by Dan Knight
~~~~~~
Jaws sank into Jack’s boot, and he tripped. What? He fell to the sand, and the black wolf leapt for his throat. Its claws tore his breeches and gouged holes in his flesh. “Ow, wee!”
Blood drenched the sand. Red flooded his vision.
He levitated the black wolf. Its claws caught in his tunic, and the tattered cloth ripped. It slashed him one last time, and shot into the air. It soared above the brontosaur. Terrified at last, it scrambled furiously at the air. As it flew higher and higher, its fiery anger turned to icy fear. Far above their heads, the animal squealed.
The grey wolf pounced on Shotgun. Again, it sank its teeth into his arm and tried to rip off a piece of the dwarf.
Ice it! He fired an ice bolt, and struck the grey monster.
Shards of ice enveloped the grey wolf, and its face froze. It let go of the dwarf and spun to attack Jack. It tried to bare its fangs and it growled with a lisp. Its drool froze, and its fangs twitched in rage. Berserk, it growled and summoned demonic energy. Muscles rippled, it coiled into a spring and attacked.
Jack fired an ice bolt, and hit the grey wolf full in the face. Its eyes and jaws froze. The wolf struck him in the chest. He hit the sand, and the monster’s paws tore blindly at his flesh.
Fly! He launched the wolf into the air. Up it went after the first.
He searched for the white wolf. Shotgun moaned on the sand, and held his bleeding arm.
The white wolf appeared on top of the brontosaur. It sprang from the deck on the dinosaur’s head, and pounced on the dwarf.
Jack put his fists together, and launched the white wolf into the air. He punched the sky with his fists. Fly foul wolves! Magic poured out of his fists.
What would Goldilocks do? The monsters disappeared into the night sky. No problem, she only had to handle bears! Up go the three wolves!
Blinded by sand and tears, his arms dropped, and he slipped to his knees. Exhausted, the magic stopped pouring out of him. He struggled to get up and fought to stand. Rising from the sand, he jogged to Shotgun. He knelt beside the dwarf and placed a hand over the dwarf’s heart.
The dwarf’s chest rose. Alive! Tension broke with inward relief. He’s alive! Magic surged and he felt it. I’ve never felt magic before! Why am I feeling it? How is it possible!
“Shotgun?” Jack lifted the dwarf’s head.
“If that’s the way you treat your guests,” groaned the dwarf, “there’ll be no tip!”
“Shotgun, are you all right?”
“I know my name, boss.” The dwarf gave him a faint smile. “And no, I’m not all right. Who writes your dialogue?”
“Well, I do. It comes to me in my head.”
The black wolf struck the slide. The slide rang.
“What’s that?!” Shotgun gasped.
The wolf slid to the bottom. It left a trail of slime and ooze. Blood dripped on the sand.
“It’s raining wolves.”
The grey wolf pounded the sand. Sand erupted from the crater. The crash flattened its remains. Blood splashed over the playground.
Raise a shield! He cast a shield over their heads as a shelter. They waited breathless. Where’s the white one? Jack looked up.
The white wolf hit his shield with a sickening splat. He flinched and closed his eyes. The beast slid off his shield. It hit the sand with a dull thud.
Blood slipped through the shield and dripped on them.
“Yuck!” Jack whipped the shield off them, and he flung the blood across the sand.
“Get us out of here now, boss! Go for the jungle!”
Just do it! Magic surged, and he levitated the dwarf and ran. Forget the disguises! He plowed through the sand towing the dwarf. He ran under the slide, crossed the open field, and plunged into the jungle east of the cobblestone road.
Among the palm trees, low hanging fronds slapped them. The ground began to rise, and he tripped over a root. The undergrowth forced him to walk, and he slowed down to search for a place to rest. He laid Shotgun in the bower of a palm tree, and propped himself on a root. He shut his eyes and forced himself to calm down. No one’s coming! He listened for pursuit. Incredible!
Shotgun’s tuxedo was shredded from top to bottom. The dwarf resembled a castaway on a deserted island.
