Moonshine Wizard

by Phillip Drayer Duncan

  New recruits. The very notion was terrifying. If these were just inexperienced newbs, then Robert was right. He didn’t want to face the real deal.

  The man continued, “Even now your friends and allies believe they have beaten us. They believe they’ve driven us from the square. With a single command, the full weight of my force will descend upon them. And I assure you, not one of your people will survive.”

  “Unless I pinkie promise to find the object for you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, guess what, Captain Self-Righteous, I was already on that mission. So, this was a complete waste.”

  “Purging the wicked is never a waste. Do we have an understanding?”

  “Yeah,” Bert replied. “Just give me a number I can reach you at when I find the damn thing.”

  The man fixed him with a hard stared. “Understand, demon, if you cross us—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bert cut him off. “Hell and damnation, purging and ponies. Got it.”

  “We’ll kill every person you’ve ever tainted with your vileness.” The man glared at him a few moments longer, then pressed a button on his watch. “All forces retreat. We’re done in this unholy cesspit.”

  He stepped forward and handed Bert a sheet of paper with a number scribbled on it, then turned to leave.

  Bert called after him. “Hey, just so you know, berets stopped being cool in the nineties.”

  The man didn’t reply and the Brotherhood disappeared into the alley.

  “Well, that went well,” Sharp said. “They seem like a really reasonable group.”

  “Yeah,” Bert replied. “We should invite them for a nice Sunday Brunch sometime.”

  He shook his head and started trying to figure out how to get back to his friends.

  ***

  Jim stared at the giant debris pile. If Bert was under there he was surely dead. He tried to recall those last few moments with clarity, but his eyes hadn’t been on Bert. They’d been on the little girl.

  Around him, his friends stared at the debris pile with the same dumbstruck look. Hunter had his arms crossed and three assault rifles dangling from his back as souvenirs. Neil was down on one knee, trying to give his best ‘casual lack of concern’ look, but Jim could see the worry in his eyes. Kevin just looked frustrated, running a hand through his long hair. None of them knew the first thing about sifting through a debris pile. To make things worse, the entire pile looked as though it could shift and collapse further at any moment.

  There was one thing that Jim hadn’t thought to do recently. “Has anyone tried calling out to him yet? If not, then I’m going to try again right now.”

  Kevin and Neil both shook their heads.

  Jim closed his eyes and called out to his friend. “Bert?”

  Almost immediately he got a reply. “Yes?”

  “Guys, he answered!” he said aloud. Then speaking to Bert again, “Are you all right? Where are you?”

  “Turn around,” he replied.

  “Huh?”

  “I’m right behind you,” Bert said in his actual voice. “Ta-dah.”

  Jim, along with all their friends, spun around to find Bert standing right behind them. His clothes were ragged and he was covered in dirt, but he was alive and smiling.

  Neil gave Jim an accusing glare. “You said he was under the pile.”

  “I was,” Bert replied, then turned to Jim. “What happened to the girl? Is she all right?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine,” Jim replied. “You should’ve seen Hunter catch her. It was epic.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Hunter said, then grinned. “Okay, yeah, it was pretty badass.”

  “You could’ve called out to one of us,” Kevin said, glowering at Bert. “Let us know you were all right.”

  “Well, I thought you guys might still be busy,” Bert replied. “Besides. I wanted to mess with Jim.”

  “Dick move,” Neil said. “You broke Jim’s tiny little heart. He was worried sick.”

  “And you weren’t?” Bert asked.

  Neil shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

  “And I’m the dick,” Bert replied. “Come on, guys. Let’s go find Brock to see if we can help anything, then let’s get the hell out of here.”

  ***

  Bert hurried toward Brock, the others in tow. Mostly, he was trying to avoid further questions. They’d risked their lives and deserved to know the truth about the Brotherhood’s motives, but he couldn’t tell them. Despite everything that had just happened, it was still too dangerous. The truth was a liability to a mass of dark wizards, evil clowns, and the other jackasses who’d threatened him. If his friends new the truth, they’d be murdered right alongside him. As long as he kept them in the dark, there was a chance they’d be left alone. Besides, he’d been forbidden from talking about his mission anyway.

