by James Hold
Chapter 4
Anatidaephobia
Frank looked nonchalantly as possible at the ceiling. He hummed the “Oscar Meyer Weiner” tune.
“Oh, well,” Mallard shrugged, “as I was saying, little did your stupid minds suspect that Wade Mallard was really” —ZAP! — “Maleduck the Magician!”
In the space of that ZAP the figure of Wade Mallard transformed into that of a duck. Not just any duck, though. It was 30-inches tall, stood upright, and looked like something out of an animated cartoon.
“Ah-ha!” the Incomparable Idol of Ineffable Incantations cried in recognition. “It’s my old enemy, Maleduck!”
“Old?” the duck questioned.
“Well, middle-aged anyway. Once before he and his evil associates tried to infiltrate this museum and steal the sacred Scroll of Thoth...”
“He wanted to steal a roll of cloth?” Frank asked.
“...but aided by Dr Weird and the Seven Gothic Texans, I managed to foil their plans.”
“How come I didn’t read about that back at the crime lab?”
“It wasn’t published. Those greedy Gothics demanded a 7/10 share of the royalties. And it wasn’t even all seven of them; only Aluminum Jack. He did the actual foiling. Dr Weird and I only handled the magic side of it.”
“But... seven of them, Dr Weird, and you... that only comes to 90%.”
“The author’s agent gets the other 10. Anyway, after we defeated them I erected a mystical seal of protection around the museum through which evil incarnate cannot pass.”
“Now I get it,” said Frank. “The only way Maleduck could get past your barrier was to have someone carry him in, piece by piece.”
“Exactly! The self-dismemberment was a trick to get into museum. The runes themselves were a diversion.”
“But how did he manage to hack himself to pieces?”
“Maybe someone held his hand.”
“Hello?” said Maleduck, growing tired of their ignoring him. “I’m standing right here, you know.”
A gesture from Maleduck and Frank found himself suspended over a pit of fire. A second gesture from the malevolent mallard-factor and the clay golem statue came to life.
“How’d you do that?”
“Details, details, who has time for details?”
The golem seized Akkadia with its massive hands, holding the Jiggly Jill of Juju Jinxes in mid-air, her upstretched arms caught in the clay creature’s clammy clutches. Unable to bring her hands together, she was powerless to work her mystic spells. She could only move her head as Maleduck walked up to stand before her.
“It’s a pity I can’t exact revenge on all my enemies,” he gloated. “Unfortunately, Dr Weird is so senile he wouldn’t recognize his own reflection in a mirror, let alone me, while the Gothic Texans are off on a mission from which they have yet to return.”
“That or they’re meeting with their lawyer trying to negotiate all of the profits,” Akkadia huffed.
“Which leaves only you,” the duck continued, “the Kleptomaniacal Confiscator of Colorful Cloaks and Cowls herself.”
“We already did the C’s,” said Frank.
“I know that, but I began with a K, so technically it’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. You need more than one K for it to qualify.”
“Good grief! Are we going to run through the entire alphabet with these things? Fine. I’ll start over. ‘Which leaves only you: the Knock-kneed Karmic Kill-joy herself.’ There. Is that better?”
Frank went “Ehhhh” and made a so-so hand gesture. Akkadia however, objected.
“What do you mean ‘knock-kneed’? I have very nice legs. Ask anybody at the club where I dance.”
Maleduck scratched his head and thought. “Better yet,” he suggested, “why don’t we see for ourselves?”
With a wave of his hand, Akkadia’s new cloak vanished. Next went her ankle boots. Then halter and hot pants, until...
“You can keep the mask. It looks cute on you.”
...the Lovely Lady of Legerdemain hung exposed to the world. Or, if not to world, at least to the speechless eyes of Detective Bureau, the professor, and Instant Karla.
“And now, professor, I demand you tell me where you keep the Scroll of Thoth.”
The professor crossed his arms defiantly. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
Maleduck looked at his assistant. “Karla?”
Karla calmly pressed her gun against the professor’s head.
“Well,” he shrugged, “I guess there’s no harm in two of us knowing.”
But before the professor could speak...
“Wait,” Akkadia interrupted. “Why do you want the scroll anyway?”
Maleduck chuckled. “Because, with the secrets contained in the scroll, I can make my illusions real.”
“Wait. Did you say illusions?”
“Oh, um, yeah.” The duck caught himself. “I guess I did.”
“Of course! Why else would you have been gesturing hypnotically all the time?”
Maleduck looked at the ceiling and went “Ehhhh.”