Jack knelt beside the dwarf and checked his friend’s wounds. “Let me look at your arm.” Without a word, the dwarf held out his arm. “You’re bleeding, bad.” He peeled back silk torn from the coat. “Can you move your hand?”
“Yeah,” Shotgun winced. “It hurts.” The dwarf wiggled his fingers. “It throbs and burns.”
“Your arm is open. I’ve got to bandage it, and I’ll have to take your coat off.”
“No, my coat’s the only thing holding me together. If you pull it off, I’ll bleed to death. And we don’t have any painkillers. It’ll hurt so bad, I’ll go into shock. And we’ve got no antibiotics anyway.”
“Very sensible as usual, but you’re still bleeding.”
“Wrap it as is.”
“All right, I’ll do that. We’ll clean the wound as soon as we can.”
Shotgun agreed with a nod.
Jack took off his vest. The vest was little more than a rag, and its seams ripped as he removed it. The cloth dangled in tattered strings. Every muscle screamed. He winced as his moves opened his wounds. A moment ago, I didn’t feel a thing! He folded the vest, sat on a root, and laid the rag over his lap.
“Those things aren’t wolves,” said Shotgun. “They’re monsters.”
Finding a loose patch of cloth, Jack ripped off a piece and tore it into strips. He wrapped it around Shotgun’s arm, coat and all.
“They’re werewolves,” said Jack.
“Werewolves?” the dwarf winced, and moaned, “Will I become a werewolf?”
“No, Shotgun,” Jack ripped more swaths of cloth from his vest. These he wrapped around the growing wad. “They’re synthetic. They’re biots designed for extreme hunting. No one would design a lycanthrope disease to match it. Not for a resort. It’s too risky. A guest might be infected.”
Shotgun’s blood oozed through the makeshift bandage. Jack tore another piece from his vest and ripped it into more strips. He wrapped the bloody wound again.
“That’s a cheery thought. If I’m infected, I’ll probably die.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” He ripped strings from the fringe of his vest. These he tied around the bandage. “There you go, Robinson Crusoe. I don’t have any duct tape or chewing gum, but I hope that will hold you together.”
Jack touched his arm where the wolf bit him. Look at my arm! Pins and needles ran up his arm. He hugged his arm and rubbed it. His hands felt clammy, and his arm was damp. Is it seawater or blood? He wiped his hands on his breeches.
“Next time you find a pack of werewolves to attack us,” the dwarf smiled, “make sure you order the small pack.”
“Whatever they were, I hope we don’t run into any more of them.”
Jack tore more strips from his vest and wrapped them around his own arm. Unable to tie a knot with his hands, he cast a tether on one end and pulled the other end by hand. He tightened the strips, but he felt no pressure. His arm was numb. Is it too tight? He felt under the bandage. Satisfied he had not drawn a tourniquet around his arm, he relaxed. Look at Shotgun! My dwarf’s a mess! What will I tell Goldie? Who cares, Romeo, what will you tell Jazz?
“Next time the universe sends you a warning,” Shotgun grinned. “Heed the warning.”
“I’ll be sure to take that advice,” said Jack. “If I’m not too busy being an idiot.” He closed his eyes, and tried to regain his strength. Who cares about the Black Dwarf? Will we survive long enough to reach the castle?
Jack pushed himself to his feet, and helped the dwarf up. “Ready?”
“No, but we can’t wait.”
Jack cast his Sasquatch disguises. “Let’s go.” Their fur glowed in the moonlight.
; “It’s a good day to die,” said Shotgun.
“That’s inspiring?” Jack asked.
“I read it in a book.”
Castle Frankenstein
Jack led them up the ridge where he hoped to find the cobblestone road. They wandered through groves of palm trees, and fought roots and branches. More than once, he stumbled over a fallen tree.
“Aha, I’ve found a creek.” The creek was dry, and stones littered the bed. “Let’s follow it. It has to run back to the road.”
