Swampus Maximus - Entrée
Treats of Counter-Schemes
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In a crypt under the swampy racecourse, high among the pillars and arches of the vaulted ceiling, the slow roar of cowsowhorse stomping sent a shudder through the stone. Dust and cobwebs - the massed collection of brother Time since the beasts’ last run - wafted toward the grimy floor and its milling people. Each hoof sent a dust sheet falling. One of these sheets fell at just the right time, and drifted at just the right rate, to land squarely on the shoulders of Mr. Grey and Honeydew.
Honeydew swiped at the webby sheet as it draped her. Mr. Grey lifted his left arm, dusted his right shoulder, set the arm back down, and performed the reverse operation. He looked to where the sheet had come from; the sky of umbral stone, thickly-peopled by bats and gargoyles, where hoof thunder rumbled. Mr. Grey said, “I’m still surprised. Our plans never seem to go that well.”
Honeydew dusted a last silky veil from her hair. She said, “True. But it would’ve been hard to botch.”
The two of them stepped across the crypt floor. Against the far wall, on a raised set of stairs, a row of iron safes sat behind a row of golden thrones, in which sat yet another row of Defense Force soldiers in their copper armor. The safes, the thrones, and the armor, all shone under two rows of lime-lanterns dangling from long chains. The breastplates were embossed by glimmering, twin icons of the Prawn Fish. All but one. One armor set displayed, instead, two quilled, coppery Sun Fish. This was the set of Ordus the Diegeonary. It scraped as he shifted awkwardly in his seat of gold, his head bent over another gambler’s bid ticket. It was towards him, with a ticket of their own, that Mr. Grey and Honeydew stepped.
Suddenly, around the giant crystal vats of mintwater sitting in the giant vault’s arched margins, two shadows slunk. From the left, Blackjaw. From the right, Slake. Together, finders for Hire! The same instant, the crowd of other gamblers dropped silent, and dropped considerately into the room’s dusky corners. Yet again at the same moment, an especially heavy cowsowhorse plodding above stomped out an especially loud clap of thunder. And yet again once more, in that exact same tock, Ordus shoved off his throne, shoved aside both the ticket and gambler he’d been ostensibly handling, and shoved a finger at Honeydew and Mr. Grey.
“Oh bankrupt me, here he goes,” said Honeydew.
“Well. Well. Well,” began Ordus. He punctuated each word with the clap of a sandal on the dusty stairs. “You thought yourselves sooooo clever, didn’t you? You thought to yourselves, ‘We’ll stack the odds in Mr. Grey’s favor, get everyone else to bet on him winning. Then we’ll bet against. That will get us right in front of Ordus – ME - since he’ll be the one to distribute our gambling treasure prize.’ That WAS your plan, don’t deny!”
“If you know it, and we know it, why spell it out?” asked Honeydew.
“To hear you admit your scheme. To finally get you to say, ‘We’re working with the partisans - with Jodee Coats herself - to overthrow the king and his servants, the Glorious Defense Force. To overthrow the Great Fishes themselves!’” Ordus made a circle in the air with the index he’d leveled at the pair. The other race-winning-distributing soldiers stood. They pointed at the pair with the barrels of their guns. The gloomy crypt echoed with the synchronized click of disengaging safeties.
Mr. Grey, unperturbed in face, said, “If you’ll let us speak. We did want to meet you, but-”
“Don’t play cool. Pretending getting caught was a key piece in your scheme.” The other soldiers sniggered behind the sights of their guns. They fell silent at Ordus’s sideways, wrathful glances. He turned back to Mr. Grey and banged on his armor’s Sun Fish symbols. “You underestimated me, Mr. Grey, Miss Honeydew. You thought me easily duped. Easily overcome. Just cause I serve the mighty puffer of light, instead of the cunning prawn of war.”
“Do go on,” said Honeydew. “Tell how you outschemed us schemers.”
“That part was simple,” said Ordus with a contorted, angry smile. Using the seashell trumpet in hand, he gestured first at Blackjaw, then at Slake. “The foe of my foe, after all.”
Slake stepped from beneath the enormous mintwater vat. The lime lantern rebounded off the water and reflected as two undulating emeralds on Slake’s sun lenses. He let out a whiny chuckle, rubbed his palms together, and said, “What an enormously unfortunate set of circumstances we find ourselves in, partner Blackjaw. Compelled by… by…”
“Conscience,” barked Blackjaw. He stood under another lantern’s halo.
“Conscience. Compelled by conscience to inform on a prospective client, for whom we have only the most respect. Ah, if only he’d signed a contract!”
“Attorney-Client privilege then.”
“Alas, the short-of-sight Mr. Grey did decline. But hark. I see yet the buds of hope on this barren soil. Bails may be posted. Fines paid. Pecuniary difficulties; overcome.”
“Easy with a loan.”
Everyone within the room - the gamblers in the vault’s corners, the soldiers with their guns, Ordus, Honeydew, Mr. Grey, even the bats and gargoyles high in the ceiling - had followed Blackjaw and Slake’s exchange like a tennis match. Now, Mr. Grey alone turned his stone face to Ordus. “Sir Ordus,” he said, evaporating the next line leaking off of Slake’s tongue, “the reason we-”
“You think I need help knowing your reasons?” asked Ordus in another determined interruption. “Puh-leese! I know your whole quest, mouth-to-fin! Step one: sneak into the Temple of Windows disguised as true Sun Fish adherents, and corrupt the oracle into revealing the Golden Lure’s whereabouts, so you can retrieve it for Jodee. Step two-”
“Can we skip to the last step?” asked Honeydew.
