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“A Magician Never Reveals His Tricks”

  • by Kentmicrowaving isn’t just the best way
  • had a new family
  • get your guests in the mood to party
  • the odd, symbiotic relationship between sloths and moths
  • just saying what everyone’s thinking

Tune in next time part 336      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“A magician never reveals his tricks,” Jim drawled.

“You’re no magician!” I shot back. I really did want to know how he managed to board Fleur’s vessel.

Jim held up his hands. “We’re all on the same side, here,” he protested. “But I’ll give you just one hint: microwaving isn’t just the best way to make popcorn.” He winked, somehow giving all three of the other people in the zeppelin’s gondola the impression that the gesture was aimed at them. Fleur fanned herself, Isolde winked back, and I scowled at the obscure inside joke from our childhood. “Anyway,” he drawled on, “knowing you had a new family I felt duty-bound to offer some protection.”

I folded my arms and shook my head. “Do you honestly expect me to believe a word you say, after what happened the last time we met?”

He flashed a grin, which again made my wife and sister-in-law seem weak in the knees. “Hey, brother, don’t be so touchy about bygone days. Now that I’m here, I just want to get your guests in the mood to party.” He winked again, and all I could think about was how he had to know that these women weren’t my guests. What was his real game? Which faction was he working with? Their politics was filled with pretzel logic and arcane mutual dependencies as cryptic as the odd, symbiotic relationship between sloths and moths.

Isolde cleared her throat tremulously, and when she’d caught my eye she said, “Could you and Fleur, I don’t know, look out the windows for a bit?”

Jim chuckled. “She’s just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“Not me,” I said. To Isolde I asked, “What would Harry say?”

“Who?” she responded in a sleepy voice.

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The Brunette Man’s Tight Jeans Were Sweaty

  • by jenseemed to me, judging from his fingers,
  • like sunny springtime afternoons come to life
  • on live television for five hours
  • there is liquor aboard
  • this creepy incognito turtle

Tune in next time part 335      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The brunette man’s tight jeans were sweaty, his torso bare. It seemed to me, judging from his fingers, all wrinkled and pruny — and of course those sweaty jeans — that it must have been a veritable sauna inside that panda suit. Fleur and Isolde didn’t seem to notice his dishevelment. Or perhaps they found it attractive. They looked at him like he was a vernal deity, like sunny springtime afternoons come to life. I knew he was used to that reaction. I saw him talk about it on live television for five hours on at least two occasions, and in person innumerable times. He was my brother Jim, and women really liked Jim.

Fleur smiled coquettishly at him and said, “Welcome to my zeppelin. There is liquor aboard.”

“What are you doing here, Jim?” I asked. “The last time I saw you was in Dr Belladonna’s subterranean rocket surgery.”

“What was I supposed to do? Leave my niece and nephew unguarded when I saw the viscount putting on this creepy incognito turtle costume?”

“It was an armadillo,” Isolde said, batting her eyelashes.

“How did you get on my wife’s aircraft carrier?” I demanded.

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I Loomed Over The Panda

  • by Kentthe ferociousness of his kisses
  • sexy brunette in tight jeans
  • This is about your reputation?
  • But my best friend tried to kill me
  • a grimace and maybe some dried vomit

Tune in next time part 334      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I loomed over the panda, imagining the face behind that stubborn mask. A maniacal face, I was sure, a face wearing a grimace and maybe some dried vomit. On the other hand, maybe I had misread the situation. Maybe the panda and the armadillo hadn’t been in cahoots at all. Maybe the face would be familiar, even the face of my best friend.

But my best friend tried to kill me. He’d chained weights to my legs and trapped me in the tidal zone, and then he chased me with a harpoon. And it occurred to me that donning this ridiculous blue costume and attempting to kidnap an infant Contrarian royal was just the sort of thing he might do.

“I bet it really is you,” I muttered, shaking my head. “That’s why you made sure the mask won’t come off, and why you won’t speak. But what’s your angle? You’re trying to impress some syndicate boss? Or the ninjas? This is about your reputation? I bet that’s it, and my daughter is just a pawn in your pathetic, petty, game.” I leaned down and poked the panda’s belly. “John!”