“Anything’s better than stumbling around. I can’t see my feet in these trees.”
“Agreed,” Jack stepped into the creek and turned downhill. “Watch your step.”
In a few minutes, they reached the cobblestone road. No guards patrolled the path.
Jack turned uphill towards the castle. They stayed off the road and plowed through the grass. Their progress slowed as trees crowded the road, and branches choked their path.
“We have to take the ditch,” Jack stepped into the ditch alongside the road. “Keep an eye out for patrols.”
“Boss, we’re exposed.” Shotgun trailed him. “Sasquatch may hunt in these woods, but he doesn’t follow roads.”
“Got any suggestions? I’m all ears.”
“No, I’m just a back-seat crime fighter bogged down in this grass.” Shotgun sighed, “I need a machete.”
“Great idea, Livingston,” he changed their disguises to pampas grass. “How’s that?”
“Walking grass?” Shotgun assessed Jack’s disguise. “Not bad. If triffids are native to these parts, we’ll fit right in.”
“If we see anyone, we’ll just stop.”
“What if they have an infrared camera?”
“Then we’ll deal with it.” He waded ahead through the grass, and soon they covered several hundred yards.
The road curved around a bend. Jack went ahead and came upon a waterfall. A small pool shimmered in the moonlight at the foot of the waterfall. He levitated over the pool and waited for Shotgun.
Boots slapped the cobblestones. At the sound, Jack froze. He renewed their shields and took a deep breath.
Two black dwarves rounded the bend. The guards ambled by the waterfall. They might have been on a midnight stroll except for their lightning guns and turbo-packs.
Shotgun stopped next to a stand of pampas grass near the waterfall.
The patrol passed Shotgun, and he sighed in relief. The guards strolled around a bend and disappeared.
Shotgun jumped over the pool, “Black dwarves like the ones that attacked us in the Halls!”
“Black uniforms, lightning guns, and blank faces,” Jack observed. “We must be in the right place.”
“What do we do now?” Shotgun’s disguise waved its fronds. “Do you want to go on?”
“Stay in the ditch. We’ve got to be close to the castle.”
They walked a little farther, and the castle came into view. Venus de Milo stood in the fountain. The road circled Venus and led up to a gate large enough to accommodate any recreational vehicle. A spur dipped under the castle to a parking garage.
An ornate portcullis blocked the gate. An arch festooned with gargoyles swept over the portcullis. Revolving doors awaited guests on both sides, and a sign welcomed them to the Black Wharf.
“This place feels more like Castle Frankenstein than a five star resort.” Shotgun shivered. “I’m half expecting Dracula to meet us at the door.”
“We can expect the Black Dwarf to give us a warm welcome. Lightning hot in fact. If we were here on vacation,” Jack chuckled, “I rather think we’d have a good time.”
“No guards and no sign of surveillance?” Shotgun suggested, “Why not just walk in?”
“If they’re watching the road,” said Jack, “they’re watching the gate.”
“What will we do, boss?”
“Shush, I’m thinking.”
“Disguise us as guards, boss. We can waltz right in.”
“Shotgun, you’re a genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“If they spot a flaw in our disguises, we’ll be in for a fire fight for sure.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s it.” Jack snapped his fingers. “Let’s back up a bit. I want to make our entrance convincing.” He tried to remember what the patrol looked like, and conjured a pair of disguises. Jack touched his forehead and a black spot appeared. “Ta da, Shotgun, two black dwarves complete with lightning guns. What do you think?”
“Your illusions look great, but I’m not sure it will stand examination.”
“What are you worried about?” Jack put his hands on his hips. “We look great.”
“No one can see through the illusions, boss, but …”
“But what?”
“Who ever heard of a dwarf that’s six-foot four?”
“Roll with it, Shotgun!” He assumed the air of a guard on a mission, and sauntered up to the portcullis.
Shotgun jogged to keep up with the elf’s long legs. “What’s the plan, boss?”
“Play it by ear.”
