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In My New, Imposing Uniform

  • by jenthis “polar madness”
  • cheekbones sharp as blades
  • her gawky way of walking
  • like ink in water
  • like an awkward and unlucky lover

Tune in next time part 387      Click Here for Earlier Installments

In my new, imposing uniform I turned to my captive French spy. He cowered before my resplendency like an awkward and unlucky, loverless wretch in a cheap suit.

“Describe the Russian sister who sent you,” I demanded.

Beguiled by the small brass squirrels atop my epaulets, he forgot his earlier filibustering. “Her hair was long and pale blond, liquidy yellow, like ink in water.”

That described both Svetlana and Lyudmila. “Go on,” I said. Behind me, Aloysius was gathering up his many tools while his monk-like cohorts quietly entertained the children.

“Her hips were narrow, which I think added charm to her gawky way of walking.”

Again, that could be either sister.

“She had cheekbones sharp as blades, and shoulder blades round as cheeks. My need to make love to her was like the polar madness I experienced in my youth when l’Academie sent my team to l’Antartique, and I suffer with it still. Our consummation will be my reward for completing my mission.”

He was doing all this for her, whichever sister she was, and he’d never even banged her? This “polar madness” of his must have caused frostbite on his brain.

And I still didn’t know which sister had sent him.

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The Acrobat/Spy’s Fevered Ramblings

  • by Kentsqueezing in your fingers
  • in order to become bosom friends
  • Aloysius, mouth full of bone needles
  • another mold for squirrels
  • a square black cap with a silver badge on it

Tune in next time part 386      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The acrobat/spy’s fevered ramblings had exhausted my patience.

“This information isn’t helping me, and therefore it isn’t helping you, either. I don’t need or want to hear about how it felt to have their thighs and breasts squeezing in your fingers or how you were willing to debase yourself in order to become bosom friends with bosom benefits. The only thing I want to hear from you is –”

“Excuse me, General?”

I rounded on the source of this interrupting voice. The six babies arranged along my outstretched, fatigued arms giggled happily at the ride. Behind me stood a small entourage of pale men wearing what appeared to be monks’ robes. “Sorry to bother you, General,” the one in the middle went on, “but we have been sternly ordered to perform our duties without delay.”

As he spoke, two of his companions stepped forward and relieved me of three children apiece.

“Where are they taking the royal brood?” I demanded.

“Nowhere. The children will be kept safe right here while Aloysius brings your uniform up to code.”

Aloysius, mouth full of bone needles, waved and scurried forward in a single movement, stooping to begin taking inseam measurements.

Twisting my head to look at the bound prisoner, I yelled, “I am not done with you!”

Contrarian military fashion is especially fickle, obliging the likes of Aloysius to carry around complex arrays of tools and materials. In addition to the needles, and fabrics of course, he also had a case loaded with more specialized instruments. There was a portable furnace and a crucible, and a mold for casting lions, and another mold for squirrels, and an anvil that I didn’t know the purpose of.

The alterations to my bellhop getup took some bit of time, but the results were exemplary if a bit ostentatious for my tastes. I felt like an impeccably tailored colorblind matador, and was sort of glad the room didn’t have a mirror. The best thing of all was that I got a new hat, a square black cap with a silver badge on it that said “General.”

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My Silence Encouraged the Spy

  • by jenI know that I shall go mad!
  • outselling Rod Stewart
  • fallen into a trance
  • with decorative bullet holes
  • Japanese lingerie maker

Tune in next time part 385      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My silence encouraged the spy to keep talking. “I take one look at the twisted sisters and I know that I shall go mad! With love! I know that I will do anything they ask of me, for if their beauty were a musical recording it would be outselling Rod Stewart, that’s how great it is.”

His eyes unfocused as if he’d fallen into a trance, and a small smile played at his lips. “They wore matching costumes, of course, with decorative bullet holes in some very revealing locations. I believe they were designed by a Japanese lingerie maker.”

This was maddening. I needed him to tell me more about the sisters, not their clothing! And specifically I needed to know which one had sent him on his mission.