  They found Brock tending wounded on the other end of the square. A constant flow of people approached her, asking questions and then moving on. It was clear she’d taken control of the situation and the people of the Underbelly were trusting in her leadership.

  As he approached, she glanced up at him and snorted. “You look like shit.”

  “Well, that’s about how I feel,” he replied.

  “I think that’s how we all feel. I still can’t wrap my head around it. Why attack us?”

  “Because they’re assholes,” he replied, unsure what else to say. “What happens now?”

  She shrugged. “We search the town for injured, try to account for those missing, mourn, and then rebuild. There’s going to be more than a few broken families. I imagine some folks will leave.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.

  “Why?” she asked, fixing him with a hard glare. “You didn’t do this to us. If it weren’t for you and your friends, we’d likely all be dead. There’s folks are already referring to you as the Heroes of the Underbelly.”

  He almost laughed. Heroes. He didn’t feel like a goddamned hero. He felt like a backstabbing coward. The intelligent and logical part of his mind knew there was no one to blame but the Brotherhood, yet, at that uncontrollable gut level, he couldn’t help but to blame himself. He wasn’t one to carry guilt for things out of his control, nor inclined to feel sorry for himself, but on some level, he knew he’d always carry this one with him.

  “We aren’t heroes,” he said finally. “Just a handful of stubborn assholes.”

  She gave him a solemn nod and said, “You should go.”

  “I thought you might need help.”

  “We do,” she admitted. “But like I said, there’s already rumors flying about the Heroes of the Underbelly. And right now, these folks need someone to believe in. Some of them just lost everything. If you can’t put on a stage face, then you’re more harm than good.”

  She was right, and the idea had never even occurred to him. She’d make a hell of a mayor.

  “Besides,” she continued, “Carter has been notified. I’m guessing he’ll want to talk to you.”

  “Oh,” he replied. He should’ve known. The Hand might not do much to help these people, but their home had just been a supernatural warzone. Sheriff Grumpy Pants would want all the details. “And he’ll be extra pissed if he learns I was involved and didn’t report to him immediately.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Besides, we’ve already reached out to Mack. He’s sending people to help.”

  “So, you’re going to run for Mayor, right?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It looks that way. The only other person who might’ve run is dead.”

  Bert nodded. “Well, for what it’s worth, you’ll have our support.”

  “Yeah,” Jim said, moving in to join the conversation. “We’re going to help you rebuild. Anything you need, we’ll be here to help. Today was… Just know, we’re here to help.”

  “I know,” she replied. “Now quit bugging me and get the hell out of here before these people start to realize their new heroes are human.”


  Bert nodded and made to step away.

  “Oh, wait,” Brock said. “I nearly forgot. Rickett told me to tell you, you ain’t half bad, kid.”

  “Rickett?” Bert asked, then realization crossed his features. “You mean Gus?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Gus Rickett, the crotchety old man. He’s scouring for the missing.”

  “Tell him I said thanks,” Bert said, and turned to leave.

  Just then, a man approached carrying a wooden crate, his face a bit nervous. “Uh, Brock, we think they left this behind. Pretty sure it’s explosives. What do we do with them?”

  Brock turned back to Bert and company. “Can you take them? An accidental explosion is the last thing we need right now.”

  Bert was about to refuse, but Kevin stepped forward. “Heck yeah, we’ll take them.”

  Kevin took the crate from the man, a gleam of excitement in his eyes at the prospect of new toys to tinker with. They probably would be safer in his possession, and with his enhanced strength, he could carry them easily.

  Together, they headed for the exit and back up the stairs.