The occupant of the mascot suit made a “hmph!” noise and sat up. The suit’s arms dangled limp, its wearer’s arms having been withdrawn into the bulbous torso. Soon there was a mechanical growling sound which it took me several seconds to identify as a heavy-duty zipper. The head tipped backwards and the neck seam finally opened up, unzipped from the inside. And I saw the face.

It was not John.

He stood up and stepped out of the costume, and I saw the effect he had on both Fleur and Isolde. Their eyes were glued to the sexy brunette in tight jeans, their mouths agape and eager to gauge the ferociousness of his kisses.

With hardly a glance at anyone else, he jutted his cleft chin at me.

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The Blue Panda Rolled Onto His Back

  • by jenlike pickets in a fence
  • shimmered like a pigeon’s neck
  • I have always been fond of animals
  • neatly riveted and soldered
  • Dream scientists already know

Tune in next time part 333      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The blue panda rolled onto his back and stared up at me with enormous googly eyes. The teeth in his grin, once white and straight like pickets in a fence, were scuffed and dented from the gondola’s floor. A smudge of oil on his cheek shimmered like a pigeon’s neck. I have always been fond of animals, but not animal mascots, and certainly not mascots that have the heads neatly riveted and soldered into place to prevent their removal.

Dream scientists already know how this encounter in the zeppelin played out, because they can often see the future through the eyes of their slumbering subjects. I, though, was still in the dark.

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Arlo Put His Unhinged Laughter Aside

  • by jenmaritime follies
  • asked to see the treasure map
  • his engine had an anti-siphon valve
  • “Quick!” said the boy.
  • his chair with his bare feet

Tune in next time part 331      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Arlo put his unhinged laughter aside and peered down at the flaming submarine and foundering aircraft carrier. “We aren’t going to let these trifling maritime follies come between us, are we Fleur my dear?” he asked in his most unctuous voice. “After all it wasn’t so long ago that you asked to see the treasure map tattooed upon my abdomen. We could toss this so-called husband of yours out of the zeppelin and continue the game of Candyland we were playing upon it.”

I’d had enough of this Svenborgian dick. I deftly tucked my infant daughter inside my morning suit’s jacket and buttoned it to hold her in place, then yanked the gondola door’s handle. The door swung outward and I shoved the viscount after it.

As he fell, a flap opened in the back of the armadillo costume, exposing a jetpack. It roared to life and Arlo flew away, flipping us off.

“What the hell!” I said.

“He mentioned his jetpack often in bed,” Fleur said. “But I assumed it was a euphemism. He liked to brag about how his engine had an anti-siphon valve.”

Isolde rushed forward and closed the gondola’s door.

I checked on the children to see if they were okay. My son was still strapped to the blue panda, and seemed to have the hiccups. “Quick!” said the boy. “Quick!” I wished he had a name. But more important than that right now was making sure that whoever was inside the panda costume was not another enemy.

“Isolde,” I said. “Why don’t you play with your nephew?”

“That will be good practice for motherhood!” she enthused. She scooped the boy out of his carrier while he continued to hiccup. She sat and made her lap his chair with his bare feet sticking out where she could tickle them.

I eyed up the blue panda.

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I Was Sure That Fleur

  • by Kenthurts our brains
  • gladden the hearts
  • thinking that it really must be something else
  • another licking kiss
  • I got a history with cowboys

Tune in next time part 330      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was sure that Fleur would tell me to fling Viscount Arlo from the gondola so he might tumble into the flaming wreckage that had so recently been his hideous submarine. But both she and Isolde seemed too shocked to utter a sound.

“Shall I toss him out?” I asked, shoving Arlo toward the exit. He was still laughing, though, and the sisters’ faces were growing paler.

“His laughter hurts our brains,” Isolde muttered.

“Gonna take that as a yes,” I grunted, hustling Arlo up against the door, pinning him by pressing the heel of my hand into his sternum. We stood like that while I tried to figure out the best way of unlatching the door without letting my prisoner slip free, and without dropping my baby girl. I knew seeing him flail on the way down would gladden the hearts that beat in a warlord’s daughter’s breasts.