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The Prison’s Subbasement Interrogation Room

  • by Kent“Looks like Saltines, but that wouldn’t make sense.”
  • with a blast of trumpets
  • the dental technician
  • slowly inching towards it
  • expected me much earlier

Tune in next time part 384      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The prison’s subbasement interrogation room wasn’t really babyproof, so I had to keep holding all six infants while I tried to solve the riddle of the Russian contortionist sisters.

“Eef you releaze me, I can help you with lay bay-bay,” the prisoner said. His accent seemed thicker all the sudden, and his tears had dried up.

“Nice try,” I said.

He shrugged, making the leather straps around his limbs creak. “May I inquire, though, what it is that I am seeing on the shelf across the room?”

I turned my head. “Looks like Saltines, but that wouldn’t make sense.” I faced him again. “It’s against indigenous Inimical tradition to store food in an interrogation chamber, and the Contrarians might be many things, but flouters of tradition they are not.”

“I am being very thirsty as it is, so merci non pour the crackers.”

“Sure. Why not tell me more about these women, and I’ll maybe see about getting you some water.” I swayed, trying to keep the six babies in gentle, soothing motion and shift the burden around a bit so my arms wouldn’t fall off.

“They were part of a new finale which none of the regular performers had been permitted to witness in rehearsals. It began with a blast of trumpets announcing the entrance of the fire eaters and the dental technicians. How the crowd cheered at their elaborate dance of flames and floss. This was all misdirection, allowing the sisters to be brought out in a suitcase and placed at the center of the action. No one else besides me detected its arrival, but I was drawn toward it, as if by a magnetism of the soul. I understood what this baggage signified, and I found myself slowly inching towards it, interfering with the show that was still very much going on. At last, I was there, crawling on my belly like a besotted worm, and suddenly the suitcase, it was springing open with the tangled sisters inside, and they were saying that they had expected me much earlier.”

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Jim Stood and Started Handing Me Babies

  • by jenhad gone… less swimmingly.
  • ate normally
  • precisely between her narrow shoulder blades
  • one day melted into the next
  • in the city of Volgograd

Tune in next time part 383      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jim stood and started handing me babies, though he kept the harnesses, and I only had so many arms. Few things in Contrarian history, besides the Battle of Brouhaha, had gone… less swimmingly. With three babes balanced along each arm like a waiter in a restaurant where no one ate normally, I bent forward at the waist and kissed Fleur precisely between her narrow shoulder blades. That’s the ritual Contrarian farewell between spouses when one is leaving the other in the presence of only in-laws of the opposite gender.

I tottered down the stairs with my six infant children and found the French circus performer still strapped to his chair. He looked at me and my strange burden and said, “I could teach you how to juggle.”

“Tell me where you met your spy-mistress,” I said, ignoring his kind offer.

He loosed a long, wistfully Gallic sigh. “One day melted into the next when the circus was in the city of Volgograd. I was surrounded by aerialists, and bears on bicycles. And then one day, she appeared.” He met my eye, tears streaming down his cheeks. “She and her sister had a contortionist act that is beyond description. So beautiful. So haunting.”

Russian contortionist sisters! They could only be Svetlana and Lyudmila! But which one had sent this man to collect my “special sauce”? Probably not Svetlana, since she’d misunderstood the objective and had only just given birth to my quadruplet sons. Which meant it was probably Lyudmila, whom I hadn’t seen in months. Unless Svetlana was trying to redeem herself?

The two lithe and extremely flexible ladies went round and round in my head. I couldn’t decide which was the more likely agent behind this bizarre Frenchman’s quest.

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My Wife Paused in the Doorway

  • by Kentwearing a diamond wedding band
  • Too handsome
  • neither wound was fatal
  • needed to tie it to someone
  • hungry, not smart

Tune in next time part 382      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My wife paused in the doorway with her arms folded across her chest, and even in the prison basement’s uneven illumination I spotted that she was wearing a diamond wedding band. It was doubtless some royal heirloom of tremendous ceremonial import, and I wondered what had prompted her to suddenly start wearing it.

