Critical Failures VII

by Robert Bevan

  Jay peered over the bar, then winced and drew back. “Goddamn!”

  Randy frowned. “That would be Denise.”

  “I take it this is an unwanted pregnancy?”

  “How do you... I mean, what makes you say that?”

  “She's got an open liquor bottle shoved neck-deep up her honey pot.”

  “Denise!” Randy cried as he ran to the bar. He leaned over to confirm Jay's observation with his own eyes. Just as Jay had said, Denise had a bottle up her cooch and the floor all around her was wet.

  He vaulted over the bar, knelt next to Denise, and pulled the bottle out with a squelch. It was stoppered. He sighed in relief.

  “Ain't nothin' to worry about. Looks like she was just using it to pleasure herself.” He nodded at the wet floor around her. “I reckon that's just pee.”

  “How is that not something to worry about?” shrieked Jay. “This pregnant hairy bitch is obviously shitfaced!”

  “She'll be alright. The gods guaranteed her scorpion babies would be born healthy.”

  “Scorpion babies?”

  Randy covered his mouth. “Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that part this early into our acquaintance.”

  Jay helped himself to a beer. “Let's cut the shit. Are you two from Earth?”

  “We are.”

  “So this Whore's Head Inn place. This is like some kind of hangout for people who got sent to this... whatever this is?”

  “Caverns and Creatures.”

  Jay set his half-drunk beer glass down on the bar and stared hard at Randy. “Are you talking about that game that white people play?”

  “That is an offensive stereotype,” said Randy. “I think you meant to say nerds.”

  “Nerds!” Jay repeated much more enthusiastically than Randy had said it. “It all makes sense now.” He gulped back the rest of his beer, then poured himself another.

  Randy was pleased to have provided this gentleman some enlightenment, but he was more confused now than he was before. “What makes sense?”

  “Check this out. I was working the front desk at the Hilton, which was gearing up for this big nerd convention they host every year. People show up dressed as orcs and Harry Potter and shit. It's fucked up. So anyway, I'm working the night shift, and this guy struts through the door at two o'clock in the morning like he's some kind of Greek god. I mean, this dude was legit nerd. It was like he was created in a lab from the distilled essence of lesser nerds.”

  “Mordred,” Randy whispered.

  Jay's face turned a shade paler. “That's him!”

  Randy hopped back over the bar, took a seat on a stool, and sipped his beer. “Go on.”

  “Dude wants to check in, but he didn't make a reservation. I said I was sorry, but the whole place was booked because of this convention. He says he knows that, which is why he just drove all the way from Mississippi. I apologize again, and explain that there just isn't anything I can do. Then do you know what he asks me?”

  “What?”

  “Motherfucker asks me if I want to walk.” The expression on Jay's face after he said that suggested that it was much more profound than how Randy interpreted it.

  “I'm sorry,” said Randy. “He asked you if you wanted to go for a walk with him?”

  “What? No!” Jay paused, then nodded. “Sorry. I should have mentioned that I was in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down.”

  “Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.”

  Jay lifted his right foot and shook his leg. “Don't sweat it. So this Mordred guy sits down at a table in the lobby and beckons me over. I'm channeling all the professional courtesy I can muster not to punch him in his fat nerd face while he's pulling files out of his bag. Then he pulls out this little pouch.” He paused, looking expectantly at Randy.

  “The dice.”

  “The dice,” Jay confirmed. “He places one on the table in front of me and tells me to roll it. I politely explain that I'm on the clock and don't have time to play board games with him. That really set him off.”

  “Because you wouldn't play with him?”

  “Do you see a board?” said Jay in what Randy assumed was an impression of Mordred. “When he calmed down, he told me he'd leave me alone if I just rolled the die one time. He said it was a sociological experiment he was running. Whatever. If it got him the hell out of there, I'd roll the die.”

  “Then you ended up here,” said Randy.

  “No. Then I ended up locked in a cell in some rat-infested dungeon with these big-ass ears and functional legs. I'm freaking the fuck out, and then this little old gremlin guy appears outside the cell door. He grins at me, but doesn't say a word. He simply places a tray of food on the floor and walks away.”