“You mustn’t,” Fleur pleaded. I puzzled over the obvious meaning of her words, thinking that it really must be something else. Because why wouldn’t she want to be rid of this dick?

Viscount Arlo ran out of air at last, so we got half a second of quiet before his long, rasping inhalation began. His one eye seized my gaze, and then he ducked his chin to swipe his oily tongue across the back of my hand. I flinched, and he gave my hand another licking kiss.

“Stop that,” I grumbled. “It won’t spur me to release you.”

Arlo laughed again, shrill and loud. He crowed, “Spurs? What fun! You should know I got a history with cowboys.”

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Fleur Stayed Riveted to the Battle

  • by jenone of the animal’s spongy feet
  • an explosive movement
  • noticed a strange mark
  • “No son of mine will be
  • watch your fat feet

Tune in next time part 329      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur stayed riveted to the battle outside the zeppelin’s windows, radioing instructions to her fighter jets and the aircraft carrier’s captain. Meanwhile Isolde crooned a lullaby to her stomach, and the babies’ mascots danced and fidgeted nervously. The rainbow armadillo lurched close to me and one of the animal’s spongy feet came down on the top of my fancy dress shoes.

“Ouch!” I complained, but the rest of my outcry was preempted by an explosive movement below us in the water. The viscount’s submarine floundered on the waves, spewing flames.

“Yes!” cried Fleur. “We’ve got him now!”

The armadillo clapped its big, plush hands, its head tipped back in hysterical laughter. The costume gapped between the oversized head and the squishy neon chest plate. Through the gap I could see the person’s neck and noticed a strange mark on the skin, a birthmark in the shape of a mushroom. My blood turned to ice.

Fleur directed her pilots to strafe the baby-shaped submarine. “No son of mine will be raised by a Svenborgian.” She spat the last word. “And no daughter, either.”

The armadillo was becoming more agitated by the second. It stomped on me again, edging toward Fleur’s seat.

“Why don’t you watch your fat feet, Viscount?” I said. With one hand I scooped my daughter out of the armadillo’s front carrier, while with the other I yanked the bobbly mascot head off, exposing Arlo’s bald head and eyepatch. With that mushroom birthmark it was no wonder he always wore turtlenecks.

Fleur and Isolde gasped to find the traitor aboard our zeppelin.

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Fleur Turned the Zeppelin Hard to Starboard

  • by Kent“I have heard a rumor.”
  • but your eyes are wide open
  • my body is 65% Kool-Aid
  • the enthusiasm of my stupidity
  • when Napoleon and a farmer squabble

Tune in next time part 328      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur turned the zeppelin hard to starboard and revved the engines, scooting us away from the fracas in the water below. The fighter pilots evidently judged our position to be sufficiently removed from the combat zone, because they opened fire on the ungainly, baby-shaped enemy submarine. The aircraft carrier took a bit of friendly fire, but most of the missiles struck the sub, or the water in its immediate vicinity.

“The crew still aboard the ship are in terrible danger,” I said, not mentioning John or Xylona. “It would surprise me if the ship’s not already taking on water.”

Fleur didn’t take her eyes off the instrument panel. “I have heard a rumor.”

“When?” I asked.

“You must have potatoes in your ears,” the blue panda said, “but your eyes are wide open. Follow along on the readout.”

The zeppelin’s dashboard had a screen showing a schematic of the aircraft carrier. Most of the outlines were green, but most of the keel was drawn in red. The vessel’s waterline was indicated too, and it was rising fast.

I looked from the screen to Fleur to Isolde to the panda, and finally the armadillo carrying my infant daughter. We met each other’s gaze, and the person in the colorful suit crooned, “My body is 65% Kool-Aid. That probably accounts for the enthusiasm of my stupidity.”

“Hey,” I said, “you’re up here instead of down there. That’s not stupid.”

“There’s an old Contrarian saying,” Fleur grumbled, her attention still riveted to operating the airship. “The eggs go sour and the milk gets a shell when Napoleon and a farmer squabble.”

“Such wise words for this disastrous occasion,” Isolde said.