“Take off that silly head,” she barked. I hoped she was addressing Jim, in his blue panda costume, and not me, in my improvised Contrarian General’s uniform.

Jim set aside his coffee mug and lifted the oversize plush head off his shoulders. “Couldn’t drink my joe with this thing on, anyway.”

Fleur tsked and gave her dark curls a shake. “Too handsome.”

I chuckled. “Then I guess it’s good you married me.” Fleur’s blue eyes shot my way, demonstrating the veracity of Jim’s ‘laser danger’ quip. I felt the sting of her gaze from each eye, though neither wound was fatal.

“Don’t be insubordinate, General,” she snarled, “or it’ll be the Battle of Brouhaha for you.” I hoped she was bluffing, knowing enough of the military history of Contraria to understand the reference. It was a victory where their general was the only casualty, because they used a kite as a decoy and needed to tie it to someone. Accounts diverge as to why the general was nominated for such duty, but most chroniclers agree that by this time the rank and file were low on rations and perhaps not thinking clearly. These soldiers were hungry, not smart, which has become a sort of unofficial motto of the Contrarian armed forces since that time.

“Take the kids and go chat with the spy,” she told me. “I need to talk to my brother-in-law alone.”

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The Spy Spoke at Length

  • by jenthat medicine cannot cure
  • wrasslin’ around with a wet individual
  • meticulously mapped out
  • by all means, fuck who you want to fuck
  • laser danger!

Tune in next time part 381      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The spy spoke at length in his outrageous accent about how he and his mysterious female contact shared the kind of love that medicine cannot cure. After half an hour I was tired of hearing about it, so I left him alone with Fleur and went up one floor to the basement. I had seen a coffee machine there on the way down.

My brother Jim was there, still in his blue panda costume. He’d been following behind us on the stairs, but having six infants strapped to his torso really slowed him down. At the moment he was changing the diaper of one of my quadruplet sons.

“How’s it going, Jim?” I asked.

In a surprisingly upbeat voice he said, “At the moment, brother, I’m wrasslin’ around with a wet individual. Things could be better. But all things considered,” he shrugged his shoulders to indicate the other five babies, “they could also be much worse.”

“Coffee?” I asked, hefting the pot.

He nodded, his big blue panda head wobbling. “You know, I always thought that you had your future meticulously mapped out, you and Jason both. I expected him to end up with Kelly and you to end up with Tessa. But now, you’ve got so damn many kids by so many women. And more on the way!”

“Hey, that Isolde thing wasn’t my idea,” I said.

“I’m not judging,” Jim drawled. “By all means, fuck who you want to fuck. That’s between you and your wife, and she seems to be cool with it. At least so far. But man, I wouldn’t want to cross her if I were you.” He strapped the newly diapered baby into its harness and sat down beside me to cradle a mug of coffee between his panda paws. “Those blue eyes of hers pose a real laser danger!”

“Fleur and I have an understanding,” I said. I heard her footsteps coming up the stairs, and hoped that that continued to be true.

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Transporting the Spy

  • by Kenttook his inspiration from a potato
  • trickles from its point
  • unzipped the outside pocket
  • usual “fun with yarn”
  • she told me she loved me, and that was it

Tune in next time part 380      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Transporting the spy to the Contrarian prison meant another zeppelin journey, but only to the terminal isle of the Inimical Archipelago. The prison’s architect seemingly took his inspiration from a potato, complete with foil jacket. Atop the lumpy aluminum-clad structure was the airship docking spire.

“It’s a solid piece of zinc,” Fleur told me, “which extends all the way into the sub-basement, into the interrogation chamber. The lower end is very sharp, and when it rains, saltwater trickles from its point.” I suspected she was saying these things for the prisoner’s benefit, but since he wore a blindfold he wouldn’t have any idea what she was talking about.

She dragged a backpack out from under the pilot’s seat and unzipped the outside pocket. From there she drew a pack of cards, and then she hailed the prison. “I’m holding two pair, over.”

The response came immediately. “I fold. You are cleared to commence docking maneuvers.”

