Tagged: tune in next time

Being Reminded of Great Hammer

  • by Kentadrift in a sea of conflicting emotions
  • “If he ever comes back, I’ll poison him.”
  • a silent, internal chuckle
  • I had scarcely begun
  • “I mean, it’s not a homing pigeon.”

Tune in next time part 220                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Being reminded of Great Hammer set me adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he’d been more of a brother to me than any of my blood relatives. On the other hand, he was probably the one who betrayed my father. I mean, someone had to do it, and in all likelihood it would have been me eventually.

Thor’s position on the matter was unambiguous: “If he ever comes back, I’ll poison him.” I knew he meant it, too, and I knew how easy it would be for him to do it. Everyone knew of Great Hammer’s fatal weakness for soup. I remembered him in his corner before a match, blowing on his soup, and a silent, internal chuckle clunked against the roof of my mouth.

“You didn’t answer me,” Isaac groused. “What does it mean?”

If I didn’t say something to misdirect her, there was a chance Isaac could land too close to the truth on her own. I had scarcely begun to draw the breath with which to misdirect her when a loud honking sound and a blast of feathers interrupted.

“Gordon!” Isaac exclaimed. “I never expected to see you again.”

A goose ran around her legs. It stopped and curled its neck against her thigh, stretching its wings forward. If I didn’t know better I would think it was hugging her.

“I set Gordon free from the roof of this building two weeks ago,” Isaac explained.

“Then is it really so weird it came back?”

“I mean, it’s not a homing pigeon.”

“Wait, what’s that thing on Gordon’s leg?” I asked.

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I Have Always Been a Man

  • by jenmistrusted his own senses more
  • What kind of candy was it?
  • I hope they jammed their fingers into him
  • “The Devil’s at the bottom of it, I’m sure.”
  • My arse is killing me.

Tune in next time part 221                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I have always been a man who mistrusted his own senses more than most people do, largely due to all the mind games and psychedelics my parents employed in my upbringing, but I was sure that there was a candy bar strapped to the leg of Gordon the goose. What kind of candy was it? It was vitally important that I find out. It was likely the key to everything. If Esmerelda had resorted to something as dusty and disused as the washerwoman’s code, it only made sense that the confectioner’s code was also in play.

As the gander continued to rub against Isaac’s pants, I crouched and deftly unstrapped the candy bar from his scaly leg. The wrapper was unfamiliar, but the lettering looked Tibetan. Whoever sent this message, I hope they jammed their fingers into Himalayan mittens before frostbite set in.

Isaac peered at the exotic candy in my hand, her eyes wide. “The Devil’s at the bottom of it, I’m sure.”

“The Devil” is what a lot of people called my father.

Gordon didn’t like being ignored. With a loud honk he nipped Isaac. She yelped and scolded the bird, then stood rubbing her rump. “We need to get out of here, find a place to stow Gordon. My arse is killing me. You’ll need to check it for me to make sure he didn’t break the skin.”

While the thought of examining Isaac’s arse would normally have been quite intriguing, I was currently much more concerned about the chocolate bar in my hand. I remembered John’s childhood spent in the Tibetan monastery. If the message really had been sent by my father, things were very dire indeed.

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The Place To Stow Gordon

  • by Kent— which, by the way, is their normal state —
  • set of handcuff keys
  • she had on those damn falsies
  • “Just pretty much the basics.”
  • sound waves, not X-rays

Tune in next time part 222                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The place to stow Gordon turned out to be Isaac’s apartment in the building across the street. She had a rabbit hutch in the bathroom, which became a goose hutch.

Isaac took my hand and led me into the next room. “Now I need you to see if my cheeks are rosy — which, by the way, is their normal state — or if there’s any bruising or other damage.” From her cleavage she pulled a set of handcuff keys on a silver chain. She took off the chain and handed me the keys, then turned around and bent over.

I discovered a keyhole in her belt, and, hoping I was reading this situation correctly, inserted the key. Her pants fell off, revealing a foam-rubber prosthetic posterior. How would she have even felt Gordon’s nip on her rump, if she had on those damn falsies?

