The Curse of Greg

by Chris Rylander

  I nodded slowly, suddenly realizing that I knew she was right even if I hadn’t known it before now. I had always felt better, calmer, during the times I was in the Underground—much in the same way being outside in sunny eighty-degree weather just naturally made most Humans happy.

  “Where are you taking us, anyway?” Glam asked, clearly getting impatient with Yoley’s mostly silent wandering.

  “To see Kimmy,” Yoley said.

  “Kimmy?” Glam asked like she’d just taken a bite of a rotten apple. “Who’s Kimmy?”

  “Kimmuren Bitterspine,” Yoley said. “Ye elected chief of ye NOLA Dwarven Committee. Ye lady’s going to be right tickled that ye Council in Chicago hath finally sent us some reinforcements. We’ve been asking for comfort for nearly a fortnight now past.”

  “Well, we’re actually here to—” Ari started, attempting to explain that we hadn’t actually been sent by the Council, and that we were there on our own mission, and not to help them specifically.

  But Yoley cut her off excitedly.

  “I knoweth, I knoweth,” Yoley said. “Y’alls be mighty youthful. But we sure do needeth all ye help we can receiveth, nonetheless. What with all them monsters running to and fro all about these surroundings and whatnot. I desire thee art all ready for some serious fighting!”

  * * *

  – –

  Kimmuren “Kimmy” Bitterspine was unlike any Dwarf I’d ever met.

  Okay, so yeah, most of the “known” Dwarves in my life thus far (including me) had all been a bit short and round. But only slightly—still well within the realm of most Humans’ body types. Some Dwarves, including Eagan, Yoley, and Froggy, were actually pretty thin.

  Kimmy, however, filled a room. She engulfed a massive chair, like a throne, at the center of a large chamber. Except that her “throne” was actually a huge leather recliner with the retractable footrest lodged in the Up position.

  I was instantly struck by the grandness of her presence, both physically and psychologically. Seeing her almost made me want to literally drop to my knees and kneel before her like she was a king or queen. She was quite simply imposing. Almost enviable in some strange way. And it extended all the way to her puffy yet regal feet, which dangled bare off the end of the recliner’s footrest like two huge marshmallows.

  Part of her power came from looking ageless. She was definitely an adult, in the sense that she was at least eighteen. But beyond that, it was nearly impossible to tell how old she was. Kimmy might have been nineteen years old, but she just as easily could have been sixty. Her skin was smooth and shiny, with a luster not unlike gold. Her movements were quick and youthful, despite the impressive size of her limbs, but her eyes looked like they belonged to someone who’d lived close to a century.

  The best part was how she greeted our arrival: with thunderous laughter that filled the chamber like laughing gas.

  “Blessed be, blessed be!” she cried through tears of joy. “I sure am happy to see the lot of y’all. Even if you are a bit scrawny for Dwarves!”

  Next to me, Glam puffed up her chest trying to look every bit as imposing as she normally was. Scrawny was the last word anyone would usually use to describe Glam. But I had to admit, in the presence of Kimmy, Glamenhilda Shadowpike looked about as imposing as a lone dandelion swaying in the wind.

  “Thanks for welcoming us so kindly,” Ari said. “But we must say that—”

  “Nonsense!” Kimmy declared. “Nothing at all must be said at the moment, darlin’. First let us celebrate your arrival with a feast!”

  “But we really must—” Ari tried again.

  “Eat?” Kimmy thundered joyously. “I know! The Lords know I know! You read my mind, sweetie. So that’s what we’re fixin’ to do! Let’s feast like we’re all gonna die someday!”

  We could tell that she was the sort of Dwarf for whom, when she decreed something, it happened whether you liked it or not. It didn’t matter that you were in a rush to find Elves that could save your dad (and might possibly be planning to destroy the world). You simply could not argue with Kimmy Bitterspine, that much was clear.

  And so we barely managed to sputter half a protest as we were suddenly whisked into a room just a short way down the hall. A pair of wooden doors opened right on our arrival, as if they’d been expecting us for dinner all along.