“Then,” the Magical Morgana of Medieval Mumbo-jumbo continued, “I’m not actually trapped in the arms of the golem?”
“Not really. You’re standing beside a clay statue, but that’s about it.”
“And Detective Bureau isn’t being roasted over a pit?”
“It’s the flame from his cigarette lighter; that’s all.”
“And I’m not hanging here with no clothes on?”
“You should have realized that when nobody went ‘WOWZA!’”
“Then...that means...my powers haven’t been neutralized!”
“Oh, darn. I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t get around to that.”
Maleduck’s magic spell was broken. Detective Bureau no longer dangled above a pit of fire. No more was the Nubile Nymph of Noble Necromancy spread-eagled and naked in the clutches of the golem. The professor still had a very real gun pressed against his skull, however.
Akkadia paid it no mind. She gave a contemptuous sneer to the inert mass of clay; then turned her eyes on the fiendish fowl.
A rich color mounted to her cheeks as they faced off, head to head, toe to toe, her blonde locks pressed against his green-feathered head. Harder and harder they pressed, neither one blinking, neither one giving an inch, pushing so hard they eventually found themselves back to back. Realizing this, they righted themselves and resumed the staredown.
“Now,” Akkadia shook a tiny fist at him, “let’s see how you like being humiliated.” And bringing both hands together, pointed directly at the duck, she said in a commanding voice: “Puellae ex poliem.”
Maleduck cringed and fell back.
Nothing happened though.
Not to Maleduck anyway. Nor to Instant Karla. Nor the professor. Nor Detective Bureau. But as for the Orphic Occulist...
In less time than it takes to tell, Akkadia found herself standing before them without a stitch, as naked in reality as she had imagined herself in Maleduck’s illusion.
Everything was gone...except for her mask. For some reason that one bit remained.
A chorus of admiring WOWZAs! rose from all the men. Instant Karla, less impressed, muttered, “Um-hmm. I knew she wasn’t a real blonde.”
“Poor Akkadia,” the professor shook his head. “Now I remember why I gave you a D in Latin.”
The Perky Paranormal Pin-up, startled, red-faced, and wishing she had an extra set of hands to cover herself, screamed, “What did I do?”
“You said ‘puellae ex poliem’,” the professor explained. “Roughly, strip the young woman, when you should have said ‘pullus’ (chicken). But it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway since chickens and ducks aren’t the same.”
“She could have said ‘exuere’ (undress) as well,” Maleduck added.
“Better still,” Karla interjected, “she should have said ‘pluma’ (feather).” She shot Akkadia a spiteful glance. “
See, I passed Latin 101.”
Akkadia’s response was to utter a string of words that needed no translation. They would have been understood in any language.
Thoroughly enraged, the Queen of Quixotic Quartrains stammered, “‘O zephyr winds that blow...’ No, wait. ‘Drizzle, drazzle, druzzle, drome...’ Dammit! You made me so upset I forgot how to work my spells.”
“Look,” said Maleduck, “what say we forget the whole thing? You know: no harm, no fowl. After all, it’s not like anything really happened.”
“Nothing happened!” The Radiant Resident of Remotest Realms spread arms before him, revealing her full nakedness. “You call this nothing!”
And Maleduck, despite himself, went “WOWZA!”
Totally ticked off now, Akkadia ran to the basement wall, where, finding a heavy pipe wrench, she began banging away at the chilled water pipes; clang, clang, clanging like the cowbell intro on Nazareth’s “Hair of the Dog.”
Maleduck, looking on, said, “I hope you’re not thinking of trying to drown me. I am a duck, you know.”
The Saucy Spellcaster paused. “And what good do you think that will do when this pressurized pipe bursts?”
“Hmm. You may have a point there.”
Somehow, in all the excitement, everyone had forgotten that Instant Karla still had a gun. And Detective Bureau’s as well. She felt this was a good time to remind them.
“Okay, everybody freeze.” She tossed one of the guns to the duck. “You cover them while I bring the truck around to the loading dock. Then we’ll make our getaway.”
She ducked out and was gone.
“Did he have to say ‘ducked’?” the bird complained. Nevertheless, he held them at bay, waiting for Karla to get back. Hearing the sound of a motor, he raced for the exit...
“If my timing is right, the truck should be here right about...NOW!”
...and leaped into the alley.
HONK!
SCREECH!
SPLAT!
The mangled mallard pulled itself up to the door, raised a sausage finger, and said, “Make that...now.” And collapsed.
Apparently, Instant Karla was just an instant too quick.
“Sad, just sad,” said the professor. “I guess he wasn’t all he was quacked up to be.”
