THAT DARN SQUID GOD

by Nick Pollotta

  Raking a clawed paw through her golden tresses, the sphinx stared hard at the two humans dressed in their ridiculous salad clothing. "An interesting line of inquiry. The Colossus resides in a temple atop that distant mountain."

  The sphinx pointed, and following the direction of the talon, the explorers saw that she indicated the bare rock peak, standing alone amidst the range of taller snowy mountains.

  "Excellent," Lord Carstairs sighed. "That was the one we were already heading for."

  "Spot on, lad!" Professor Einstein agreed. "We're closing in fast."

  "And now, little ones, ask the last of your questions," the sphinx sneered, licking her bristling cat-whiskers with eagerness. She had been worried at first by their boldness, but the sphinx felt that she was back in control.

  "As you wish, madam," Lord Carstairs replied. "Question number three: with the weapons and resources immediately available to us, what is the surest, fastest, and easiest way for us to kill you?"

  With an audible clunk, the beast dropped her jaw to the rocky ground, and then closed it with a snap. For several minutes, her fangs ground against each other as she engaged in furious thought.

  "Gosh, what a good question," she finally admitted in a friendly voice. "I have no idea. You win! Goodbye." With a bound, the sphinx went sailing over the trees and was gone from sight.

  "Sometimes, it really pays to have a classical education," Lord Carstairs noted, starting to walk again.

  "Quite," the professor laughed, but then abruptly stopped. "However, lad, if this is the homeland of the Squid God, and his worshipers know that we have arrived, then we can expect hostile magic to be directed our way. Perhaps even magical creatures, such as werewolves, dragons, or basilisks."

  At that pronouncement, the lord lost his smile and hunched his powerful shoulders in preparation for an attack as the explorers tramped through the thick woods, tightening their grips on the crude weapons.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The alien sun was directly overhead as Professor Einstein and Lord Carstairs pushed their way through some nasty thorn bushes to discover a beaten dirt path that headed towards the mountains. Following the smooth path, they greatly increased their speed, and soon the dusty men began to pass cultivated fields of wheat, corn, and softly-whistling zucchini.

  Tired and hungry, Einstein and Carstairs liberated a small repast of non-musical food from the lush croplands and wolfed it down raw. Feeling greatly refreshed, the explorers continued their cross-country trek. As the day began to ebb into evening, the men stopped at the sight of a walled city in the distance.

  "Eureka!" Lord Carstairs cried in delight.

  "Weureka," Professor Einstein corrected primly.

  "Quite right, sir," the lord chuckled. "We both discovered it at the same time. I do apologize."

  Following a serpentine trail to the crest of a low hillock, Einstein and Carstairs found they could see past the adobe wall and into the city proper. It was a squalid affair of ragged tents and crowded buildings, with chimneys that belched out thick black fumes. The reek from the billowing smoke smelled so horrendous that it brought a homesick tear to the eyes of the Londoners. Ah, civilization!

  "That seems to be our best bet," Lord Carstairs said, resting his club on a tan shoulder. "We must find proper clothing, supplies and, most importantly, hard information."

  Tucking the bolo into his skirt, Professor Einstein agreed. "I have yet to see any buildings outside the city, which says there must be a good reason for the wall. Which further suggests that we might not want to spend the night out here in the wild."

  As the explorers trudged closer, they could see that the wall was made of huge stone blocks joined without mortar and reaching some ten yards high. It would be much too difficult to scale - definitely not the sort of barrier built on a whim.

  The dirt path ended at a paved road bustling with people, animals, and wheeled wooden carts, none of whom paid any attention whatsoever to the semi-naked explorers. The paved road went directly to a large archway in the wall. That opening they saw to be protected by an imposing gate of thick iron bars.

  Stepping into the flow of traffic, Einstein and Carstairs observed that while the majority of the crowd was humanoid, some of the beings were most definitely not. Drunken centaurs hoisting bottles staggered out of town, while a squad of singing dwarfs swaggered inside. Exiting the city, a hulking lizard in silver armor barely managed to squeeze through the archway. On top of its head was perched a small stuffed bunny riding in a position of authority. Whether the rabbit was an ornament or the driver was impossible for the men to discern.