  The room within was less a room and more one of the grandest dining halls I’d ever seen (Underground or otherwise). At least in size—it still wasn’t exactly what I would call fancy. That’s not Dwarves’ style. The room was nearly the size of a football field and lined with tables and cooking stations. Our Underground had a cafeteria for government workers, but mostly we all just ate by ourselves in our apartments. Clearly the NOLA Dwarves, however, ate almost every meal together as a massive group.

  The dining hall was filled with smaller tables that surrounded a giant polished-maple forty-seater in the center. The entire room probably sat close to three or four hundred at full capacity, but at the moment only the grand table in the middle was set with utensils. Somehow Kimmy was already there sitting in the middle seat along one of the broad sides of the long rectangle. In addition to already being set up with plates and silverware, the table was also covered with massive platters of food.

  Suddenly the urgency to find the Elves right this second diminished as our perpetually hungry Dwarven stomachs took over. We quickly sat down in five empty seats across from Kimmy and dug in.*

  We feasted on Dwarven-smithed metal trays filled with all sorts of local delicacies: battered and fried alligator sweetbreads, shrimp étouffée, sausage gumbo, at least twenty pounds of crawfish, piles of chicken gizzards, a cauldron of jambalaya with no less than six kinds of proteins in it, dozens and dozens of fresh oysters—so many that the empty shells could have filled two barrels—at least six pans of corn bread, and several massive, colorful king cakes, among many other foods.

  Kimmy allowed no business talk at the table. After stuffing my face with two full plates of food, I had finally taken a breath so I could bring up why we were there. But she stopped me with a simple hand gesture before I even got a word out.

  “I know what you’re about to say, darlin’,” she said. “Let me stop you. We don’t talk shop while eating. We don’t disrespect our chefs like that—we focus on the food. Now, we can converse and chitchat about all manner of unimportant things, but only such that is deemed fun and polite and not more significant than this here spread of delectable treats.”

  I wanted to argue, especially now that my stomach had shifted from starving to only slightly hungry. But I knew she would be valuable in finding the Elves, and I didn’t want to insult her, especially after such welcoming hospitality so far. Besides, Dwarves were notoriously fast eaters and so at this rate the whole dinner would be over in less than thirty minutes, start to finish.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said instead, and then shoved another andouille sausage link into my mouth.

  Instead of business talk, in between bites, the NOLA Dwarves regaled us with all sorts of colorful tales about local Dwarven history. For example, one of Kimmy’s closest advisers, a young Dwarf named Doddgogg Hornheart was named after his great-great-great-grandpappy Johnny Dodds. Who was supposedly one of the legendary founders of American jazz (and whose real Dwarven name was Jonkdodd Hornheart).

  Less than an hour later, we were back in the, uh, throne room, I guess you could call it, barely standing, with our hands on our stomachs as if holding it all together. As Dwarves, it was normally hard to feel full. Our two basic states were either starving or just kinda hungry. But after feasting with Kimmy and her inner circle of advisers for close to forty-five minutes (which, as I said, is a pretty long meal for Dwarves), we were weak in the knees and about to explode.

  But at least Kimmy was finally ready to talk about important matters.

  “I guess what surprises m
e most,” Kimmy started, more reserved now as she leaned back in her huge recliner chair, but still as animated as an actual cartoon character, “is that the Council would send a party down here and not inform us. That’s almost lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut!”

  “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,” Ari said. “We weren’t—”

  “Trying to tell me what? That you’re here to help? I know it, dear girl, I know it,” Kimmy said, shaking her head. “That really just dills my pickle! But then there’s only five of you. We need many more than that. At least thirty! I mean, I don’t suppose there’s any chance y’all could ask your Council for more troops, is there? Maybe some who are fittin’ to legally drink while they’re at it! I mean, look at you, y’alls is barely older than my son, Giggles!”

  “We can’t do that,” Ari said, speaking rapidly. “Because the Council didn’t send us here to help you.”