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“That’s the Viscount’s Submarine!”

  • by jensome sort of wacky hardcore fundamentalist sect
  • what a lucky bastard
  • pay you a whole $250 to serve drinks at their poker game
  • instead of being scary
  • for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip

Tune in next time part 327      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“That’s the viscount’s submarine!” Isolde cried. “But why would Arlo attack us, Fleur?”

My wife gritted her teeth. “He’s the leader of some sort of wacky hardcore fundamentalist sect.” She steered the zeppelin higher as the sub rammed the aircraft carrier again. “He tried to convince me to let him baptize the twins into it so that he could tell everyone he was their father.”

It offended me to think that anyone might believe that creepy dick had fathered my children.

“It’s not enough for him to be your lover for months and months,” Isolde said. “He wants to control the heirs to Contraria!” Her hand rested on her abdomen. “He will never even lay eyes on the precious child Harry has given me.”

The blue panda that had my son in a front carrier nudged me and whispered, “Do you know what a lucky bastard you are, bedding both of the warlord’s daughters?”

“How dare you speak to me that way!” I hissed. “It’s not like I’m some asshole who agreed to pay you a whole $250 to serve drinks at their poker game! You are responsible for the safety of the royal infant!” I tried to keep my voice menacing, but instead of being scary it came out sounding quite prissy. The man in the panda suit took a big step backward. I kept my eye on him for further signs of inappropriateness while I tuned back in to Fleur and Isolde’s conversation.

“I knew Arlo was up to something,” Fleur said. “I should have exiled him from Contraria for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip when I was on the verge of labor.”

“It must have been the pregnancy hormones,” Isolde soothed. “I can feel them already, turning my brain to mush.” She smiled beatifically down at her flat stomach. Did she really think she was already pregnant? “I can’t wait until Harry and I can hold our little bundle of joy. I bet it will look just like him!”

Fleur shot me a dangerous look, so I kept my mouth closed.

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Spending So Much Time

  • by Kentsometimes it pays to be an atheist
  • Do Not Enter This Area
  • attacked by a horrible mechanical devil baby
  • one iota less furious
  • two loyal and stupid friends

Tune in next time part 326      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Spending so much time inside the chapel, cavorting with Isolde among the skeletons to the exhortations of the incense woman, reminded me that sometimes it pays to be an atheist. As far as I was concerned, the signs on Churches in general — and Contrarian religious edifices in particular — might as well read “Do Not Enter This Area.”

But acting as Isolde’s proxy husband for 24 hours had been enjoyable, even in a chapel. I whistled as I finished putting my clothes back on. While I was putting my second leg into my pants, the floor pitched beneath me and I tumbled against the wall of the corridor.

Klaxons sounded as the carrier rolled back the other way, sending me crashing up against the door I’d just been kicked out of. Isolde burst out, screaming, “What’s happening?!” I yanked my pants the rest of the way on and together we raced up to the bridge to find out.

Fleur was in command, and between shouted orders to her crew she filled us in. A huge submarine of some type had risen under our keel and was trying to capsize us. “Come with me,” she said, and we didn’t argue.

We went swiftly to the bow, where the zeppelin was docked. The blue panda and the rainbow armadillo met us there with the children, and we all climbed the ladder into the airship’s gondola. Isolde cut us loose the second we were all aboard. As we rose above the battling vessels, we got our first look at the enemy submarine.

It was bulbous, with a vaguely humanoid layout. The forward section looked amazingly like a head, complete with a toothless mouth stretched wide in a howl of primal, infantile rage. Whoever had “attacked by a horrible mechanical devil baby” in the pool for what was going to befall this ship just made a big score. Apparently the absurdity of the situation didn’t make Fleur one iota less furious about the attack.

I worried about John and my aunt. Looking at the stern, I noticed the biplane was no longer there. Had our captors stowed it? Had it been thrown into the sea by the attack? Or was it safely away, carrying my two loyal and stupid friends? I scanned the skies all around but could only see the Contrarian fighter planes that Fleur had scrambled before abandoning ship.

“Do you know whose sub that is?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said darkly, and offered nothing more.

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