“So far, so good,” I said. “Although, not exactly what I expected. What’s this for?”

“Just pretty much the basics.”

That was evidently thought to be a valid response.

“Well, everything I see here is intact. Not rosy, as such.”

“You’re not done with your examination, doctor.”

Her weird foundation garment also needed the handcuff key to unhook it. At which point I could assure her that the goose hadn’t goosed her too hard. Everything looked fine. In fact, I was at a loss to understand why she wore a fake butt over such a nice real one.

One phrase was printed on the inside of the prosthesis, which I was still trying to decode when Isaac offered to examine my cheeks, just to be safe. She fluttered her eyes at me. “After all, you were in the room with that goose too.”

For the next two hours, I didn’t get many chances to concentrate. But I made sure to memorize the words I’d seen inside her artificial derriere.

“sound waves, not X-rays.”

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By the Time Isaac was Done with Me

  • by jenwonder if you even miss me
  • people thought they had a far more sinister meaning
  • dressed in a Hazmat suit
  • mixture of ferocity and jocularity
  • nonetheless churning with anxiety

Tune in next time part 223                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

By the time Isaac was done with me I had learned that her real name was Cleopatra, and I was exhausted from my efforts both conversational and carnal. My mind was nonetheless churning with anxiety over the sinister Tibetan chocolate bar, which manifested in my actions as an odd mixture of ferocity and jocularity. The last time I felt that way I dressed in a Hazmat suit and went to the White House to talk things out with Thor. The thing about Hazmat suits is that most people thought they had a far more sinister meaning than I intended. I was just trying to be funny, but you try telling that to the Secret Service.

I digress.

There were no Hazmat suits in Cleopatra’s apartment so it was easy enough to avoid that misstep this time, despite my compromised mental state. As I was getting dressed in the clothes I’d gotten from Jim’s closet what felt like ages ago, Cleopatra turned on the TV.

“We need to make sure your father’s return hasn’t hit the news yet,” she said, flipping through the channels until she landed on the Contrarian News Network showing footage of my heavily pregnant wife Fleur and her retinue, all laughing at the antics of a troop of mimes.

I wonder if you even miss me, I thought, as she threw her arms around the neck of Viscount Arlo of Svenborgia. The damn Svenborgians were all over this mess.

“That Arlo guy is such a dick,” Cleopatra said.

How did she even know who he was?

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I Would Have Enjoyed

  • by Kentenjoyed a few hours’ sleep
  • emerging from the kennel
  • using massive metal golems
  • your footprints may not complicate matters
  • flinging discretion to the chilly wind

Tune in next time part 224                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I would have enjoyed a few hours’ sleep, but there were too many things demanding action and attention. For example, I needed to figure out who Cleopatra really was.

I followed her out into the hall, mainly just to keep her where I could see her. She went into the bathroom and released Gordon, and the goose emerging from the kennel was not a happy one. He flapped angrily, his large wings churning the air and smacking the walls in the small room. Cleopatra yelped and jumped back, slamming the door to contain Gordon’s tantrum.

“I hope you have another bathroom,” I said.

“No,” she sighed. Gordon started honking. It was alarmingly loud. “He’ll calm down eventually. His voice can’t see my bones.”

The weird turn of phrase made the hair on my arms stand up. It was an old Svenborgian proverb! I suddenly understood the significance of the words inside her fake butt, which must have been manufactured there. And that would explain how she knew who the Viscount was, and knew he was a dick.

I had a terrifying thought. Cleopatra might be a Golem Rider. Regular Svenborgians were dangerous, but the members of that apocalyptic cult were especially so. They believed they would one day overthrow the current world order using massive metal golems that lived in their many extinct volcanoes. They even had a sitcom starring those gleaming giants. One of them had the catchphrase, “your footprints may not complicate matters,” which he always said after one of the others had stepped on a bunch of people on the sidewalk.

We had left her apartment building and were hiking up the boulevard. A storm was closing in, and perhaps its ominous backdrop inspired my next move. Flinging discretion to the chilly wind, I asked her, “What’s the Svenborgian-Tibetan connection?”