  “They didn’t?” Kimmy asked. “Well, then wHy in tarnation did they send you?”

  “They didn’t send us at all,” Ari said. “We came on our own for a different sort of mission.”

  “Hah! Color me red and call me a barn!” Kimmy said with surprisingly good humor. “Why didn’t you just say so from the start?”

  She filled the hall with more explosive laughter. Ari looked as if she was going to lose her mind for a second. But then she glanced at me and Glam and merely shrugged at Kimmy.

  “Well, shoot!” Kimmy yelled, switching from laughter to frustration in an instant. Even her angry state had a kind of infectiously optimistic energy to it. “Darn! Darn, darn, darn, dagnabbit, son of a butcher! Shoot. I mean, shucks to heck in a handbasket! I’m about to have a dying-duck fit with a burr in my saddle! Pardon me, folks. Didn’t mean to cuss quite so offensively. But I’m right upset, you see. We have ourselves quite a situation seeing as we’re as busy as a one-legged cat in a sandbox. And I thought y’all was here to aid and assist us. And now, well, I’m rightly disappointed that ain’t the case.”

  We looked around uncomfortably. It certainly didn’t feel good to be welcomed as saviors and then to so ruthlessly disappoint your hosts. Even I was starting to feel disappointed in myself and I hadn’t even done anything wrong, technically!

  “Fact is,” Kimmy continued, speaking as quietly as I’d heard her be since we arrived. “We got a problem. You see, nobody ’cept some legendary cleric named Trevorthunn Stormbelly ever expected magic to come back! And so we—well, to be right frank with y’all, we really kind of let our standards for Separate Earth combat training fall by the wayside. As did many other local Committees around the globe. Sounds like there in the Dwarven Capital City of Chicago is one of the few places in the world that still has an active Dwarven Sentry.

  “So now the whole Dwarven community worldwide is stretched thin for instructors and weapons for proper training! We’re woefully ill-suited to deal with all these monsters at the moment. That’s not even mentioning magic! I mean, now that Fenmir Mystmossman has trained himself a few underling teachers, that still only leaves a dozen for the whole global community. And NOLA apparently ain’t high on the list of priorities ’cause not one of them magic instructors has been here even once! So every time there’s a burst of naturally occurring Galdervatn nearby, we got several Dwarves around here with the Ability doing all sorts of strange magical stuff they don’t fully understand. But anyway, I’m sorry for talking your ears off with our problems. What about y’all, then? If you’re not here on the orders of the Council, then why are you here? What’s this mission you spoke of?”

  Ari and I proceeded to explain to Kimmy and her advisers how we had befriended Stoney and what he had told us about the things he saw and heard as a prisoner in New Orleans.

  “Yeah,” Kimmy said at the end of our story. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, we got Elves around here. Sure, we got Elves. And by George’s Great Gander, they’re definitely up to something. ’Course, we don’t rightly know what. Because, frankly, we got bigger problems. Like the monsters and what-have-you.”

  “Wait!” Glam demanded. “You mean you knew Elves were around here, up to no good, and you did nothing?”

  Kimmy looked at Glam for several seconds, but it felt like minutes in the rare silence.

  “Girl, you got yourself a mighty fine stache for such a youngling,” Kimmy finally said. “Which maybe explains why you assume everything you say is correct and right. I bet your whole life, people have been bending over backward for you.”

  “Hey now—” I started.

  But Kimmy held up a meaty paw, cutting me off without a word.

  “Because had you developed the ability to listen to others,” Kimmy explained to Glam, “then you would have heard what I’ve been saying this whole time. We did do something. We told the Council in Chicago about these Elves many times. We asked for help investigating matters further. We were dismissed out of hand. Same as with the help we requested for MPMs. ‘Not enough resources,’ they said. ‘Deal with it yourselves,’ they said. Remember: we don’t have a single Dwarf here who has any training whatsoever on how to control Dwarven magic or cast spells and such.”

