by Robert Bevan
“You mean, like, a makeover?” said Chaz. He sounded more excited about that than Julian felt was appropriate. “I've got a show this evening, you see, and I need to look top-notch.”
“Have no fear, sir,” said Beezorp. “When we finish with you, you shall be the toasts of the Crescent Shadow. Now hurry along. We haven't got much time!”
Chaz grabbed Julian's arm and led him toward the stairs.
“That guy just took all our money?” said Julian as they started climbing.
“That's just the way they do business here,” said Chaz. “They're going to give us the royal treatment. You can't nickel and dime that shit. Besides, we should have an even bigger payout after tonight's show.”
When they got to the room, Chaz grew even giddier. It wasn't as nice as the room Julian had stayed at in the Ivory Palace, but Chaz didn't need to know that. It was a heck of a lot nicer than sleeping on the floor of the Whore's Head Inn.
While Chaz tore off his filthy clothes and jumped in the bath, Julian walked out onto the balcony and scanned the rooftops for Ravenus. He was only two rooftops away, and Julian was able to attract his attention with a whistle.
“This is nice,” said Ravenus as he perched on the railing and looked around.
“Chaz made a little money singing this morning, and he's determined to blow through it all as quickly as possible.” Julian looked up and down the street. “At least it's got a pretty good view. Why don't you keep watch from here, and I'll keep the balcony door open so you can get in if you see anything.”
Julian returned to the suite's common room just as the door burst open. He struggled to remember the incantation for Magic Missile, but stopped when he saw a female half-elven member of the hotel staff roll in a cart, atop which sat their promised bottle of sparkling wine in a bucket of ice and two champagne flutes.
“Thank you,” said Julian. “I'd offer you a tip, but Beezorp took all our money.”
The room service girl tapped the top of her cylindrical red hat and gave him a friendly smile. “That is not necessary. We do not work for tips. Our reward is to see that our guests have a satisfying experience.” She bowed deeply, then backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
That sounded like some Grade A customer service bullshit, but Julian couldn't shake the feeling that she'd meant every word of it. Such sincerity from someone in the service industry gave him the willies.
He poured himself a glass of wine. With as much as he'd already had to drink today, he would have preferred a glass of water, or maybe even a cup of coffee. But compared to Bitch Tears and well sludge, the wine went down like Sprite.
“Bathroom's free,” said Chaz, exiting the bathroom in a forest green bathrobe and drying his hair with a beige towel. “You've got to try that bath, man. It's the fucking tits.”
Julian had to admit, he'd never seen Chaz looking so clean and refreshed. Stepping into the steamy bathroom, he discovered that the floor was both heated and studded with pebbles, which gave his feet a much appreciated massage as he walked across it. The bathtub was a large square of polished granite, the water inside crystal clear and bubbling. It betrayed no evidence that a grimy man had just bathed in it, but there wouldn't have been enough time for Chaz to have drained and refilled the tub. From what Julian knew of Chaz, that wasn't the sort of courtesy he'd go out of his way to perform anyway.
Dipping a finger in, he found the water to be the perfect temperature, hot to the point of almost painful. When he pulled his finger out, it was clean. He could actually see the line, far more defined than any tan line he'd ever had, delineating pristine cleanliness from grubbiness. He hurriedly peeled off his clothes and submerged himself in the bubbling water. It sizzled around him for a moment, but didn't hurt. In fact, it was the opposite of hurt. It was exhilarating. He felt a cleansing so thorough it was as though his sins were being forgiven. When he sat up and opened his eyes, he discovered that he was in factory showroom condition, and the water wasn't the least bit clouded with filth. This bath alone might be worth following Chaz in his rock star endeavors.
Just when he thought he couldn't possibly feel better about the experience, Julian caught sight of Chaz's clothes hanging from a hook on the wall. While they still had the cuts and tears earned from months of adventuring, they looked as clean as Julian felt. He immediately leaned over the side of the tub, scooped up his own pile of filthy clothes, and dunked them in the water between his legs. They fizzed and bubbled as if he were sitting in a tub of peroxide. The water surrounding them turned slightly cloudy, but only for a second, then the filth completely dissolved before his eyes. His whites were as white as a line of cocaine on Snow White's bare ass, and the colors of his serape were as vibrant as a Skittles commercial.
