“Do you think you could do anything for Krog-Kablog?” I whispered. Then a thought came to mind, and I added, “Of course, I know it would really irritate Sha-Boom, so if you’d rather not…”
A terrible light sprang up in Grohkma’s baby-blues. “You know, for a River Lizard of Unspeakable Death, Krog-Kablog ain’t so bad. And he is second-cousin to Dagon. I mean, at least he walks on his hindlegs, and his forepaws have opposable thumbs. And really, his gills aren’t so noticeable. With a lot of work—and plenty of gold pieces—I could make a real hotty out of him. Does he have any allergies?”
This term was new to me. “What, pray tell, are allergies?”
“Well, they’ve been around since life first sprang from the Bog of Eternity, but only just recently have they been given a name. An allergy is a harmful sensitivity to a particular substance. For example, humans like us are allergic to cyanide. It makes us die.”
“Actually, I’m only half human,” I said. “The other half is Skragdazian swamp-satyr.”
“Well, I guess that explains the hooves. And that fishtail. Swamp-satyrs are also allergic to cyanide, so don’t order it if you see it on a menu. Are there any foodstuffs, ointments or poultices that bring about an adverse reaction when fed, rubbed or applied to Krog-Kablog?”
I thought for a moment. “Well, he has never liked vegetables, but who does? Besides, of course, the uncouth Vegetable Eaters of Leng. If Krog-Kablog had his way, he’d just eat virgins from dawn to dusk.”
“Who wouldn’t? Well, Qizami, if you haven’t noticed any disturbing reactions in the past, I guess there’s nothing to worry about. He still lives in the Marsh of Glistening Horror, right next to that river of his, yes? Meet me there at cock’s-crow tomorrow with twenty gold pieces and we’ll get started.”
I gave her a warm smile. “I look forward to working with you, and I will have your full payment ready for you in the morning.”
Grohkma laughed. “Full payment? That’s just to cover supplies and the first three hours of treatment. And even then I’m giving you a discount.”
That evening, I visited Krog-Kablog in his marsh-cavern to tell him the news, and also to question him about this matter of allergies. I had to push through a small herd of goats—his dinner—to reach the side of his throne.
He thought for a moment, lazily scratching at his back-scales with a bloody goat femur. “Sometimes my stomach hurts if I eat too many wild boars from the Plateau of N’keeba. Is that what one would call an allergy?”
“No, that is just the result of an overly full belly.”
Spittle dribbling from his rubbery lips, Krog-Kablog reached for another goat. “Oh yeah, I just remembered. My mentor, Xixos of Thropp—I wonder whatever became of him?—once told me that I should never ingest the Wine of Ygllupu. To do so would bring about the vile fulfillment of a cataclysmic prophecy. What about that?”
I nodded as I headed toward the door. “Sounds like one of those allergy thingies to me. If Grohkma brings any wine, I will dispose of it. Now don’t eat too many goats—otherwise, when the sun rises, this cavern will be filled with the foul and nitrous winds that oft break from your formidable posterior. See you tomorrow. Sleep tight, and do not allow the bed-insects of V’gazzi to bite.”
* * * *
Well, of course, the deity did not heed my dietary warning, and his cavern reeked in abundance, so that verily, mine eyes and those of Grohkma did water profusely when we entered that foul domain. Grohkma’s leather sack of beauty treatments was filled with bottles, jars and boxes of various sizes. I asked her if she had any wine of any kind in her sack, and she assured me that she did not.
I herded the last of the goats out the door. “No more of those for you today, Oh Mighty Flatulent One.”
“As you well know,” Grohkma whispered in my ear, “a swamp-satyr is part-carp, part-goat, and part-human. And you are part swamp-satyr. Since your god seems to like eating goats so much, are you not afraid that someday he will eat you?”
“I have not informed him of my swamp-satyr ancestry,” I whispered back. “And, his tiny eyes are not strong enough to notice my various goatlike qualities. He does have a keen sense of smell, so I splash myself with floral colognes before visiting him to cover any hint of goat that might exude from my person.”
“What are you two treacherous psychopomps whispering about?” my god thundered.
