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White Queen, Black Knight is a humorous fantasy, in the vein of Pier Anthony's Xanth series or Terry Pratchett's Discworld, about Dorian, a waiter at a village inn in the magical land of Retslu, who sets off to win the hand of the king's lovely daughter by becoming the victor in a tournament in which there are thousands of men with the same goal. To make the challenge more daunting, his chief rival, Mordrake, a powerful sorcerer, places a spell on Dorian which causes him to always go in a direction away from his desired destination. Only Dorian's pluck and a mysterious dragon pendant give him any chance at achieving his seemingly impossible goal.
Dorian leaves his native village and heads north when he should have headed south. After many misadventures and improbable events, such as befriending Count Gorblud, a vampire, saving a tiger-headed woman from rape, falling through a mirror to the Looking-Glass land, thrown down a well by a voluptuous witch, tried by gnomes, meeting the spider woman, going to literal hell, kidnapped by pirates, finding Atlantis just before it sinks into the sea and exchanging riddles with a troll, he finds himself at the site of the tournament. By good luck and guile, he becomes one of the ten finalists.
King Woden sends the tournament winners on a quest to obtain water from the Fountain of Youth. The first to return with the magical fluid will marry Princess Jennifer and be named heir apparent to the throne. In addition to always going the wrong way, Dorian is plagued by eight perils that Mordrake inflicts on him with a magic rope.
The other finalists are Eric, a strong, fierce warrior; Sly, a thief; Lord Noise, a braggart; Duke Wisdom, a scholar; Baron Philander, a womanizer; Bishop Faith, a cleric; Screege, a miser; and the mysterious Knight Black. They are told that the secret of the fountain's location lies in Strange City. On the way there Dorian's vampire friend, Count Gorblud, turns Baron Philander into a vampire and Sly carries away Dorian's lucky pendent which Mordrake believes has magical powers.
In Strange City, each quester goes his own way and has adventures suited to his own style. After Dorian loses his way, Count Gorblud talks him into taking him across the sea to Vampirevania. But, as usual, he becomes lost and is tortured by Barbarians, saved by Pim, a beautiful gypsy girl, is attacked by Vandals, joins the army of Hortilla the Hungol, spends a dark, stormy and frightening night in Frankenheim's castle, is carried away by a Roc, becomes a gladiator in Roam, is sentenced as a galley slave, shipwrecked on a deserted island, and becomes lost in the Minotaur's labyrinth.
Meanwhile, the other questers have their own adventures. Lord Noise leaves Strange City on a jumbo flying carpet after reading about the location of the fountain in a library book. Screege and Duke Wisdom, through a monstrous computer, learn the fountain's whereabouts and leave by Roc for the Nowhere Mountains. Bishop Faith is thrown down the witch's well. Eric is kidnapped by a one-eyed giant. Black Knight drifts out to sea after the shipwreck and is washed ashore where he is nursed by an Amazon. Sly and the Hungols march towards Shangri-La.
Who will reach the fountain first? And even if one or more of the questers do arrive there, how will they deal with the great red dragon? Read the book to answer these questions and others you may not even asked and for a lot of fun.
The hand-lettered sign above the tiny basement antique store read "Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe". To enter it a customer had to walk down five steps from the pavement. The musty, crowded interior was such a maze that any potential buyer of antiques -- of which there were very few and these were of an odd sort -- had to thread through the store carefully to keep from knocking some ancient brittle artifact to the floor.
Several tables, scattered about in no discernable pattern, held a disarray of curiosities -- small statues depicting imps and cherubs, dusty antique bottles, delicately carved ivory figurines, ancient leather-bound books with dog-eared covers and unreadable titles, a stuffed reptile reputed to be a baby dragon, assorted silver and china music boxes and a heap of brass lamps.
Blocking the already narrow aisles stood sun dials, urns, seamen's chests and marble statues. The dingy walls held death masks, strange fantastic paintings and faded tapestries that depicted knights in a clash of arms. A gilt-framed mirror reflected dark images seamed with spidery lines. An antique grandfather clock tolled each hour solemnly. The room's shelves were laden with more books, bottles and lumpy clay images.
