sir Pip. The latter was not prepared to take the initiative this time, deferr
ing to the wisdom of the former.
“It is not my place to detain a paladin of the New God against his will,” said Sir Walter. “But the temple leaders will have questions, as might the king himself. May I ask, at least, where I might find you?”
“We’re staying at the Whore’s Head Inn,” said Randy.
“Is that a brothel?” asked Sir Pip. “Do you mean to tell me the New God approves of his paladins consorting with prostitutes?”
“Jesus enjoys the company of prostitutes.” After a moment of awkward silence, Randy felt the need to elaborate. “I don’t mean that like it sounded. I just mean He don’t judge people by their past mistakes. He welcomes sinners with open arms, so that they might come to know His forgiveness. Also, the Whore’s Head Inn ain’t a brothel.”
“I know the place of which you speak,” said Sir Walter. “It’s a ramshackle tavern in the Collapsed Sewer District, rumored to be inhabited by foreigners and misfits.”
Randy nodded. “That’s the one.”
“I heard tell that that place had burned down.”
“They’re building it back,” said Randy. “Folks is really nice there. You two ought to stop by sometime.”
“You can count on it, Sir Randy. We shall leave you now to go about your business. May you continue to walk in the Light of the New God.”
“Y’all do that too, now!” Randy called out as the two soldiers walked away. He hunched down next to Denise, offering her his hand. “How do you like that? Sir Randy.”
“You get your blasphemin’ faggot hand away from me,” said Denise, backing away from him.
“How can you say that, Dennis?”
“Don’t call me Dennis!” Denise whispered, her eyes on the small crowd of people who were still lingering around.
“I’m sorry, Denise. But you just got healed by Jesus Christ himself! It’s an honest to God miracle!”
Denise pointed a finger at him. “You shut your mouth, Randy! Don’t you dare drag Jesus’s good name through the mud like that.”
“But your neck!”
“That weren’t Jesus. You said so yourself, that ain’t how He works. And even if He did, your hand’s jacked off more cocks than a Thai masseuse. Ain’tnohealin’ power of Jesuscomin’ through there. That’s Devil magic, plain and simple.”
“Devil magic? Come on, Denise.”
Denise shook her head. “Uh-uh. You had your chance for that, softy. You just stay the fuck away from me, you hear?” She struggled to her feet. “I’m getting the fuck out of this madhouse.”
“Where you going?” said Randy.
“That’s none of your goddamn business,” said Denise. “And don’t you follow me again. If I so much as see you again, I’ll kill you.”
As Denise stumbled away, some of the less timid bystanders approached her.
“Is it true?” asked a person who looked to be half-lizard.
“Were you touched by the New God?”asked a fur-covered man with tusks jutting out of the bottom of his mouth.
Denise brandished her axe, keeping the curious onlookers at bay. “You freaks stay away from me!”
Looking past her, Randy saw a gate in the city walls. Denise was headed out of town. Randy felt compelled to follow and protect her, at least until she sobered up, but two male dwarves stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Each of them wore a blood-smeared leather apron, wielded a bloody dagger, and had a generous spattering of blood all over their faces and coarse black beards.
Randy took a step back and looked for the soldiers. They were gone.
“Fear not, servant of the New God!” said the dwarf on Randy’s left. “We mean you no harm. We are but humble butchers.” He pointed his dagger at Randy’s eight o’clock position.
Randy glanced that way, and was relieved to see a butcher shop. Flies buzzed around the half-dismembered carcass of an elk, sprawled out on a table in front of the shop. Beyond that, inside the shop, the carcasses of unidentifiable animals hung from hooks.
“My name is Akrok,” said the dwarf. “And this is my son, Torg.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Randy, impatiently searching for Denise in the crowd now that he was mostly certain he wasn’t being mugged.
“We wish to know the healing power of the New God,” said Torg.
These two would waylay him until they got what they wanted, but Randy couldn’t see any sign of either of them being injured. “Are you hurt?”
“Not yet, sir!”
“Don’t damage me apron,” said Akrok. He faced away from his son and balled up his fists. “Give me your best shot, son!”
“What?” said Randy. “No!”
Torg stabbed his father in the back.
“Rrrrrrggggghhhh,” said Akrok, his fists trembling and face reddening. “You stab like your mother!”
“My turn, Pater!” said Torg. He removed his knife from his father’s back, turned around, and gritted his teeth.
“Stop that!” cried Randy.