“We were simply discussing the various options for making you even more alluring,” I said.
“Qizami, what stinks of flowers in this cavern?” Krog-Kablog said. “It seems like every time you stop by, this places smells all sickly sweet. If I did not know better, I would swear it was you.”
“Ten-thousand apologies, Oh Flabby One,” I cried. “But my own humble dwelling is located in the middle of a field of odious blossoms, and I must walk through them to get to your cavern. No matter what I do, they keep on growing—horrid weeds that they are. How I hate them! I stomp on them every day. But I fear that this action only infects me with their various vile perfumes.”
Krog-Kablog laughed. “No need to apologize. I cannot be mad if you’re going to all that trouble to help destroy those awful, repugnant blossoms. But there must be a solution…Say, I think goat musk might help cover the whiff of those odious flowers. I do like the pleasant, appetizing smell of goats.”
“An excellent suggestion,” I said. “I shall buy some of that musk tomorrow. From now on, I will smell like a goat whenever I am near you.” Smiling, I turned to Grohkma. “It is now time to work your magic on my god.”
The silver-nailed one walked closer to the river lizard. “Where to begin…? His face does seem to have a few human qualities, which is good. Thankfully, he doesn’t have any facial scales. In fact, he even has a hint of eyebrows. Are you part mammal?”
Krog-Kablog nodded. “My great-grandfather was a walrus god.”
“That must be where you got the whiskers—I’d originally been thinking ‘N’vakian catfish’. Like a walrus, you have large, greasy pores. Those will need to be cleaned and tightened with a strong astringent.”
The river lizard bit his lower lip. “Will that hurt?”
“Not at all!” Grohkma reached into her sack and pulled out a bottle of purple fluid. “I’ll just rub some of this medicinal brandy on your face and those big pores will tighten up in no time.”
I watched as the silver-nailed one did her work.
“That brandy smells delicious. Let me have a taste,” Krog-Kablog said.
“Certainly,” Grohkma said, “I have several bottles—far more than I need.” She poured half the bottle between the god’s blubbery lips.
At first, the river lizard’s greenish skin seemed to improve: it looked less greasy and a little more human than usual. But then it began to turn a little too blue for my liking. Then pinkish pustules began to pop up. “Say, I just had a horrible and doom-laden thought,” I said. “Isn’t brandy made from distilled wine…?”
Grohkma and Krog-Kablog both turned to look at me. Then they looked back at each other.
“This brandy of yours—where is it from?” the river lizard asked.
“No place special,” the silver-nailed one said. “Just some little patch of Dreamland called Ygllupu. Why?”
The god responded by biting Grohkma’s head off.
I was not going to wait to see if Krog-Kablog had a similar reply in store for me. I ran out of the cavern, all the way back to Phlemuria and my favorite tavern, wherein I consulted some familiar spirits.
“Alas,” I said to Agzep, the bartender, after my third beverage, “while attempting to beautify Krog-Kablog, I fear that I have inadvertently released an apocalyptic nightmare of doom upon Phlemuria.”
“These things happen,” Agzep said with a shrug.
“If only I knew the whereabouts of Xixos of Thropp,” I said. “Actually, I suppose there’s a good chance he’s in Thropp right now, since that’s his hometown and part of his name, but there’s no way for me to find ou
t, for Thropp is many hundreds of miles from here.”
“You really should try to keep up with current events,” Agzep said. “Thropp was destroyed in a volcanic eruption decades ago.”
“Well, I guess you have all the answers, Mister He-Who-Knoweth-Everything!” I cried. “I suppose next you’ll be pulling the address of Xixos out of your malodorous bottom!”
“Actually, I will not need to dig that deep,” he said with a wicked smile. “I have only to lift my hand and point a finger to the window at your left. He runs that revered establishment over there.”
I turned my head, and a scream of mingled disdain, aggravation and horror winged its way from between my writhing lips.
For he was pointing toward the filthy brown temple of the insect god Blaalador.