Reluctantly, Julian got out of the tub. He wrung out his clothes, hung them to dry on a hook next to Chaz's, donned an identical forest green bathrobe, and wrapped his hair in a beige towel, eagerly anticipating a short rest on one of those huge luxurious beds. He opened the door to find the suite in a state of absolute bedlam.
Rolling stands full of brightly-colored clothing crowded the room. Hotel staff ran about like ants on a recently stepped-on hill. When they spotted him emerging from the bathroom, they swarmed on him.
“Feeling better now?” said the girl who'd carted in the wine. “This is Boudreaux, and his fashion apprentice, Twigly.”
“What do you think of this?” said a young human man Julian assumed was Twigly, shoving a sequined teal shirt in Julian's face.
“Too flashy,” snapped the more distinguished-looking grey-haired man with the pointy beard, presumably Boudreaux, as he slapped the sequined shirt away. “The star's job is to shine. The manager needs to look professional and understated. Take a moment to look him over. See what style he's comfortable with, then work with that.” He waved his hand in front of Julian's face before turning back to his fashion apprentice. “Tell me what you see.”
Twigly stared at Julian for a moment, then turned to his instructor. “The towel?”
Boudreaux smiled at his apprentice. “Precisely. Now let us see what inspiration you can take from that.”
When Twigly disappeared into a forest of clothing racks, Boudreaux held up what appeared to be a tiny pair of silver underwear. “You'll want to put these on.” He reached for the belt of Julian's robe, but Julian slapped his hand away.
“Sorry,” he said, snatching the underwear from the surprised old man's hand. “This is all just a bit overwhelming.” The wine girl was also staring dumbfounded at him. “Excuse me.” He ducked back into the bathroom.
Closing the door behind him, he took a deep breath and stared at the underwear. Even as slender as he was, how could he be expected to squeeze himself into this thing? There was barely enough material to cover his junk if he bunched it all up front. These were clearly made for a ten-year-old. On the other hand, the material did seem to have some flexibility to it. As weirdly creepy as it felt, he supposed there wasn't any harm in trying to squeeze into them. Much to his surprise, they slipped on quite easily, supporting his cheeks and hugging his junk with a comfort he'd never thought possible.
Taking a look at himself open-robed in the mirror, he judged it to be a sexy look for him, albeit one he'd never have the requisite confidence to show anyone.
He tied off his robe again and opened the door. Twigly had returned with a set of shimmering pale green robes and a matching roll of fabric.
“If Master is too timid,” said Boudreaux, “we shall happily accompany you in the bathing room.”
The thought of going into the bathroom and stripping down to his shiny skivvies for two dudes still ranked pretty high on Julian's timidity meter, but it was preferable to disrobing in front of the whole staff.
“Thank you,” he said, then led them back into the bathroom.
Once he got past the initial uneasiness of being undressed by two men, he felt silly for having been put off by it in the first place. Both Boudreaux and Twigly
moved fast and were professionally dispassionate as they put the new clothes on him.
Looking in the mirror when they were done, Julian couldn't help but disagree with Boudreaux's interpretation of “professional and understated”.
“How do you like it, sir?” asked Boudreaux.
Julian tried to think of a Diplomatic way to express his true thoughts. “You don't think the turban's a bit much?”
Twigly's hopeful eyes narrowed. “I can put the towel back on if you prefer it.”
“Nonsense,” said Boudreaux with a friendly smile. “Everyone's wearing them, and it looks very good on you.”
Julian took another look at himself in the mirror. It did look good. It complimented the rest of the outfit nicely. “I just thought that maybe it's a little... I don't know... culturally appropriative, if that's a word.” Then again, the same might be said about his sombrero and serape. His gaze falling to his chest, he noticed a crescent-shaped silver pin holding the corners of his slightly darker green cape together. It looked kind of like a moon, but not quite. “What's this?”