“Are you proud of what you’ve done to these people?” Ordus waved at the gamblers lurking by the pillared walls. In their coughing and sneezing, they made a good sample of Wargermopolis’s odor attack epidemic.
Mr. Grey held up a polite interjecting finger; Honeydew held up a less-polite one. Ordus forced a mocking laugh. He walked toward them, saying, “I can only guess your last step. Maybe you planned to ransom the Lure. Maybe you planned to end my existence. Whatever it was, it’s foiled.”
Ordus stood directly before the pair. He also stood in the sightlines of his soldiers; they lowered their guns. Blackjaw and Slake lurked closer, waving pen and parchment to attract the attention of Mr. Grey.
Ordus railed on steadily. “Here’s a sample platter of the towering stack of lawful punishments you’re due,” He raised his trumpet; not to his lips, but pointing forward with the glistening mouthpiece. As he listed each punishment he emphasized them by poking the seashell instrument in Mr. Grey’s sternum. “Breaking out of a detention center: forty epochs right back inside. Fomenting rebellion: community service. Letting your native scents rampage: chained to a rock and forced to feed cowsowhorses. Treason against the king: banishment into the Abyssal Plane, with a bubble. Treason against the Defense Force: banishment again, without. Heresy against the Great Fishes: reincarnation as a Woe Worm! Plots to… Plots to…”
Ordus’ pokes slowed. His rant came to a heavy-worded halt. He looked from Mr. Grey’s eyes to his hands. In the stony palm-bowl, held for Ordus to see and take, Mr. Grey offered the Golden Lure.
Ordus flicked his eyes; from the glossy minnow swimming under the lime lantern light, to Mr. Grey’s matte orbs. Several soldiers and the bravest gamblers crept like flightless moths toward the buttery glow reflecting from the cupped stone hands. Blackjaw and Slake skulked over Ordus’s shoulders. They still clutched parchment and quills in fists. But their sunglasses, and the double emeralds reflected on the lenses, fixed fast to the golden minnow.
After running through varied contortions of face, Ordus finally settled on a narrow-eyed, frowning, suspicious look at Mr. Grey. He didn’t reach for the Lure. For once, he held back the readied harangue.
Mr. Grey said, “We only wanted to meet so we could give you the Golden Lure.”
In an indignant, whinnying tone, Ordus said, “Laced with poison.”
“No. Just plain. Reallytruly, we’re not partisans. We wanted Jodee to fill out her visa. Following Candlehead - and when that failed, delivering the lure ourselves - seemed like the fast route. But after seeing these smell-struck people… Well, it seemed wrong. Instead, we’re giving it to the Defense Force.”
“Which,” put in Honeydew, with a mutilating stare at the diegeonary, “we could have said. Without theatrics. If. You’d. Shut. Up.”
The soldiers on the stairs snickered. Ordus spun and glared until they stopped. When he turned he noticed the pad-footed approach of Blackjaw and Slake. “What are you two still lurking for?” he asked. His voice was lower now; which is to say, just below a shout.
“You shall find, most distinguished Diegeonary Ordus,” began Slake, “these parchments, here in my hand, are of singular bearing to the circumstances. Within this contract lies the signature of our wondrous future-client, Mr. Grey. It establishes his pecuniary relations with yet another wondrous client, Bugwitch.”
Blackjaw said, “Grey’s the guarantor.”
Ordus took the tendered parchment from Slake delicate, hairy fingers. He skimmed it header to footer without reading. He raised one brow at Mr. Grey. Mr. Grey, still cupping the lure, shrugged. He said, “There’s been some misunderstanding. This Bugwitch must have mistakenly scrawled my name there. Perhaps through absentmindedness?”
Ordus growled. He said, “Yeah, sounds about right for Starharbor.” He glanced at the Lure in Mr. Grey’s hands, then spun - fast enough to get a short squeal from his trumpet - on Blackjaw and Slake.
Ordus ripped the contract in twain. Blackjaw and Slake looked unconcerned; finders always have copies. But Ordus’ next words did send their craned necks reeling. He said, “I’m dismissing this suit.”
Slake chuckled in a high voice; Blackjaw growled defensively. Slake said, “Illustrious officer Ordus, I anticipate you’ll realize that King’s Law grants us-”
“Are you trying to tell a servant of the king, AND THE SUN FISH, how the law operates?” Ordus’ question rang through the rafters and across the crystal mintwater vats, sending dust shuddering and water lapping. “I’m an officer of the law, a devoted trumpeter of the puffer, and a clear-thinking guy. I’m telling you it’s ended, so it’s ended. Scram. Before I lose my calm.”
He jerked with his head. The rifle barrels snapped to Blackjaw and Slake. The two cast long, shaded-eyed gazes at the minnow and Mr. Grey. But, under bullet persuasion, Blackjaw and Slake skulked from the room.
Ordus turned to Mr. Grey. A peal of cowsowhorse thunder shook dust rain from arches. He snatched the Golden lure from the cupped hands. He held it delicately by its tail fin between two fingers. He stared at the minnow a moment, then at Mr. Grey. He tried, for a tock, to stare Mr. Grey down. He thought better. The diegeionary about-faced, and marched toward his soldiers.
Ordus glanced back once, however, and said, “Let’s have a chat.”
This has been In Different Color, a fairy tale.
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