* * * *
“Well, well, well!” hissed the giant dung beetle known as Xixos of Thropp. “Look what we have here. The High Priest of Krog-Kablog has come to ask my help. How delightfully pathetic.” We were in his stench-ridden master-chamber. The building was constructed from countless tons of dried, compacted animal droppings. One might well wonder how such a temple could have attracted any worshippers at all. The answer to that puzzle can be summed up in six words: short sermons and strong ceremonial liquor.
“Do you think I like being here?” I said. “I didn’t know what else to do. It’s not every day that Krog-Kablog’s skin turns blue with pinkish pustules!”
“Did you say blue? With pinkish pustules?” The creature’s mandibles began to click frantically. “Oh, my. That isn’t good. Not good at all. I hope you having been serving him the Wine of Ygllupu!”
“Actually, he had some of the Brandy of Ygllupu…” I whispered.
“Great knuckle-gnawing night-gaunts!” he exclaimed. “By the snake-beard of Cthulhu, that’s even worse! We are surely doomed! The end of Phlemuria is nigh! And to think I own real estate around here. It’s not going to be worth a slim copper prakni after this!”
“Well, what’s so terrible about this brandy, anyway?” I said, shifting in my seat, which was also made from dried dung. Unfortunately, it was not completely dry.
“What’s so terrible? Krog-Kablog is a giant river lizard, and as even the tiniest runts among Phlemuria’s school-children all know, giant river lizards have very delicate livers.” He shook his antennae with exasperation.
I stuck my head out of his chamber window, looking for a school child. Fortunately, a very small one was walking by at that moment. “Child,” I said, “is any part of the giant river lizard especially delicate?”
“Yes, of course,” the little one stated. “The liver. River lizards cannot tolerate even the tiniest drop of the Wine of Ygllupu, which twists their livers. Why, even my wee unborn sister, still damp and cozy in my mother’s bulging tummy, knows well that time-honored fact. Is there anything else you would like to know? The color of the sky? The difference between ‘up’ and ‘down’…?”
With a sigh, I threw a silver coin to the child.
I turned back to Xixos. “So tell me: what can we do to avert this ghastly and unholy doom?”
The giant beetle thought for a moment. “Well, that brandy will seep into the delicate liver of the river lizard. There it will twist the liver, creating liver-blisters. These twisted liver-blisters are the greatest danger—for if they start to quiver, all is lost!”
“I do not understand,” I said. “Are we to fear the quiver of a river lizard’s liver-blisters?”
Xixos nodded. “Yes indeed, for that quiver means that the liver-blisters have evolved into creatures far more vicious and deadly than the original river lizard.”
“And what sort of creatures would those be?” I asked.
A chorus of screams erupted in the streets. The beetle gasped. “You will find out soon enough,” he said.
Xixos led me to the temple’s high tower, which wasn’t really all that high, since it was just one floor up from his office. In the streets below, dozens of great glistening slabs of slime-streaked blue meat, dotted with pinkish pustules, were slithering down the streets, engulfing terrified citizens.
“But what has happened to Krog-Kablog?” I said.
“The river lizard is no more!” Xixos shrilled. “He was the first victim of his own quivering liver-blisters. They consumed him as they swarmed out of his body. And they have been eating and growing without stop since that moment. All is lost! Fear holds sway! Doom is the order of the day! Panic and mayhem shall soon ensue!”
“For an enormous dung beetle, you sure throw in the towel pretty quickly,” I said. “Where’s that legendary dung beetle tenacity one hears so much about?”
“Oh, are we known for being tenacious?” Xixos clicked his mandibles with interest.
“Yes, you are,” I said. “Everywhere you go, people talk about the tenacity of dung beetles.”
“That’s right!” shouted the small school child, who was still loitering in the street below. “I hope that when I grow up, I will be as tenacious as a dung-beetle.”
“Eavesdropping is impolite!” I shouted back. “Now go hide in a tree or something before one of those liver-blisters gets you.” I turned my attention back to Xixos. “I would at least have expected you to call on your own god for assistance. I mean, we are in his temple.”
“Hey, that’s right!” The beetle slapped his front legs together merrily. “Quick! To the holy dung-pit of worship!”
* * * *
I knelt with Xixos in front of a great abyss, deep in the bowels of the dung temple.
“Where are all the other priests?” I said.