“The Holy Croissant,” Boudreaux explained as he opened the bathroom door. “The symbol for the New God. It is extremely fashionable these days.”
Julian followed him out, wishing he'd never asked the question in the first place.
“No, bigger,” said Chaz from somewhere beyond the maze of clothing racks. “BIGGER!”
Julian spread two racks apart to find Chaz getting his hair done. He could say whatever he could about emulating Neil Diamond, but costume-wise, he'd gone full Vegas Elvis. His shirt was open in front and decorated with gold-studded patterns on either side of his oiled chest. It had a collar you could land a plane on.
“How is this?” asked the pretty elven hairdresser as she gave his already fluffed-up hair a little more fluff.
Chaz held a mirror up to his face, then grinned and nodded. “I dig it, baby. Take five.” He slapped her on the ass and stood up. “Hey there, Julian. What do you think?”
“You look ridiculous.”
“What do you think you look like? What are you supposed to be anyway? The Sultan of Agrabah?”
“I didn't choose this! I was perfectly fine with the –”
“Master Julian!” squawked Ravenus as he flapped down and perched on a clothing rack. “I've spotted him! The man with the die!”
“If you are displeased with your attire,” said Boudreaux, “we have an assortment of other options to try.” He ran a finger along all the clothes on the rack Ravenus was perched on.
“No,” said Julian. “This is perfect. I love it.” He grabbed Chaz by his gold-studded sleeve. “Come on!”
They made a beeline for the door, then raced down the stairs and out the lobby door. Ravenus, who had opted for the balcony doors, met them outside.
Julian looked up and down the street, spotting several fat men walking around. “Which one is he?”
“He went into that building there,” said Ravenus, nodding toward the Ivory Palace.
“Shit. Stacy and I swiped the bedsheets last time we were in there.”
“Why?” said Chaz. “Were they covered in splooge? Believe me, those guys see a lot worse. I saw this episode of Inside Edition once. Dude, you don't even want to know what they –”
“Shut up! They weren't covered in splooge. Stacy used them to make a pair of wings so that we could glide down from the island.”
“Stealing sheets? That's a pretty minor offense. I don't think they've got an APB out for you.”
“We were on the run at the time. Two big guys were trying to break down the door. Granted, there's a good chance they were working for Tim, but they could have been cops or hotel staff. I just want to play this as safely as possible.”
Chaz grinned. “I've got you covered.” He unfastened the Holy Croissant on Julian's cape. “Turn around.”
With no better ideas, Julian resigned himself to accept whatever it was Chaz had in mind. He turned around.
The cape was suddenly over his nose and mouth. Julian could feel Chaz tying the corners together at the back of his head. He'd turned the cape into a veil.
Julian faced Chaz again. “Does this not make me look extra ridiculous?”
“You look like a fucking fortune teller, but we're well past trying not to look ridiculous. Take a look around. No one is giving us a second glance. The point is, you're nearly impossible to recognize. In fact, if you shove some extra fabric down your front, you could probably pass for a smoking hot harem girl or something.”
“I think I'll pass, thanks.”
Chaz shrugged. “Just sayin'.” He clapped the Holy Croissant clasp into Julian's hand.
“OW!” cried Julian. “You stuck me with the pin!”
“Sorry about that.”
Julian sighed. He felt more self-aware than ever, not to mention less prepared. Whether they now 'looked the part' or not, they still didn't have anything close to a strategy mapped out. “Whatever we're about to do, let's just get it over with.”
With no serape to tuck him under, Julian had to let Ravenus sit on his shoulder. The satin of his clothing wasn't nearly thick enough to alleviate the discomfort of the bird's talons.
“I'm very sorry, sir,” said Ravenus, apparently sensing Julian's discomfort. “I'm trying to be as gentle as I can, but it's difficult to maintain my balance.”
“Don't worry about it,” Julian whispered. “And keep your voice down. Just give my shoulder a little squeeze if you see the man with the die.” Half-elven doormen held the doors open for them as they walked up the front steps of the Ivory Palace and into the lobby.