  And the humans! All of them were dressed in an amazing variety of fashions: Oriental kimonos, fur cloaks, bamboo armor, and linen tunics. The majority of the people seemed to be of a mid-European stock, but skin tones ranged the full spectrum of colors from Hottentots to Swedes.

  Most of the pedestrians leaving the town did so without hindrance, but all of the beings entering were briefly stopped by the four guards standing before the gate. Large, muscular men covered with scars, the guards were clad in shirts of chain mail that reached to their knees, tight leather trousers, and spiked iron helmets. At their hips hung curved swords possessing a very-well-used and dangerous appearance.

  "The people seem to be a strange mixture of several different races and cultures," Lord Carstairs stated, rubbing his unshaven jaw to the sound of sandpaper. "The language is a polyglot, but seems to be primarily based on the idiomatic sub-tongue of Hellenic Greek - very similar to the language carved into that broken stone banner from Atlantis that you have."

  "You're quite right, lad," Einstein sighed in relief. "At least we shall be able to converse with the natives."

  "We had no such trouble with that sphinx, sir."

  "Ah, but she was magical. That's a whole different set of linguistic rules, based upon the second secret Mother Tongue of Humanity, and all that." The professor hitched up his grass skirt. "Well, there is no sense in delaying the inevitable. They aren't very suspicious of strangers, sir. Shall we try the direct approach?"

  "Very well," the lord agreed, flexing his muscular shoulders. "But be prepared to run if necessary."

  With forced casualness, the explorers started whistling a tune, and strolled to the gate. As expected, the first guard raised a hand as they approached. The whistling stopped, and both men smiled.

  However, the guard curled a lip at their outfits. "Two coppers to enter," he said in a businesslike manner.

  In a mimic of every religious official he had ever annoyed, Professor Einstein tried to appear holy. "But my son, we are holy men traveling under a vow of poverty."

  "A vow of what?" the guard snorted. "Never heard of such nonsense in my life. It's two coppers, or you can't come in."

  "But we really do not have any money," Lord Carstairs said, filling his voice with honest sincerity.

  "Cow flop," the guard retorted, pulling his sword. "What are you two trying to smuggle inside?"

  Bowing his head, Einstein followed suit. "We are only poor monks from the distant mountains. Why don't you…"

  "Mountain monks!" the guard screamed, turning pale. He raised an arm to hide his face. "Unclean! Get away! Vamoose!"

  Caught by surprise, Einstein and Carstairs could only blink in response. "What was that?" the professor began. "Look sir, we are not…"

  "I don't want to hear about it, ya murdling freaks!" The guard yelled as the other guards scrambled out of the way. "Get in! Get out! I don't care. Just don't touch me!"

  Not quite sure how to take this reaction, the two explorers decided to seize the golden opportunity. They scurried through the gate. Moving quickly along an alleyway, Einstein and Carstairs found a bustling marketplace, with wheeled carts full of produce lining the street on both sides. Chickens cackled in little wicker cages, and fish loudly barked from slopping buckets. Farmers were selling their crops at the top of their lungs, a butcher hawked fresh red meat from a bucket, and several bakers car
ried steaming pretzels on iron rods, the delicious aroma doing the selling for them. Coins were exchanged as sales were made, a modified form of Pakistani tally sticks being used to add the totals.

  Taking refuge behind a truly impressive, though hairy, tomato, the two explorers caught their breath.

  "Mountain monks?" Lord Carstairs queried, glancing backwards at the city gate.

  Adjusting his weed hat, Professor Einstein shrugged. "I have no idea, lad. But perhaps it is something we can use to our advantage."

  "How do you figure that? That guard most definitely did not wish to continue our association."

  "Ah, but he did let us in without paying, Carstairs. Many societies have beggars that they spurn, but are forced to care for due to a religious or sociological ethos. It can not hurt to try."

  Lord Carstairs frowned, but did not disagree. In a casual stroll, Professor Einstein approached a man who was polishing a pile of plump purple fruits.

  "Greetings, my son," the professor smiled. "I am but a humble mountain monk and…"

  A juicy fruit hit the professor with a splat. He wiped his face clean to see the farmer raising another one to throw.