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Cleopatra’s Eyes Darted

  • by jenJoe, I know it’s not shit
  • dutifully packing the egg cartons
  • want to play Road Warrior
  • propel a converted atomic submarine into space
  • now dating his ex-girlfriend

Tune in next time part 225                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Cleopatra’s eyes darted around the street, searching the shadows for spies. “I can’t talk about that right now. I left my prosthetic butt at home,” she whispered.

I sighed at all the Svenborgian nonsense.

She gripped my hand in a way that would look tender to any casual observers, and led me into a small grocery store. In the back room, a handful of Tibetans were busy sorting mushrooms into piles.

The youngest looked at me and said, “What are these damn ‘shrooms called again, Joe, I know it’s not shittake.”

Why did he think my name was Joe? “Maitake,” I said.

“That’s it!” he said, snapping his fingers, then went back to dutifully packing the egg cartons in front of him with the frilly fungus.

Cleopatra pulled me into the corner. “Joe?” she demanded. “I thought your name was–”

“I want to play Road Warrior,” I interrupted. “I want to drive a car that’s got a booster big enough to propel a converted atomic submarine into space.”

I watched as Cleopatra decoded that. Her face looked like she just found out her father was now dating his ex-girlfriend‘s sister, daughter, and niece all at the same time. Or at least that was the look I had when my father did that.

“If what you say is true,” she finally said, “we need to get the hell out of Harmonia immediately.”

I agreed.

“Grab a handful of those mushrooms to tide you over. We’ll have to stop at my apartment to get my butt and my passport, then we’ll go straight to the hovercraft depot.”

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A Handful of Mushrooms

  • by Kentdozens of nails
  • impromptu vacations and picnics in the park
  • “Let us go and present ourselves to be killed.”
  • eventually they finished eating
  • my temples throbbing with excitement

Tune in next time part 226                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

A handful of mushrooms was more effective as an appetizer than a snack, but it was certainly better than nothing. I worried that the employees would be upset about me taking some without paying, but they just smiled.

I crammed the fungus into my mouth and chased after Cleopatra.

She held up one hand as I approached. She was probably checking for spies again, but I was distracted by her fingers. Each one had dozens of nails, a trait I’d failed to notice before. It was beautiful.

The stop at her apartment was very quick. Gordon kept asking to be let out of the bathroom. In Italian. Apparently Cleopatra didn’t speak Italian because she showed no sign she understood.

On our way to the hovercraft depot, we saw families of purple giraffes and levitating hippos having impromptu vacations and picnics in the park. Cleopatra was too intent on our travel plans to appreciate the scene. She was dragging me by the hand, so I pulled her to a stop and pointed out the amazing spectacle. One of the giraffes saluted me with his beer can.

“Oh shit,” Cleopatra said. “Those weren’t maitake mushrooms. Come on, we have to hurry.”

Turned out that what they were calling a hovercraft was actually a giant lawnmower. Passengers disappeared into it, and since they didn’t seem afraid I decided I wasn’t either. “Let us go and present ourselves to be killed.” Cleopatra just rolled her eyes. And we survived the boarding process, so I decided I could trust her. Her butt was fake, but she was honest about everything else.

Now I realized our vessel was not a mower, but a gigantic locust. There were others like it, all grazing on the reeds by the shoreline. Eventually they finished eating and set out over the water. I stood at the bow, watching the horizon, my temples throbbing with excitement.

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I Stood in the Prow

  • by jenAnswer: Not much.
  • blocked nearly all the sunlight
  • desperately tired of seeing naked shoes
  • Welcome to… Aberdeen
  • ice skating on the frog pond

Tune in next time part 227                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I stood in the prow of the locust until it slowly became a hovercraft and I realized that I had been hallucinating. I asked Cleopatra how much sense I had been making. Answer: Not much.

We were in the middle of the ocean, zipping along in a cloud of spray that blocked nearly all the sunlight. There wasn’t much to look at, but that was actually a relief because I was desperately tired of seeing naked shoes on people’s hands and overdressed fish circling their heads.