  Glam breathed out her frustration in a long and slow sigh. Then she nodded. And what else could she do? We’d been on two MPMs, after all, and there was no way we would have stood a chance in either of them without our training. And MPMs were probably like playing dolls compared with taking on a whole faction of Elves.

  “Y’all see our predicament now?” Kimmy asked.

  Glam nodded again. But her fists were still clenched at her sides.

  “But can you at least tell us where the Elves are?” Glam said. “If you can’t stop them, we will. Or at least die trying.”

  Kimmy sighed. Then laughed. Then shook her head sadly. It was like watching someone spin a wheel of emotions.

  “I can,” she finally said. “But, dear children, it really pains me to see y’all go. I really, truly thought y’all was here to help us. Lords know we need it. Something bad, we need it. But if you must . . .”

  “Wait,” I said, speaking before really thinking through what I was about to say.

  The room was silent, all eyes were on me.

  There was no backing out now. That was not what Dwarves or any good people did.

  “I’d like to offer a deal,” I said. “We will help you with one or two MPMs. We’ll take some of your most promising warriors with us and teach them what we know during the missions—about magic and about fighting monsters and using ancient Dwarven weapons. Then you show us where the Elves are. And if any of your newly trained warriors, and hopefully a newly allied monster or two, want to help us, then we’d certainly welcome it. And when we get back to Chicago, we’ll do our best to get the Council to send reinforcements your way. But no promises on that. You know how Dwarves can be about taking action . . .”

  Kimmy burst out laughing and nodded.

  “Yes, sir, I do,” she bellowed. “I like you. You’ve got fire in your guts. And you’re cute.” She turned toward one of her advisers. “He’s cute.” Then she addressed me again. “That’s a mightily generous offer you make. And we’ll gladly accept. There are dozens of reported monsters in the area in the past week alone. But there’s one in particular that’s a real doozy. A Moonwraith has been terrorizing people in St. Louis Cemetery #2 for going on a week now.”

  “Oh dear,” Ari said quietly.

  Lake exhaled suddenly, like he’d just been punched in the lungs.

  I didn’t remember learning much about Wraiths in any of our classes yet, but I got the sense everyone else did. Even the normally overconfident Glam shook her head miserably. The Bloodletter, from where it was stowed in an adjacent room, confirmed just how dire this was.

  Oh man, that’s bad, Greggdroule, he said. Wraiths are undead spectral entities. They have only a partial presence in the realm of the living.

  So? I though
t back. What does that mean?

  It means that all your Dwarven swords and axes and weapons will be darn near useless against it. Including me.

  CHAPTER 23

  I Discover My True Language Is

  We got to know our new NOLA companions a little while hanging out in their Underground, planning, and waiting for midnight (which we were told was the hour at which Moonwraiths first appear) to roll around.

  It was hard for me to sit there and make small talk when I knew the answer to fixing my dad might be somewhere in that very city. Might even be as close as a few blocks away. And also that Edwin, my former best friend, could also be there in New Orleans, nearby. But I knew the path to finding out these things (and the right thing to do) was to help the NOLA Dwarves with some of their local monster sightings and MPMs first.

  They had an area that was sort of like our Arena back home. A place where all the kids hung out and had fun and did Dwarfy things. But their version of the Arena was a lot smaller and less traditional. There were supplies for more modern activities. Stuff like baseball gloves, footballs, old video arcade games, and board games.

  The weirdly familiar newness of the place helped put my dad, and Edwin, and facing off against an army of Elves out of my mind. At least enough so that I could focus on getting to know the locals who were going to come along with us on the Moonwraith hunt:

  • Yoley Ashbender: As one of the few NOLA Dwarves obsessed with ancient Dwarven culture, she refused to be left out of this. She and Lake had a blast that evening discussing various Separate Earth Dwarven dialects they’d studied as they played an old video arcade fantasy game called Golden Axe III. I didn’t catch much of their conversation, but it turns out that many of the world’s “modern” languages (including English) are derived from an ancient Dwarven dialect called . If I tried to pronounce it for you, I might choke on my own tongue.