A thick layer of dust covered everything.
Gnorduc, the owner, closed his shop early this evening to admire his latest purchase, said by the seller to be a valuable relic and to have magical properties.
Gnorduc was as antique and curious as his shop. Always a short man, as he had aged he had grown smaller and twisted so that he now more resembled a gnome than a human being. His shoulder-length hair mingled with a straggly unkempt beard and his rumpled and patched garments seemed to be from some bygone era. His lined pinched face was the same dusty ash as the long untouched items of his shop.
He withdrew a strong box from under the counter, placed it on the one clear place available and fumbled through a ring of a hundred keys until he found one that unfastened the container's huge rusty lock. With exaggerated care he removed an ornamental teak casket inlaid with ivory. Inside this, a pendant on a golden chain rested on a plush velvet cushion. Engraved on the face of the golden disc was the likeness of a dragon swallowing its tail. It was carved with such artistry that the monster seemed to live and breath. A strange blood hued light gleamed from the serpent's ruby eyes. Around the edge of the pendant were inscribed in delicate script symbols that Gnorduc could not decipher.
The shop owner's hands trembled as he inspected the bauble for several minutes. Finally he muttered, "At last I've found it, the key to the Book of Retslu." The book he spoke of was his most treasured possession. It occupied an honored position atop an old lectern in an odd niche of the store. Although hoary with age, the tome's rich leather binding and parchment pages had weathered the centuries well. Its brass-edged cover was embossed with the identical symbol as the charm -- a dragon swallowing its tail.
Except for a curious disc-shaped indentation, the metal band that held it shut had no obvious way to unfasten it. Gnorduc murmured a magic spell as his trembling fingers placed the ruby-eyed charm into the recess. To his delight it fit perfectly. When the objects met, the pendant melted into the band without a visible seam, the fastener divided with a snap and the book's cover flew open as though by an invisible hand.
Gnorduc perched on a tall stool, placed rimless spectacles on the end of his nose and began to read the preface.
"The ancient land of Retslu has a long history of which I know but a small part. Thus I begin these chronicles during the reign of Good King Woden since I have witnessed many of the events of his reign first hand. Also, I am sure that many marvels and great matters will occur in Retslu after I am gone. Hence, this volume, like time or a dragon swallowing its own tail, has no beginning and no end."
Here, the crooked man paused, scratched his head and readjusted his glasses. "Interesting, interesting," he muttered although he wasn't exactly sure what the author was getting at. He wet his thumb and flipped to the next page which contained a beautiful illustration of an enormous red dragon standing guard before a golden arch. In the foreground a man, tiny when compared to the dragon, stood sword in hand gazing up at the beast.
Gnorduc turned another page and read on.
"The Kingdom of Retslu is nestled in the Nosduh River Valley, a country with majestic mountains, bountiful farmland and mysterious and shadowy forests. Everywhere in this lush valley life abounds. Its many forms include unicorns, dragons, were-beasts and that unpredictable and ever interesting animal known as humans.
"Early morning of the day of which I shall begin this chronicle, in the village inn of the tiny hamlet of Sawyer a poor youth sleeps and dreams. He is the son of the landlady and works at the inn as waiter, part-time cook and handyman. His dream was about to change his life."
Wonderful, thought Gnorduc, now we're getting somewhere. Surely his dream has something to do with the dragon pendant and its powers. He read on.
"The youth was dreaming about a dusty curiosity shop and a gnomish old man named Gnorduc."
The Search for Prince Black Knight is a rollicking fantasy about the search for the missing Prince Black Knight, husband of the beautiful but shrewish Princess Jennifer of Retslu. It includes ghosts, demons, dragons, witches, sorcerers, a fabulous and wild birthday ball, war, revolution, high adventure, magic and time travel.
The story begins where most fairy tales end, after the handsome prince marries the beautiful princess. On a dark and stormy night within Castle Klinton, a quarrel brews between the royal couple. Prince Knight Black regrets his marriage to the shrewish Princess Jennifer, who in her final months of pregnancy has become impossible to live with. After Knight Black stalks from her room and disappears, Prince Black Pawn is born, a ghost predicts disaster for the kingdom and a witch places a curse on the baby. When King Woden hires a sorcerer to help with these problems, Hokum, a prestidigitator and juggler gets the job.