“So much easier,” she muttered as she stowed the cards and the backpack. “I really don’t miss the old security protocol, all the usual ‘fun with yarn’ and whatnot.”

I decided to wait until a later time to ask what the usual “fun with yarn” and whatnot had entailed.

We disembarked, and then had to travel down a spiral staircase winding around the zinc shaft all the way down into the sub-basement. Finally, we shoved the sullen spy-clown into a chair and Fleur yanked off his blindfold.

“Who sent you?” she demanded.

“I do not know her name,” he said wistfully, “but she told me she loved me, and that was it. For her, I would do anything.”

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The Frenchman Wasn’t Done Hurling Insults

  • by jenleave his victim with a peck on the cheek
  • well isn’t he resplendent
  • manacled together in front of him
  • before I take your blindfold off
  • Namaste, shitheads

Tune in next time part 379      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Frenchman wasn’t done hurling insults. “How is a Contrarian warlord like a chicken? He will leave his victim with a peck on the cheek!”

I rolled off the table, squashing numerous grapes and sending many of the observer birds squawking and flapping. The joke was an old one, and quite inaccurate. In my experience you didn’t want to fuck with a Contrarian.

Fleur leapt from the table onto the retreating clown’s back. She had a curved Contrarian fruit knife between her teeth. I scrambled into the pants of my new general’s uniform and charged to help her subdue him. Harry took one look at me and halted his own advance. He sneered, “Well isn’t he resplendent in half a uniform.”

Isolde laid a placating hand on his arm.

He went on, “In my day, a general wouldn’t dream of appearing for battle shirtless.”

In short order, Fleur and I had subdued the clown-spy. He laid on the floor in his sequined jumpsuit, blindfolded, with his hands and feet all manacled together in front of him with the tasseled sashes from the curtains.

Fleur languidly dressed herself as she spoke to the prisoner. “You will be safely ensconced in a prison cell before I take your blindfold off, so that you will have no way of knowing where exactly you are.” She turned to her brother-in-law. “And Harry, you will be joining him if you don’t get your pettiness under control.”

“I will not stay here and be abused like this.” Harry roared, his froggy face bloating. “Come on Isolde, we’re leaving. Namaste, shitheads!”

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Fleur and I Were Fluent in Some of the Same Codes

  • by Kenthe likely plunged in deeper
  • “It’s like, lady, have you really never been called a whore before?”
  • I’m not a big fan
  • I was very vulnerable
  • Oh, crikey.

Tune in next time part 378      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur and I were fluent in some of the same codes, despite her not having gone to the Academy. I could only speculate what forms of covert communication the spy knew, so keeping him from intercepting the message ruled out anything audible or easily observed from across the room. So, no whistling or yodeling, and no barehanded semaphore.

I tried regulating my thrusts to a dot-dash-dot pattern, but she didn’t alter her own rhythm or otherwise show any sign she was listening. The last option I could think of under the circumstances was toespelling, and as we were both barefoot it seemed it might work. I contorted and clenched my toes, pressing each shape against the sole of her foot to impart the message: what is your plan?

She replied via Kegel/Morse — which meant she must have been listening after all — saying merely: wait and see.

As she conveyed those words, her eyes fluttered and her mouth hung fetchingly slack.

“What is happening to her face?” I heard Harry ask.

Isolde tittered. “He likely plunged in deeper. That’s how I recall our wedding night.”

Harry growled.

The Frenchman in the leotard sniffed haughtily. “I have witnessed sufficiently your barbaric comportment, and will take my leave of this place.”

“Barbaric?” Fleur’s eyes flashed and she stopped moving. I tried to send her more coded messages but she definitely wasn’t paying any attention to me now. “Barbaric!” she repeated, “You dare…”

The man shrugged, and spoke again in his ridiculous accent. “It’s like, lady, have you really never been called a whore before?” Another shrug. “I’m not a big fan of ill-behaved royalty, you know? Next what will you tell me? That I should eat cake?”

Now Fleur and everyone else around our table were rising to confront this rude stranger. I was very vulnerable, lying on my back in the middle of the incipient battle.

Oh, crikey.

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