Jack circled the fountain, and strode up to the portcullis. Withered palm trees drooped in unattended pots in front of the revolving doors. Stone knights guarded the fire exits.
They veered away from the portcullis and headed towards the revolving doors. One of these has to be the right door.
He passed a pot, and the palm squawked at them. “Report,” a tinny voice challenged him. He searched for the source of the voice and tried not to look confused. He circled the palm and strode up to a stone knight.
“Report,” said the voice. He looked and found the security box. Think of a story, Jack! He cleared his throat to stall.
Impatience overwhelmed the unseen watchman, and he rescued Jack from the awkward silence. “Guard, why are you back so soon?”
He rubbed his tummy and moaned. “I need to powder my nose. Maybe it’s something I ate.”
“Too many beans,” the box crackled with static. “Make it quick, the tower wants to know if we’ve seen an intruder. They’re getting antsy. The Sergeant’s called three times in the last hour.”
“Please, can I go?” He danced a little jig to sell his fabrication, “I’m going to wet my pants.”
A lock clicked and the fire exit door opened.
“Hurry up,” the box squawked. “And next time, don’t eat the beans.”
Inside, the lobby was unlike anything in a medieval castle. A sea of marble tile spread in all directions.The reception desk awaited a dozen parties. The lobby opened into a lounge and a bar. The lounge opened onto a wide mall.
The mall connected the castle’s towers and divided its wings. A grand staircase led up to shops and boutiques on the mall’s second level. A sky bridge crossed over the gate on the second level.
Jack spied a restroom under the grand staircase and headed for it. Shotgun fell in behind hot on his heels.
The watchman appeared at the reception desk with no weapon and no cap. “Hurry up, ladies, the tower’s waiting on our report.”
Not daring to risk using his own voice in the guard’s presence, Jack nodded and danced another jig.
The watchman taunted the retreating duo. “You two wussies even go to the bathroom together.” He sniffed and returned to his business.
Jack quickened his pace. They reached the restroom and ducked under the staircase.
“Incredible, he bought it.”
Jack peeked out of their hiding place. “What? No faith in my disguises?” No one was in the lobby.
“You’re impossible. You were the one who was worried a minute ago.”
“They’re bound to catch on when the patrol returns.”
“What then?”
“Don’t worry. We just have to fool them long enough to find the Black Dwarf. Anyway, we can’t stay here.”
A clock struck three.
Feet pounded the steps above their heads. They sank into the shadows. He risked a peek into the
lobby.
Three dwarves came down the grand staircase. They crossed the lobby to the reception desk.
“Shift change, boss, this may be it.”
“We’re in luck. If they don’t catch the switch, the next shift may confuse us with the patrol.”
“If they don’t, we want to be as far from here as possible.”
They left their cover and slipped into the lounge. Empty torches lined the pillars. Dark gothic chandeliers slung from heavy chains hovered overhead. A circular fireplace dominated an atrium in the center. Blue nightlights lit the dark, and emergency lights directed guests to the exits. They followed the nightlights and stayed in the shadows. In his disguises, they were nearly invisible.
“Early dungeon.”
“Yeah, I’ll have to find out who their decorator was.”
Monsters of legend and literature posed about the lounge. A few leaned on rustic tables, and others reclined on the furniture. A collection of medieval weapons rested on a rack. They passed through the lounge, circled the fireplace, and headed for a long unused bar.
Lon Chaney, Jr., sipped a plastic pina colada with a cherry at the bar. The wax legend gazed wistfully at a blue parrot behind the bar.
“Werewolf of Nodlon,” Jack patted the robot on the shoulder. Lon’s robotic arm dropped from the bar and dangled from its wires.
“Creepy automatons,” muttered Shotgun.
They left the robotic werewolf to its plastic drink, and entered the mall. Moonlight drenched the mall from the skylights. The moonlight aided their progress. Going down the mall they put distance between themselves and the dwarves in the lobby. Hallways off the mall led to banks of lifts.