“Oh, they were out running some errands,” he said with a shrug. “I suppose the liver-blisters got them.”
“You don’t sound too upset.”
“Hey, I’m a dung beetle. All I really care about is dung.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Mighty Blaalador, hear my plea!” the beetle intoned. “Arise from your comfy hidey-hole of darkness! I beseech you. Oh, please, we really need your help. If you come to us I’ll get you a whole cartload of nice, fresh dung!” Xixos turned to me. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt if you gave him a little of your dung.”
“Maybe later,” I said. “For now, I’ll just talk to him.” I stretched out my arms in supplication. “Here’s the deal, Blaalador. Phlemuria is being destroyed by a bunch of quivering, twisted liver-blisters and you’re the only one who can possibly fix this situation. So get your smelly carcass up here right this minute!”
A roar of monstrous rage shook the very walls of the temple, and for a moment I thought the whole stinking structure would come crashing down on us. Then a gigantic beetle-head popped out of the abyss.
“Liver-blisters, huh?” Blaalador said in a deep, rumbling tone. “Sounds like some moron gave Krog-Kablog the Wine of Ygllupu.”
“Ha! This idiot’s friend gave that overgrown polliwog the Brandy of Ygllupu!” Xixos said.
“What a lame-brain!” the god bellowed. “Sure, I’ll help. But this will be the first time I’ve ever left this pit, you know. I’m pretty big. In fact, I’m guessing that I’m bigger than the temple. I’ll probably wreck the place just getting out.”
Xixos waved a limb nonchalantly. “So what? It’s just made of dung.”
“Good point,” Blaalador said. “The two of you had better climb onto my mandibles and hold tight, so all the dung doesn’t knock you into the pit as we bust out of here. Don’t worry, I won’t eat you. I’m sure neither of you is as sweet as a bucket of fresh donkey droppings.”
“Thanks. That really helps my self-esteem,” I said, wrapping my arms around the enormous insect’s left jaw.
Blaalador was right: his exit left the temple in ruins. But then, it had never been what one might call a showplace. Once we were out, we looked around to see what we were up against.
The twisted liver-blisters were everywhere, bigger and bluer than before. Even their pinkish spots were now bright magenta. Now the liver-blisters were
squirting digestive juices on people, reducing them to mush in mere seconds.
“Attack them!” I cried, as Xixos and I climbed down from Blaalador’s mouth.
“Attack?” the insect god laughed. “I’m a giant dung beetle. I gather dung and roll it around in a big ball. That’s what I do.”
“Well, then, gather up those liver-blisters in a big ball,” I said, “and roll them into that pit of yours. They don’t have any legs so they won’t be able to climb back out.”
“Oh, that’s fine for you,” Blaalador said, “but then where am I supposed to live? I’m not sharing my place with a bunch of liver-blisters.”
“You can have Krog-Kablog’s old place,” I said. “The cavern in the marsh. The entrance is big enough for you, and there’s loads of room inside. And goats! There are still some goats in there. Think of the dung!”
“Go for it, Blaalador!” Xixos said. “I’ll stay with you and feed those goats morning, noon and night! We’ll be crawling in fresh, nourishing goat dung!”
“It’s a deal!” So saying, the insect god went to work, gathering up liver-blisters and rolling them into a ball. They squirted him with digestive juice, but the steamy fluid just rolled off of his hard shell. Unfortunately, the act of rolling that giant ball around completely destroyed what little was left of Phlemuria. Toward the end, pulsing maws, wet with froth, opened up in the meaty blister-creatures and they began to scream—they sounded much like frightened pigs and parrots. Blaalador chucked the blue and magenta meatball down into the pit and hurried off with Xixos, eager to sample all that yummy goat-dung.
Suddenly I felt a light tapping on my elbow, and I turned around. It was the little school child.
“Oh, hello,” I said. “How did you escape the doom of Phlemuria?”
The boy smiled. “You told me to hide in a tree, and all the trees are outside of town. But now I can’t find my dad, Agzep the bartender.”
“Oh, my…” I took his hand. “The gods have sent him on an important mission, little one. One fit for a man of his great wisdom. But they’ve given me an important mission, too. To look after you.”
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