  “That must have been terrifying.”

  “It was a first. Then it was more frustrating than anything. The gremlin guy showed up regularly to bring me food. And as much as I begged and pleaded with him, he refused to do anything but smile and deliver food. I have no idea how long I was down there. There weren't any windows. A few months at least. I was talking to rats just to hold on to my sanity. Then a couple of weeks ago, he stopped showing up. That's when I really started to lose it. Not only was I trapped in a cell, but I was going to starve to death in there.”

  “Oh no!” said Randy. The timing of the jailer's sudden disappearance seemed to line up with when Mordred arrived in this world. “What did you do?”

  “What I had to,” said Jay. “As loud as I shouted for help, no help arrived. I had to eat, so I lured in rats with my shit. I felt bad about killing them at first, seeing as how they were my only friends during a very difficult time in my life.” He shrugged. “Then I started to enjoy it. Anyway, after a few days of killing rats, I suddenly knew how to pick a lock. I used the strongest rat bones in my collection to pick the lock on my cell door. And just like that, I was a free man.”

  Randy lifted his beer glass to drink, but was surprised to find it empty. He was so enthralled by Jay's story that he'd gotten his thirst back. After refilling his own glass and topping off Jay's, he pressed Jay to continue.

  “Were you here in the city?”

  Jay took a pull from his beer. “Not this one. I was in some place called Hollin, across the sea. I had to sneak into the cargo hold of a ship to get here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn't have any money.”

  “No,” said Randy. “I meant why did you want to come here in the first place?”

  “Oh, right.” Jay yawned. “I started to wonder what was up when the whole town lost its shit over a New God being born. Then a little while later, when I heard about this New God turning up in Cardinia in the form of a giant marshmallow man, I knew that Ghostbusters shit had to be the work of someone from Earth.”

  Randy frowned. “It wasn't the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. It was the Pillsburg Doughchild.”

  “Oh.” Jay furrowed his brow in confusion but let it go. “As soon as we docked, I started asking around at pubs and taverns, looking for information about people who didn't seem to quite fit in. I couldn't believe how quickly I got a definitive answer. It was like the lizard man bartender knew exactly what I was talking about.”

  “The folks who built this place let the other taverns know to keep their ears open for people asking those kinds of questions and send them this way.”

  “I guess that means this sort of thing happens a lot?”

  “I don't know,” said Randy. “I'm fairly new here myself. At any rate, I'm real glad you made it here in time.”

  “In time for what?”

  Randy took a deep breath, preparing himself for a long explanation.

  “Mordred and his dice are here in this world.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Jay through another yawn. Randy had expected more of a reaction to his bombshell revelation, but realized that Jay had had an exhausting couple of weeks.

  “Yeah!” Randy tried to be an example of the proper level of enthusiasm Jay should be expressing. “Mordre
d has actually been split into six parts, and we have one of them.”

  Jay's tired eyes widened. “I ain't gonna lie, man. That's some savage fucked up shit.”

  Randy paused to consider what he said that might have been misconstrued as savage fucked up shit. “I meant his spirit has been divided into six whole living bodies. We've captured one of his avatars.”

  “Oh,” said Jay. “That's a little less fucked up. What are you going to do with him?”

  “That's why I'm glad you made it here in time,” said Randy, giving Jay an encouraging smile. “Once we get the dice, we can force Mordred to send us back home!”

  “Fuck that.” Jay took another swig from his beer. “I'm not going back to no wheelchair. I just came here to find some folks I had something in common with.”

  Randy hadn't thought about that. Instead of giving him good news, he'd essentially told him that the only people in this world who could fully understand who he was and where he came from were about to ditch him.

  “You don't have to go back to your old body. You could always pay a wizard to teleport you back to Earth just as you are.”