They reached an intersection, and the mall forked. Jack bounded up an escalator, and searched for a directory. Little shops encircled the balcony. He spied a salon offering face paint.
At the far end of the mall, more dwarves appeared on the grand staircase. Shotgun started, but said nothing.
Jack strolled away casually, and hoped they would not be seen.
The dwarves turned in another direction.
The walkway broadened into a food court. They sauntered across the court and passed a flower shop and a fine restaurant.
The walkway emptied onto a bridge. It soared over a courtyard and ended at the keep.
“Stay on your toes,” said Jack. “That’s the keep.” Jack headed over the bridge.
“Thank you, Sherlock,” muttered Shotgun. He hesitated and searched for booby traps. Teutonic warriors climbed the stone ivy carved into the bridge’s trusses. Then he followed the mage.
A fairy tale garden filled the courtyard below the bridge. Everywhere they looked was a ruin. The garden was in disrepair and neglect. The only exception was the statue in the center. The sight stopped them both dead in their tracks.
An Olympic-sized Black Dwarf stood astride the sun and the nine planets. An unseen light illuminated the dwarf, and the sun glowed. The solar system floated in a fountain under the dwarf. The warlock’s outstretched arms held a staff and a crystal ball. The twelve signs of the zodiac circled the fountain.
The forlorn garden cowered under the menacing dwarf.
“Whoa, I think we’ve found the Black Dwarf!” Shotgun whistled, “The madman’s got a colossal ego.”
“Look at what’s at his feet.” Jack spat.
“It’s the whole solar system.”
“Yeah, our nemesis plans to conquer the solar system.”
“He’s dreaming.”
“I’m afraid he’s not, Shotgun. If he can mesmerize the Proconsul of Moab, he’s a real threat.”
“Now we know we have to stop him.”
“Let’s try the keep, and see if he’s home.” Jack strode to the end of the bridge.
Two massive doors blocked their way. Iron hinges kept the doors in place, and iron braces held their planks together. Knockers were mounted too high for even an elf to use. Dragons wrought in iron served as handles.
Gargoyles guarded the doors. Carved pillars of fire squirreled up ribs of stone around the doors and over the entrance. The demons erupted from the fire and brandished an array of swords and maces.
“Welcome to the gates of hell,” muttered Shotgun.
“Look at the motto.”
“Abandon thy inhibitions, all ye who enter here,” read Shotgun. “What does that mean?”
“What indeed?” Jack said, “Careful what you wish for mortal. Not all that glitters is gold.”
A gargoyle carved in stone flames held out a security box. A red light flashed on the box.
“Please use your guest card,” said a feminine voice. “Or enter your admission code on the keypad provided.” The keypad lit up.
Jack ignored the box and tugged on a dragon. He cast a tether and pulled. The magic rocked the door, but it refused to open.
“Maybe it’s locked, boss.”
“Or the hinges are rusty.” He cast a maypole and rammed the door. The wood shuddered under the magic, but the door remained obstinate.
The security box repeated its message.
We’re unarmed save for my magic, and there’s only one way off the bridge. He looked back at the bridge. Good place for an ambush. There’s no escape unless I break the windows and levitate us out of here.
The box repeated its message.
He broke out in a cold sweat. Already tried that trick, got any new ideas? He glanced at the dwarf. “Any ideas?”
“Run?” Shotgun jerked his thumb back the way they had come.
Jack rubbed his clammy hands on his breeches. He felt a square object in his pocket. What’s this? It’s not my caster. That’s at the bottom of the lagoon. The box repeated its request. He pulled out the object. Bora Bora! It’s the guest card I found!
For no good reason, he flashed the card against the reader on the security box. A diode on the box lit up in green.
“Welcome to the Black Wharf,” said the box. “Please be advised, the keep is restricted to mature monsters. Exclusive pleasures await you. Enjoy.”
“Thank your lucky stars, boss.”
The doors spread of their own accord, and opened onto a vaulted nave. Not waiting, they crossed the threshold, and let the doors close. No black dwarves came, and no voice challenged them from the walls.