“Yerrrrrrggggggghhhh!” cried Torg as his father plunged his dagger, and God only knows how many elk diseases, into his back.
When they were done stabbing each other, father and son dwarf knelt before Randy, breathing hard, hair clinging to their foreheads with sweat. Randy was horrified.
“Let us bear witness to the power of the New God!” said Akrok.
“I’m only gonna do this once,” said Randy. “So don’t you two go stabbing each other no more, hear?”
“As you command,” said Torg. His voice was weak, and his face was turning pale. His pater had stuck him pretty good.
“Oh for Pete’s sake.” Randy placed a hand atop each of the dwarves’ heads. “In Jesus Christ’s name, I heal you.” The healing warmth flowed from his heart, down both of his arms, and out of his hands.
“Praise be to you, righteous paladin!” shouted Akrok.
“And to the New God!” said Torg.
Randy nodded. “All right, all right. Y’all go on now.”
The two dwarves punched each other in the shoulder as they happily made their way back to the shop.
Randy looked for Denise, though she’d be long gone. She didn’t stand a chance alone in the wilderness. Seeing no sign of her, Randy sighed and headed for the gate.
Chapter 12
If there’s one thing worse than being carried through a city,under the sweaty arm of a half-orc,with ten thousand bells clanging at once, it’s being carried through a city, under the sweaty arm of a half-orc, with ten thousand bells clanging at once while sobering up.
In their haste, Tim had accidentally left behind his hip flask. That would be remedied once they made it to the Whore’s Head Inn, where he kept a spare flask hidden in the cellar. But for now, the bells and the menacing specter of impending sobriety were more than he could stand.
“We get it already!” Tim shouted up at the unoccupied windows of a temple they were passing. “It’s a million o’clock! Please knock it off with the goddamn bells!”
A second later, while the ringing inside his ears kept going, he was pretty sure the bells had all stopped.
“Hmph,” said Tim. “I honestly didn’t expect that to work.”
“What the fuck was all that about?” said Cooper, not yet taking into account that he no longer needed to shout to be heard.
“Have you not heard the good news?” The voice behind them was suspiciously cheery, but a little muffled.
Tim and Cooper turned around. If the happy conversationalist’s voice was suspicious, his manner of dress was doubly so. He wore tall, black leather boots, the tops of which were obscured by a thick, brown trench coat. His gloves matched his boots, and his wide-brimmed hat cast a shadow over his face, which was completely bandaged except for the eyes, which, despite the late hour, were covered by dark goggles. He must have been sweating like a rapist under all that shit.
“What’s wrong with your face?” asked Cooper.
“Cooper! Don’t be rude!” Tim elbowed Cooper in the leg, but w
as secretly glad he’d asked.
“Not rude at all!” said the improbably cheery potential burn victim. “It’s a good honest question. Most people just dance around the topic, but I can tell it’s at the forefront of their minds. I prefer to just get it out of the way from the start.” He turned his face toward the light from a nearby street lamp, raised both hands to his left cheek, and pulled the bandages apart.
Tim cringed and held his breath, expecting to see some nasty scarring, but he didn’t see anything at all. Just a hollow space leading to the inside of the bandages on the other side of his missing head.
“Fuckin’ A!” said Cooper. He reached out and poked his finger into the gap in the bandages. It stopped where the man’s face should have been.
“Ow,” said the man. “Please don’t do that. I’m invisible, not incorporeal.”
“You had yourself turned permanently invisible?” asked Tim.
The invisible man tucked his bandages neatly back into place. “It’s a boon to my line of work.”
“And what line of work would that be?”
“Oh, I dabble in this and that.”
The invisibility thing was cool, but Tim didn’t have time to go fishing for answers to questions he didn’t actually give a shit about. “You said something about good news?”
“Ah, yes!” said the man. “A New God has joined the Holy Pantheon.”
“A new god?”
The invisible man took a cautious glance left and right, then opened the left side of his coat, revealing wooden and steel pendants in a multitude of different shapes. “Never too early to get in on the ground floor when it comes to god-worship, am I right?”
Tim took a closer look. There were suns, and stars with varying numbers of points, and cloverleaves, and joined rings. There was even one that looked like a curvy swastika. “Are these holy symbols?”
“Indeed they are! Now the question is, when your day of reckoning comes, will you be able to stand before your god and say that you were among the first few hundred to follow him? Opportunities like that are rare indeed. Gods aren’t born every day, you know.”