  Jay let out a hollow laugh. “And do what? I can't take on my old identity looking like this. What am I going to tell my boss? Hey, my legs got better, my ears grew six inches longer, and I lost fifty pounds. And why would I want to anyway? I'd just as soon be tied down to that goddamn chair as tied down to my shitty job. Here I can be anything I want. I can learn magic. I can ride dragons. I can... I don't know... fuck a mermaid?” He looked Randy in the eye. “You know, I used to shake my head at those convention people, wondering what they saw in all this fantasy shit. But now I understand. I'm never going back.” He gulped back the rest of the beer in his glass. “It's been a pleasure to meet you, Randy, and I'd love to talk to you more tomorrow. But I've had a hell of a day. If I don't go to sleep soon, I'm going to pass out right here on this bar.”

  “I understand.”

  “So...” said Jay. “Where should I sleep?”

  Randy glanced down at Denise, then back at Jay. “Anywhere you like.”

  “Alright.” Jay folded his arms on the bar and lay his head down. Soon, he and Denise were having a conversation in snores.

  Randy finished his beer, then joined in the conversation.

  Chapter 10

  Professor Goosewaddle had been very clear about never wanting to see their faces again. All the Whore's Head folks were banned from his Arby's. Considering the market value of a Teleport spell, which the professor had provided them in exchange for promising to never return, Chaz half expected to be blasted with lightning bolts for merely coming within a hundred feet of the place, or at least for the manager, Jennifer, to chase them off with a broom. Either one of those would have been preferable to flying back up to the Crescent Shadow.

  Fortunately, neither of those things happened. He and Julian walked up to the glass door completely unscathed. The bright interior lights flooded out into the dark street. Arby's was open for business.

  “You can go eat some rats,” Julian said to Ravenus, who excitedly flew around the side of the building into the alley.

  Chaz held the door open for Julian. “After you.”

  “Thank you,” said Julian with a friendly smile.

  When Julian didn't get incinerated by fireballs, Chaz followed him in. There were no customers in the dining area, which wasn't surprising considering the late hour. The scent of curly fries made his mouth water.

  “Welcome to Arby's,” groaned the pasty man in glasses and a sweat-stained Arby's uniform behind the counter. “Experience the exotic taste of – OW!” A wooden spoon bounced off the back of his head.

  “More feeling!” shouted a goblin voice from the kitchen. Chaz shuddered with a flicker of anger, remembering the goblins who'd nearly killed him and Cooper in Glittersprinkles Grove.

  The man straightened, his bloodshot eyes widening behind his thick glasses. “Welcome to Arby's!” he repeated with forced enthusiasm. “Experience the exotic taste of a world beyond your imagination!”

  “Hello, Paul,” said Julian, reading the man's name tag. “We're here to see Professor Goosewaddle. Is he in?”

  “Please, take your time, sirs!” said Paul much louder than was necessary. He leaned over the counter and whispered. “If you don't order something, the goblins will beat me with sticks.”

  Chaz and Julian scanned the menu above the counter.

  “I guess I'll have the chicken salad,” said Julian.

  “Wonderful choice!” Paul was practically yelling at him. “Would you like fries and a drink with that?”

  “I don't even really want the salad.”

  Paul's eyes pleaded with him.

  Julian sighed. “Sure.”

  “Excellent!” Paul turned to Chaz. “And for you, sir?”

  “I'll have a number two.”

  Julian snorted.

  Chaz shot him an annoyed glance. That was the sort of reaction he'd expect from Cooper.

  Paul also stared at Julian. He whispered, “Are you part of that group from Earth?”

  Chaz and Julian nodded.

  “You're not supposed to be here! If Goosewaddle or Jennifer find out I served you, the goblins will beat me with sticks!”

  “What's taking so long?” demanded the goblin from the kitchen. “Did you lose another customer?”

  “A number two!” shouted Paul. “Very good, sir! That will be ten gold pieces.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” said Chaz. “Do you know what that's worth in real money?” Chaz hadn't worked out the exact exchange rate, but he'd spent less than that for a full night of drinking in a nice tavern.

  “But you've never had food like this before! I guarantee you, it's worth the price!”