The torches in the nave were lit with projected flames, and on one side was an unmanned coat room. The architectural anomaly led to a dungeon passage. On either wall stood alcoves with hobgoblins, faeries, fauns, and other mythical creatures chained to the stone. They passed the monsters and crossed over a trap door into the inner keep.
Inside was a casino. A circular bar sat in a shallow well in the center. The bar formed the hub of rows of gaming tables. Blackjack, dice and poker tables competed with roulette wheels for space. Light flashed from the games.
Thick rafters held up the keep’s roof. Hanging from an iron cap was Bacchus. The mythical monarch sported a jolly grin, and he swung on a wrought iron vine above a cornucopia. Fruit and treasures showered on the bar from the cornucopia. Bacchus and the grapes glowed.
The dwarf craned his neck and took in the sight. “The ancients knew how to live.”
“While others perished,” said Jack.
“Yes, it makes one wonder what would happen if they had left everyone alone.”
Undaunted by the size of the keep’s floor, eight balconies choked with more games circled the keep. A forest of bar stools crowded each table and the whole packed the keep. Against the walls, empty restaurants offered every cuisine Jack had heard of and a few he could not identify.
“Nine rings, Shotgun.”
“What?”
“Eight balconies and the center: The nine rings of Casino Bacchus.”
Shotgun counted the balconies, “Yeah, you’re right boss; nine rings.”
“Nine rings of hell, Shotgun. The masters of the universe played here while biots fought wars to pay for it all.”
“Tru
e enough boss, but it’s history. Let’s stay focused all right?”
“Is it history? I wonder Shotgun. What if it’s connected?”
“What if it’s connected? Oh, I’m sure you’re right. I’m a dwarf, you’re a half-elf, and we live it Nodlon.” Shotgun sighed, “But we have immediate problems. We’ve got to stop the Black Dwarf.”
“But how, Shotgun?” said Jack. “How is it connected? I’m missing a clue there somewhere.”
“Boss, remember the solar system? This guy’s a megalomaniac, and he’s open for business.” Shotgun flicked Jack. “Those lights aren’t for show.” He pointed to the top floor. “Someone’s up there.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
A bank of lifts waited for riders. As an alternative, a flight of stairs curled up the keep.
“Stairs, Shotgun.”
“Do we need the exercise?”
“We need space if it comes to a fight. I don’t want to be trapped in a lift.”
“Can we fly?”
“No, I want to know what we’re up against before they find out we’re here.” They climbed a few flights without seeing anyone.
A pair of dwarves appeared. They slung their lightning guns slung over their shoulders, circled the balcony, and headed down the stairs.
Jack poked Shotgun. He held up a finger to his lips, and gestured up the stairs. The dwarf nodded. He checked their disguises and upgraded their lightning guns to blasters. As long I’m creating illusions, we could carry Mach 5’s, but it might attract attention.
They kept climbing. Only a flight away, he renewed their shields.
The dwarves descended without speaking. They watched their feet.
As Jack passed the dwarves, he noted their blank faces. One bore a red chip, and the other had a black chip. Neither dwarf looked up as they passed, and they said nothing. Jack sighed with relief.
“Hey,” said the red dwarf.
Jack froze. He half-turned and looked over his shoulder. The dwarves looked up at them.
The red dwarf pointed at the carpet.
What? Jack searched the carpet. Scarlet splotches marred the motley pattern. The spots led down the staircase and around the landing.
“What’s that?” the dwarf asked.
Not for the first time, Jack wondered if biotic intelligence was a cruel disease. Dwarves are terribly clever, but intelligence is wasted on them. Always ready to serve, but it rarely benefits anyone especially the one who possesses it.
He deliberately lifted his feet one at a time and examined the soles of his boots. “Must have stepped in something,” he ground his boots against the steps. He wiped his boots and watched the dwarves in the corner of his eye.