Cleopatra coaxed me away from the railing and we went to the cafeteria. She bought me a huge plate of non-psychoactive haggis and said, “Welcome to… Aberdeen.” Then she made me eat the whole thing and wash it down with a glass of peaty scotch. She meanwhile enjoyed a BLT and a coke.

After our meal we still had many hours to kill before our hovercraft would deliver us to our destination. Cleopatra had reserved a cabin for us, so we went there and I showed her a sex position that came to me during my mushroom trip, something that I could only describe as “ice skating on the frog pond.” Her prosthetic butt will never be the same.

I still didn’t fully trust her, but I needed her to think I did.

In the afterglow I said, “So where is this hovercraft taking us?”

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Cleopatra Didn’t Answer My Question

  • by KentI’m sorry, I have a cold
  • obviously an impostor
  • until I broke his collarbone
  • — England’s far-reaching navy
  • I was barely nine weeks pregnant

Tune in next time part 228                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Cleopatra didn’t answer my question, but instead tried to entice me into another skating trip on the frog pond.

“Ee-yow!” I yelped.

“I’m sorry, I have a cold hand because it wasn’t under the blankets. Here, is this one better?”

It was, so I never did find out where the hovercraft was taking us until we docked. In fact, not even then.

The man in the captain’s uniform seeing us off as we disembarked was obviously an impostor. His bushy white mustache was glued on, and the medals were pinned to the wrong side of his jacket. Cleopatra interposed herself as we passed him, preventing me from unmasking him and pummeling him until I broke his collarbone or he confessed and told us who put him up to it, whichever came first. (More likely both.)

“He’s a spy from the navy — England’s far-reaching navy — and he doesn’t know who I am,” Cleopatra whispered. “You, maybe. I couldn’t tell if he recognized you or not.”

“Where are we?”

“Someplace I never thought I’d return to,” she sighed. “Last time I was here, I was barely nine weeks pregnant. Pregnant with foolish dreams and naive idealism, but still in the first trimester.

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Geography was Never My Strong Suit

  • by jendidn’t want to say more over the phone
  • the deadly secrets she’d been hiding for three years
  • “What the heck is this?”
  • many generations of fine breeding
  • a very unrealistic assessment of what sex workers charge

Tune in next time part 229                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Geography was never my strong suit, but even I knew there was a limited number of countries one could reach from Harmonia by water, and our current location resembled none of them. And then it hit me: hovercrafts can travel over land as well as sea. We could be nearly anywhere. And Cleopatra worked so hard to keep me distracted belowdecks, as it were. My distrust of her flared anew.

A zeppelin floated by overhead.

Cleopatra led me into a twisting alley. Where it dead-ended, there was a rusty steel door where she unleashed a flurry of knocks in a complicated rhythm. The door swung inward after a moment and I was compelled to enter the dim room.

From the shadows, a tall woman said, “You should have told us you were bringing him along.” Her voice was familiar.

“Time was short and there were enemies everywhere,” Cleopatra said. “I didn’t want to say more over the phone than the bare basics.”

Shadow-voice stepped out of the shadows and stood behind me, hands on my shoulders. She leaned forward and spoke quietly into my ear. “Did she tell you of the deadly secrets she’d been hiding for three years?” Her odd accent and stilted phrasing identified her as Esmerelda, my brother Jim’s wife. If she was here, did that mean my father was, too?

Esmerelda moved from behind me and embraced Cleopatra, giving her bottom a squeeze. “What the heck is this?” she demanded. “I’m disappointed in you, sister. We are the end result of many generations of fine breeding, and yet you cover up your genetically perfect ass with this relic of old Svenborgia?”

They were sisters? That was news to me. Cold dread clutched my gut.

“I am a traditionalist,” Cleopatra replied.

Esmerelda stood beside her sister and regarded me icily. “Your father has a very unrealistic assessment of what sex workers charge. He’s draining the treasury of his new empire, and he’s not even been publicly acknowledged as leader. We need you to talk to him.”

She was standing side-by-side with her sister, but they were on opposite sides of the conflict over my father. Or were they? Had Cleopatra been playing me all along in order to get me here?

Wherever here was.

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