  As they crested the top, Bert glanced over his shoulder at the Underbelly, just as he’d looked at it when they’d first arrived. It seemed different somehow. It wasn’t the smoke or destruction, but rather, his own feeling of the place. The sorrow at the atrocities he’d seen. The stubborn willingness of the people to live, to fight, and protect their home. He didn’t pity them. He admired them. And going forward, if he somehow survived, he’d do more to help them. The rest of the world could ignore them, but he wouldn’t. And what he would do, was kill as many members of the Brotherhood as possible.

  Noticing his friends had stopped as well, he glanced over at them. “You wanted to know about Senechal.”

  He glanced at each of them in turn, then shrugged. “The Hand was looking for a few extra wizards to join a war party. Arthur was part of it, and asked if I wanted to tag along. The pay was good and the lead was weak. They sent the real troops for the better leads, but just wanted a team to check this one out. I figured, what the hell? Make a few bucks, and the chance of running into the guy was null. I was wrong. A lot of wizards got killed just trying to locate the prick. Hell, by the time we found him, our little team was all that was left. We caught him in the middle of a big nasty spell, but he wasn’t alone. To keep a long story short, he took out the more powerful wizards first. Before I knew it, it was just him and me. He hit me with a spell he didn’t think I could block. He was mostly right, but he was arrogant. Thought I was dead. He dropped his defenses and went back to working on his spell. So, I drew my gun and shot him in the back.”

  He paused, shrugging. “I didn’t beat Senechal with magic. I didn’t out wizard him. I played into his arrogance and got lucky.”

  Bert’s friends nodded at him, but no one spoke. He hadn’t told them everything. He hadn’t told them that Sharp was the one who’d shielded him from the spell. If it hadn’t been for the sword, he would’ve been dead.

  “You still won,” Neil said. “In the end, you survived and he didn’t. Just like today.”

  Bert nodded. “Right. Just like today.”

  Chapter 32

  His friends headed home to clean up, each riding their own roller coaster of emotions after what they’d just experienced, and debating the lies they’d tell to explain away their cuts, bruises, and ruined clothes. If they were lucky, they’d make it back to Bert’s before the ladies, and be cleaned up and grilling delicious meat stuffs when the females arrived. Bert headed for Carter’s office.

  Carter was going to be pissed. There was no way around it. A war with the Brotherhood of the Magic Bane right here in his little dominion, and Bert right in the middle of it. He’d be lucky if Carter didn’t pull the stick from his ass and beat him to death with it.

  He also wondered if any of the explosions had rattled the ground topside. The Hand of Magic could cover it up easily enough. Just a minor earthquake, folks. Nothing to concern yourself over.

  As he approached the Beast, he remembered he’d brought along an extra set of clothes. Prudent planning, but at the rate he was losing clothes, he’d ended up dying naked before this was all over. Gus would be proud.

  He sat down in the front seat with a sigh, clicking in his seat belt for starting the ignition.

  “I grow impatient, Waylon Drake,” a voice said from beside him.

  He whipped his head around and realized Dasfarus was sitting his passenger seat. Had he been there the whole time? He didn’t know, but the dark wizard didn’t appear any less threatening than before, still clad in dark robes and glaring at Bert with menace in his eyes.

  “Sharp, didn’t you sense him?” Bert asked.

  “Perhaps,” the sword replied. “Perhaps not. Maybe I wanted you to be surprised.”

  “Maybe you’re full of crap.”

  “Maybe.”

  Bert stared at Dasfarus a moment and said, “So, how’s it going?”

  Dasfarus stared ahead and said, “I understand there was commotion in that pit below the city. Does this mean you have what I’ve been looking for?”

  Uh oh, Bert thought, and aloud he said, “Unfortunately, no. I’m getting close, though.”

  “Are you?”

  Okay, Bert, time for a big bluff, he told himself. Out loud he said, “Oh, yeah sure. I’ve got all kinds of leads, just got to track down the right one.”

  His face didn’t reveal a trace of emotion, but he said, “I don’t like being lied to.”