The dwarves went on their way. He waited for the dwarves to go and snuck a peek over the rail. They were going down.
He lowered the illusion on his arm and searched his bandages. He found a damp patch of water and blood and swallowed hard. Why is it moist? Is it seawater? Am I bleeding?
Jack and Shotgun resumed their climb. At the top, windows circled the keep. Curtains covered all but one large window. He strolled up to the window and peeked inside. He doubled back and bumped into Shotgun.
“It’s a control room,” said Jack. His wound tingled. “Maybe it’s ground zero.”
“The watchman said the tower was waiting. He called it a tower, boss. We’re in the keep.”
“What is this place then? Banks of monitors are in there, and it’s crawling with black dwarves. It’s got to be something.”
“The keep is the center of this theme park. I bet it’s the operations center. Before I was busted for hacking, I worked on a data acquisition system for the military. We were on thin layers hardwired to the system, and they had us working out of an office near an operations center. The center monitored all of Nodlon’s data flow. Once, I had to repair a cable tray in there, and I watched the operators. Too much data was flowing through, and the operators couldn’t follow it all. They didn’t really control anything though. They just used it to get the big picture and then they reported to the Octagon.”
“Even better then, maybe we can locate their headquarters tower from here without alerting anyone. We’ve gotten this far. We just need some proof we can get back to the Crown, and we can get some backup to stop it.”
“Boss, are you naïve? The Crown isn’t coming down here. This is bigger than anything we thought of. We’re being invaded, and their leader is a magician who can control minds. If we don’t sabotage this place and defeat the Black Dwarf, we’re never getting out of here.”
“Invasion? How can this be an invasion? These are our dwarves. They may be brainwashed, but it’s some kind of techno-wizardry. The Black Dwarf may be crazy, but he’s just a terrorist.”
“What about the victims? If this is a Martian invasion, why not kill dwarf maidens and leave a trail of bodies?” Shotgun shrugged. “Maybe he is trying to start a panic. Nodlon’s in an uproar. It’s worse than you imagine. Living in Babel Tower, you literally have your head in the clouds.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Jack nodded. “I am out of touch. But I have eyes, and everyone’s evacuating. Support for war must be high as a kite. Leaving bodies around only increases the support for a war with Mars. It just makes no sense though. If you’re recruiting dwarves to fight Nodlon, why murder the dwarves?”
“Maybe they only kill the ones they can’t turn into zombies? How should I know?” As if remembering where they were, Shotgun glanced around looking for dwarves.
“We have one advantage, Shotgun. If we stun the dwarves, we can deprogram them. If we rescue the dwarves, maybe they can help us stop the invasion.”
“Good idea, boss.” The dwarf lowered his voice, “Company.”
“You two!”
The cry startled Jack, and he turned around without thinking. The door of the operations center stood open. A black dwarf held the door open with his foot. He sported a captain’s cap with golden macaroni embossed on its brim.
Macaroni! He’s an officer! Flattery will appease his suspicions. Jack straightened up and saluted Nodlon style. Beside him, Shotgun followed suit.
“Have you forgotten how to salute?” The captain’s fist shot into the air demonstrating the proper salute. “Try it again!”
They imitated Macaroni’s salute and punched the air with their fists.
Macaroni stuck his nose in the air and assumed a smug look. He smirked. “Now drop and give me twenty.”
From his days as a conscript, Jack recalled the discipline. He levitated to the floor and completed a half push-up. He winced as the pain shot up his arm and threatened to overwhelm him. Shotgun can’t do this, but we’ve got to keep up appearances. He levitated Shotgun, and let their disguises sham the humiliating motions.
Despite the magic holding him up, pain stabbed him. It ran up his wounded arm and down his back. He fought not to faint. He concentrated on their disguises and made them as impenetrable as possible. Spying isn’t glamorous!
Macaroni stepped onto the balcony. “Why are you lollygagging out here?” All he could see was the captain’s boots.
“Lunch break, sir,” Jack choked.