  "Help! I'm being attacked by a mountain monk!" the grocer shouted, clearly panicked. "Help! Guards!"

  Across the market, everybody screamed and started throwing things, mostly foodstuffs, but a few rocks were included in the barrage aimed at the splattered professor.

  "There he is!" a man screamed, heaving a brick. "A dirty, stinking mountain monk!"

  "Herd 'em towards the town center!" a woman added, raising a flaming torch.

  "Don't touch them!" another warned.

  "Hey! There's two!" somebody cried, gesturing at Lord Carstairs.

  A big butcher brandished his meat cleaver. "Then we'll just need twice as much wood to burn 'em!" he bellowed.

  As the howling crowd advanced, rotten fruits and gobs of night soil pelted the lord like a sneeze from Satan. Galvanized into action, Carstairs yanked loose a pole that was holding up a tent, causing the cloth to collapse on the mob. Then, having kicked over a fruit cart, the lord scooped up the professor under an arm and ran madly down an alleyway. He turned down another alley, turned again, hopped a fence, and then another, until he was standing in a quiet courtyard.

  Holding his breath, Lord Carstairs waited as the sounds of the mob went past the courtyard and faded away into the distance. Whew! He hadn't done anything like this since his initiation night at Oxford!

  Easing the professor to the ground, Carstairs studied the courtyard. The walls were of alternate red and black bricks, giving an odd harlequin effect, and the ground was dirt covered with loose gravel. A few hexagonal barrels formed a pyramid against the rear of what appeared to be a warehouse, and in the corner was a large horse trough full of greenish water. As Carstairs walked for an inspection, a cat-like creature sprang onto the trough from the shadows, gave an annoyed moo, sprouted wings, and flapped away into the darkening sky.

  Turning away from the scummy water, Lord Carstairs threw away his befouled hat. "Brilliant move, Einstein," he rumbled. "Now what do we do?"

  "I'm thinking, lad," the professor sagely muttered, when a rotten fruit struck the nearby wall with a juicy splat.

  Again? The explorers spun around at see a group of grinning youths entering the courtyard through a door masked by the shadows. The clothing of the teens had obviously been chosen for dramatic effect, but the weapons in their hands were strictly utilitarian: staves and long knives with blades that gleamed evilly in the failing light.

  "Well, well, what have we here, my grunties?" asked a tall youth with a jaunty leather codpiece tied to his head.

  "Mountain monks!" a fat one with a gold ring through his nose chuckled. "Fun time!"

  "Under a sentence of death, they is," the leader smiled, displaying cracked, stained teeth. "To anybody who finds 'em."

  A lad sporting a pair of horns brandished a short piece of rope and started tying a noose. "So, let's have a bit o' fun," he suggested, the squeak of puberty marring the otherwise ominous statement.

  Totally nonplussed, Lord Carstairs thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "What do you think, sir?"

  The professor shrugged. "No sense looking a gift horse in the mouth, lad."

  "Any chance they might be Squid God worshipers?

  "Highly unlikely. Not even William Owen would be desperate enough to enlist these poltroons."

  "Agreed," the lord said, crackling his knuckles. "But only unconscious, correct?"

  "That would be wise," Professor Einstein agreed. "There is no purpose in arousing the local constabulary."

  By now, the gang was glancing in confusion, and a burly redhead wearing a gaudy rainbow vest stepped forward. "Here now," he demanded rudely. "Aren't you mountain monks?"

  "No," Professor Einstein said, pulling out the bolo. Spinning it to a whistling pitch, he aimed and let it fly.

  The entangling strands caught three of the gang. The spinning stones knocked one completely unconscious. As there was insufficient space for a proper return throw, Carstairs hurled his boomerang straight into the gang, bringing two more to their knees. Then the British lord waded into the moaning group with his bare fists, and the fight was over before it had really begun.

  After tying up the teenagers with some of the vines from their jungle clothing, Einstein and Carstairs went to the water trough and tried to wash off the worst of the fruit juices. This resulted in their acquiring a slight greenish tinge, which they glibly accepted as additional disguise. Stuffing their makeshift garb into an empty barrel, they stripped the gang naked and began to don what they could of the appropriated clothing.

  "Whatever is wrong, lad?" Professor Einstein asked, struggling with a pair of boots. "Feeling bad about thievery?"