  “I don’t like big scary wizards appearing in my vehicle, so I guess we’re on equal footing,” Bert replied, then mentally kicked himself as Dasfarus’s gaze turned back toward him. “Look, you came to me for a reason. I’ll get the job done.”

  “So far you haven’t lived up to your recommendation. I expect results.”

  “I’ll find it. Don’t worry. You just relax those sphincter muscles and go do…well, whatever the hell it is dark scary wizards do when they aren’t threatening me. Go play bingo or knit a sweater.”

  “You’re running out of time. This little incident will bring too much attention to this area. Attention I aim to avoid. If I haven’t heard from you by tomorrow at midnight, I’ll assume you’ve failed. The cost will be your life.”

  “Well, I suppose you’d better let me get on with it then, right?”

  Dasfarus glared at him a moment longer then said, “I prefer cross-stitching.”

  Then he vanished into thin air. Bert smashed his head against the steering wheel, unsure whether the dark wizard’s joke made him even scarier. In his mind, Sharp was cackling with delight. “You know what the funny part is?”

  “What?” Bert asked.

  “Tomorrow is your birthday. He’s going to kill you on your birthday!”

  “Not if one of the other assholes kills me first,” Bert replied, and put the Beast in Drive.

  ***

  Arthur stared at him with undisguised pity as he entered the office. “You’ve really done it this time, Bert.”

  “Totally wasn’t my fault,” Bert replied.

  “I didn’t say it was.” Arthur threw up his hands in defense. “Just the same, you better head straight back.”

  “That bad?” Bert asked, pausing by his desk.

  Arthur didn’t reply, but the look on his face indicated that it was, in fact, that bad.

  Bert sighed and made his way toward Carter’s office. As he knocked on the door, he tried to put on his game face, but he really wasn’t in the mood.

  The door swung open and Carter stood before him, red faced and fuming. He motioned him inside, pointed at the empty chair in front of his desk, and said, “Sit.”

  Bert complied, though he noticed Carter chose to stand. He couldn’t decide whose glare showed more disdain, Carter’s, Dasfarus’s, or the Brotherhood leader’s. It was a tossup. Best guess, they all hated him equally.

  Through gritted teeth, Carter asked, “What the hell happened in the Underbelly
?”

  Bert made a mental note to avoid jokes and sarcasm where possible, and said, “The Brotherhood of the Magic Bane attacked the community.”

  “The Brotherhood of the Magic Bane...”

  “Yes.”

  “The same Brotherhood of the Magic Bane that most people don’t believe exist? The religious-like occult group hell-bent on killing mages? The same Brotherhood that’s been a thorn in the side of the Hand of Magic for a thousand years? The same group who remains so well hidden we’ve never been able to find them? That group led an open assault on our little local underground community?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” He didn’t know where Carter was going with this, but he knew it’d be bad.

  “And they just happened to attack the Underbelly? A place where no one has anything of value to them?”

  Bert shrugged. He didn’t know what to say.

  “And how in the hell did you get involved?”

  His piercing eyes shot through Bert like an arrow. He got the impression Carter was fishing for a reason to string him up. He could feel the noose tightening around his throat. Slowly, he said, “Some friends and I were visiting the Saloon. We heard gunfire and investigated. It was a massacre. So, we did what we could to help.”

  Carter stared at him for a few moments then said, “You expect me to believe that you just happened to be in the Underbelly when the Brotherhood attacked? Do you take me for a fool? Where are your friends now?”

  “They went home.”

  “So, you and your idiot friends engage in an act of war in my jurisdiction, and then you just let them go home? You didn’t think I may want to visit with them?”

  Bert couldn’t think of an answer that would satisfy him, so instead, he went the other direction. “After what they went through down there, I didn’t think they were up for this pleasant of a conversation.”

  “You don’t make those decisions!” Carter screamed, veins bulging on his forehead. Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke. “I’m sick of your lies and I’m sick of having to babysit your sorry ass!”