“Get your chow out of the break room, and get back to your posts. And if I see you loitering outside the watch room again, I’ll personally escort you to Master Nimrod, and let him dine on your brains.”
“Yes sir.”
Macaroni retreated to the control room, but he watched them from the window. Their disguises bobbed up and down on the balcony. Satisfied, the captain left the window and resumed his duties.
He levitated them both, but he struggled to stand. His wound sent out waves of pain, and they backed away from the watch room window and rested.
“Grumpy pinhead,” said Shotgun.
“Odd though, he certainly wasn’t one of the brain dead zombies.”
“Curiouser and curiouser.”
Jack tried the next door, but it was locked. Quickly, h
e tried the next and found it locked. They retraced their steps to the top of the stairs. He expected the next door to be locked, but it swung open easily.
The door revealed a break room and a kitchenette with a fridge and dual zappers. Another pair of dwarves sat at a table mindlessly chewing their food. On the wall was a blank vid screen. Plain doors led to the adjacent offices.
Jack spotted trays of food on the counter, and pangs of hunger hit him. He was famished. They had not eaten in two days. He was not used to missing a meal, and he briefly pondered how the ancients survived.
Rice and beans shared the trays with meatloaf mush. A few lonely onions swam in a puddle of brown goo. A dispenser with yellow and pink liquids sat next to a thermos of coffee.
He took a disposable plate and some utensils. He took a cup and poured a coffee. He loaded the plate and sat down and ate. Shotgun followed his lead and joined him. The food was cold and bland, but hunger made the best appetizer. Soon they devoured a considerable quantity.
Their presence finally registered in the dwarves’ addled brains or triggered some forgotten sense of etiquette. Either way, one of the dwarves spoke, “You’re nearly too late. We’ve got to be at the airfield at dawn for the invasion of Nodlon.”
Jack stuffed his mouth to disguise his voice. “Yes, let us eat. We have to hurry.”
The dwarves bussed their table, washed their hands, and covered the food as if going to war was an everyday occurrence for black dwarves. Finished, the dwarves left.
Jack started to raise his hand, but Shotgun held it down. “They’re mesmerized. It’s like they’re sleepwalking. They don’t know what they’re doing.”
“Right,” Jack checked himself.
He took a second helping, and scarfed down another portion. He felt his strength and equilibrium return.
“Master Nimrod,” said Jack. “Macaroni said he’d take us to Master Nimrod.”
“Could he be the Black Dwarf?”
“Yes, you’re thinking what I’m thinking, Shotgun,” Jack pushed his plate away. “Master Nimrod may the Black Dwarf.”
“He might be a lieutenant.” Shotgun leaned back in his chair. “Then again, dim Bob may only be the Black Dwarf’s right hand man.”
“Nimrod, dim Bob, or whatever he’s called,” said Jack. “He’s big cheese.”
Thinking ahead, he searched the kitchenette for a means to take some food. He found a paper bag with a handle and appropriated the aluminum foil covering the food. He wrapped as much food as possible in the foil and put the impromptu pouches into the bag.
“What’s that for?”
“Now we have another meal, if we survive long enough to eat it.”
“Optimist,” Shotgun scoffed.
He handed the bag to his dwarf. “Can you get the handle over your head?”
“No sooner said than done,” said Shotgun. He slipped the bag’s handle around his neck. “It’s a good morning to save Nodlon from the Black Dwarf, no matter who he’s working for.”
“Yes, and again, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Can’t let you save Nodlon and have all the fun without me.”
“Let’s try the back door,” Jack put a hand on a door knob. He hesitated, “When we reach the watch room, Macaroni won’t be so cool while we sabotage his operations center. Any suggestions?”
“Yes, give yourself a promotion now, and grab a couple of real lightning guns.”
“Good ideas. We can set the guns to stun, and the dwarves will snap out of the zombie state.” He altered his disguise to mimic Macaroni’s uniform. “How do I look?”
“Nice cap.”
“Here we go.” Jack cast shields and turned the knob.