  Lord Carstairs gave a snort. "Not from the likes of these. I was actually struggling to recall the appropriate quote."

  "Stealing from thieves is not a crime," the professor supplied, "only irony."

  Tugging on the largest set of pantaloons, Carstairs smiled. "Ah, yes. Don Quixote, by Cervantes."

  "Really? I always thought it was the Queen's tax assessor. How very interesting."

  When they finished, Professor Einstein was dressed in boots and trousers of blue leather, a cotton shirt, and the rainbow-colored vest. Fortunately, Lord Carstairs was able to find a pair of boots comfortably large enough for his feet, but the biggest pair of pants clung to the man in a most alarming manner and none of the shirts could be properly buttoned closed.

  "Leave the shirt unbuttoned to the waist and drape a belt over a shoulder," Einstein suggested, sliding a stolen knife into his waist. "It will give a nice pirate effect."

  As if listening to his batsman, Lord Carstairs dutifully followed the suggestion, and laid a belt across his hairy chest. By Gadfrey, I do look like a bloody pirate! No offense meant, Red John.

  "How much money did we get?" the lord asked, getting back to business.

  Pulling a fistful of coins from his pocket, the professor jingled the mixture in his palm. "Twenty copper pieces, two pewter, and one silver. And judging by the city gate tax, this isn't much. We will need a great deal more to buy anything useful."

  "Quite so. Very well, first we must raise additional funds," the lord said, using stiff fingers to comb back his damp hair. "And for that we need a bar."

  "A bar?"

  "Bar, saloon, tavern, beer hall," Carstairs stated with a shrug. "Anything of that sort will do nicely."

  "This is no time for drinking, lad," Professor Einstein decried, with a waggling finger.

  "True enough, sir. However, a tavern is the very best place to start a real fight," the lord explained, flexing his massive hands.

  "Ah, of course," the professor answered, trying valiantly to hide his complete lack of comprehension.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Walking out of the courtyard and onto the street, Einstein and Carstairs saw that night now fell across the nameless city. Strange con
stellations appeared in the purple sky, and bright lamps began to glow on every street corner. But instead of the flickering gas jets of London, on top of the bamboo poles were glass balls about the size of a melon, filled with schools of tiny iridescent fish. In passing, the men could distantly hear a faint bubbling.

  The hustling crowds of people were mostly gone. Yawning merchants closed the shutters of their shops, while sleepy vendors packed away their carts. Moving through the darkness were happy faces illuminated by the soft, red light of smoking pipes. The city gates were closed, the earlier destruction cleared away, and the town was a peaceful sea of tranquility.

  Strolling along the sidewalk, the professor nudged Lord Carstairs and indicated a building. It was a rather shabby, single-story brick structure, with smoky light pouring from the windows and the universal sound of laughter wafting from the swinging doors. Hanging from an external beam was a wooden sign in the shape of a bucket, with glowing symbols that melted and changed under the explorers' gaze to reform into letters spelling out in English: Big Bob's Boozarama.

  "How about that?" Professor Einstein asked, with a gesturing palm.

  Thoughtfully, Lord Carstairs rubbed his prominent jaw. "Acceptable, but not perfect."

  Just then, the window exploded as a body came crashing through to land sprawling onto the street. With a crisp sucking sound, the falling shards of glass wove an intricate pattern in the air, and then were abruptly sucked back to reform once more into a window. The drunk in the gutter muttered an obscenity, rolled over, and began to snore.

  "I stand corrected," the lord smiled. "It is ideal!"

  "Really?" Quite reluctantly, Professor Einstein let Lord Carstairs lead the way into the establishment through the swinging half-doors.

  Once they were inside, the place seemed hardly different from any low-class drinking establishment across the ghettos of the world. It was noisy and crowded. The floor near the front door was sticky, and the air smelled of stale beer. Lewdly suggestive posters decorated the gray plaster walls, and there was a pristine dartboard that apparently nobody had ever hit. The single notable difference was that this tavern was well illuminated. Clusters of the glass balls filled with fish hung from the rafters of the recessed ceiling. The illumination was clear, and the ever-present bubbling merely added to the assorted clamor.