Chapter 26
“You sounded pretty confident back there,” said Cooper once they were out in the market again. The rat bite on his ass itched, but he resisted scratching it for once.
Stacy gave him an encouraging smile. “Don't you worry. You're going to be okay.”
You are blessed to have such a devoted friend. She will take care of you. Stay strong, Cooper.
Cooper laughed, hoping to put both Stacy's and Nabi's minds at ease. “No, I meant the part about 'If I have to hurt my friend...' What makes you so sure you'll be the one hurting me? I mean yeah, you're strong. But I'm a fucking barbarian. I'd have my Rage, and I guess rat powers, whatever those are.”
Stacy stopped and turned to face him. “It's not always about raw power.” She unbuttoned the top button on her shirt, drawing Cooper's eyes down to her cleavage. “I have certain... talents as well. Intelligence, charm, and...” She thrust a fist hard into his gut. “Sneak Attack!”
Cooper dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks, cradling his belly. It had felt like a cannonball. “Son of a motherfucker.”
Yes, I'm beginning to like this one.
“I'm sorry, Cooper,” said Stacy. “I didn't mean to hit you that hard. I was just messing around.”
“So was I,” Cooper groaned. “Which is why I didn't fucking punch you.”
“Don't be such a baby.” Stacy reached down to help him to his feet. “Come on. People are staring at us.”
Cooper accepted her help and stood up. “Sorry, folks. My bad. I didn't mean to draw all that attention.”
Stacy grinned at him as she re-fastened her top button. “Let's get your ass healed up before I kick it again.”
The herbalist booth was just where Dolazar had said it would be, easily recognizable by the multitude of jars filled with various colored powders and oils, the tendrils of incense smoke rising from censers that hung from the front of the roof, and the mystical symbols painted on the signage... or maybe those were just letters. The pungent blend of herbs mingled nicely with the aroma of baked goods from the next booth over.
“Is there anything specific you seek?” asked the shopkeeper, a gnome with yellow robes and a cylindrical blue hat.
“I was looking for some belladonna,” said Stacy.
The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed as he quickly looked her and Cooper up and down. “I don't get muc
h call for such a toxic plant. May I ask for what purpose you require it?”
His suspicion was palpable, and Stacy was choking. Cooper needed to say something fast.
“I have glaucoma.”
What?
“What?” said the shopkeeper.
“He means gophers,” said Stacy. “We have gophers in our garden.”
The shopkeeper looked even more suspicious than before. “You two are a couple?”
Cooper farted. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, of course not! It's just that... I only meant...”
“I heard that sprinkling belladonna on your crops keeps gophers away,” said Stacy.
The gnome laughed. “I'd say that would do the trick. It would keep away just about anything with a healthy sense of self-preservation.” He reached down under the counter and produced a small bundle of twigs with dried brown leaves. “This should be plenty to suit your purposes.”
Stacy frowned at the bundle. “Those don't look very fresh.”
“It's easier to crush into a powder this way. Still plenty toxic enough to keep the gophers out of your garden.”
Who gives a shit? Belladonna is belladonna. Cooper had done a bit of cooking when the urge hit him, and he'd always ignored recipes when they insisted on fresh oregano leaves or whatever. He'd always used whatever three years expired McCormick shit he could find at the back of his mom's pantry, and it always turned out fine.
“We don't actually have any gophers,” Stacy blurted out. “We don't even have a garden.”
The gnome put his suspicious face back on. “I suppose next you're going to tell me you're not actually a couple.”
“This is really embarrassing for me to have to admit,” said Stacy. “I used the restroom right after someone else, who I later heard was rumored to be a werewolf.”
That was news to Cooper. “When the fuck did that happen?”
I believe she's making up another story in order to –
“Do you have open wounds on your bottom?” the shopkeeper asked Stacy.
“Whoa!” said Cooper. “Dial it the fuck back a little, man. Is that seriously how you chat up a woman?” He thought about it a little more. “Does it work?”