  “Yes, I have. And no, it's not.”

  “Here.” Julian counted ten gold coins from his pouch as he placed them on the counter.

  Paul sighed with relief as he tapped the order in on his computer screen. “Order up!” he shouted back at the kitchen. Then he grabbed two medium-sized paper cups and placed them in front of Julian and Chaz. “Help yourselves to a soda. Your order will be out shortly.”

  “Where's Goosewaddle?” asked Chaz.

  “At Popeye's.”

  “They opened a Popeye's here now?”

  “No. He's back in Mississippi. Jennifer has been taking him to try out different fast food restaurants so he can expand his business.”

  “Why doesn't he just open another Arby's?” asked Julian. “Isn't that kind of the point of a franchise? You just repeat what's already working for you. People here seem to really like Arby's, and Cardinia's big enough to support at least three or four more. And I'm sure there are other cities large enough to –”

  “Goosewaddle is already heavily invested in real estate in this neighborhood,” Paul explained. “He wants to turn this area into an exotic food Mecca. If he pulls it off, his property values should go through the roof.”

  Julian took his cup. “Do you have any way to get in touch with him?”

  Paul smiled sympathetically and shrugged. “Sorry, no.”

  “Damn,” said Julian as he went to the drink machine and filled his cup with ice. “We've wasted our time. I knew we should have just kept moving.”

  Chaz suspected that Paul wasn't being completely honest with them. What if there was an emergency? Goosewaddle wouldn't leave his precious Arby's in the hands of this loser and a handful of goblins without a means to contact him.

  Setting his lute case down on a table, Chaz briefly admired the pixie children's paintings of him and Cooper defeating the Dark Lord of Glittersprinkles Grove. He opened the case took out the handcrafted lute that Dimplethorn had overseen the construction of, and strummed the strings.

  “Don't lie to us, you fat piece of shit. If you can contact him, then please just do it.”

  The anxiousness vanished from Paul's face, and he smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I do have a way to contact him,
in case there's an emergency.” He dug in his pocket, then pulled out a cell phone.”

  Julian returned, sucking on his straw. “Whoa. You can make a call from here to Earth?”

  “No,” said Paul. “Goosewaddle's been working on that, but the way time passes differently here is making things difficult. All he's managed to get so far is static. But he has magicked it so that I can send a text.”

  Chaz thought for a moment. “If we tell the truth, he might ignore it. What can we say that will make him come here right away?”

  “We could say the restaurant is on fire,” suggested Julian.

  Paul shook his head. “Goosewaddle's got this whole place fireproofed.”

  “Tell him you got robbed,” said Chaz. “A bunch of orcs or werewolves or some shit came in and held the place up. They grabbed what was in the till and ran off. If you hurry, you might still be able to catch them.”

  Paul nodded, rapidly tapping his phone as Chaz talked. “Very good.”

  “Okay,” said Chaz. “Read it back to me.”

  “A bunch of orcs or werewolves or some shit came in and held the place up. They grabbed what was in the till and ran off. If you hurry, you might still be able to catch them.”

  Chaz laughed. “I was thinking out loud. You weren't supposed to type that out word for word. Delete it all and we'll start from the beginning.”

  Paul frowned. “I already sent it.”

  “You typed orcs or werewolves or some shit? How did that sound good to you? Can you not tell the difference between an orc and a werewolf?”

  “It doesn't matter,” said Julian. “I mean, we're lying anyway. Professor Goosewaddle isn't going to ignore something like this. Paul doesn't seem the sort to cry wolf or play practical jokes. When Goosewaddle comes back and finds us here, he'll probably have the goblins beat Paul with sticks.”

  Paul frowned thoughtfully. “That's true. Why did I –”

  “Order up!” shouted a goblin as he came out from the kitchen holding a tray of food. His attempt at a friendly smile sent a shiver up Chaz's spine. The very sight of one of those creatures put Chaz on edge, even if he was wearing an Arby's uniform and a name tag identifying him as “Shaggy”.