A magical amulet is lost, and a denizen of hell predicts calamities for the kingdom. To solve these problems, King Woden sends his best men on quests: General Eric to find and assassinate the missing Prince Knight Black; Minister Dorian, Tiger Lily and the boisterous braggart, Lord Noise, to retrieve the lost talisman; Duke Wisdom and Bishop Faith to defeat the demoness who caused all the mischief; Hokum, the humbug sorcerer, to consult a prophetic book; and Screege, the miserly treasury secretary, to search for the king's missing foster children.
Meanwhile, Jennifer is kidnapped by a demon who dwells in her mirror, King Woden collapses into a deathlike coma and King Skeemer, Woden's northern neighbor, conquers Retslu. Each mission provides its pursuers with high adventure, numerous dangers and pitfalls, and seems to end disastrously. Will the prince and princess and lost children ever be found? Will the calamaties predicted by the demon destroy the kingdom? Will King Woden recover? If not, who will rule the kingdom?
To find out, read the book when it becomes available at Mundania Press.
"And they lived unhappily ever after," muttered Prince Knight Black as Princess Jennifer screamed at the servants from her bedroom. It was late afternoon of a sweltering midsummer's day in the diminutive kingdom of Retslu. A week of high temperatures and higher humidity had made the prince's wife, not an easy person to live with in ordinary weather, insufferable. To make matters worse, in the last trimester of her pregnancy she was most uncomfortable. The heat only added to her irritability.
"To think what I went through to marry that shrew," Knight Black mused. To become her bridegroom, he had to win a grueling tournament that King Woden had hosted and go on a quest to locate the Fountain of Youth. The first man to return from this dangerous mission in distant, hostile lands with a bottle of the magical water was given the hand of Woden's spoiled and haughty daughter Jennifer. That fortunate man -- Really an unfortunate man, the prince reflected bleakly -- after enduring a multitude of hair-raising adventures and overcoming formidable obstacles was himself.
Nonetheless, the truth be told, those were Knight Black's happiest days. He loved the adventurous life, living off the land, fighting evil men and monsters and using his wits to escape dire predicaments. And, he reminisced, there was Cloridia. Beautiful Cloridia, the Amazon who nursed me back to health when I was near death. At the time their affair had seemed a simple dalliance. But now, as he recalled her wholesomeness, her quiet strength, her tenderness and all that she and he had in common, he realized that he was in love with her.
The irony of his present unhappy state of wedlock was that his original reason for competing for Jennifer's hand would, in all probability, never come about. In those days he had ambitions to be king. Supposedly, the man who married Jennifer would inherit the throne upon King Woden's demise. Although it was true that Woden was an old man (now in his eighty-first year) and that Knight Black was his heir apparent, the restoring powers of the Fountain of Youth's magic water caused the aged monarch to appear and have the health of a vigorous thirty-year-old. Barring an accident or violence, he would likely outlive Knight Black.
How gullible I was when I allowed Dorian to relinquish the prize to me, he chided himself. Nonetheless, he smiled as he recalled that day three years ago. Five adventurers had eluded the infamous red dragon who guarded the entrance to the Fountain of Youth. During the ensuing melee, Mordrake, an evil sorcerer; Sly, a thief and Circe, a wicked witch had fallen into the magic water and were transformed into babies. Although Knight Black's friend Dorian had been the first to retrieve the precious fluid, Dorian was in love with the werecat, Tiger Lily and allowed Knight Black to claim the prize. He and his friends had made quite a sight carrying three naked infants triumphantly through the golden gates of the walls that surrounded the fountain.
Knight Black's woolgathering was interrupted by Jennifer's shrill voice. "Knighty, Knighty," -- oh, how he hated that nickname -- "come here at once."
Wearily he plodded down the hallway to Jennifer's apartment. As he neared her door, a young servant girl burst from the room with tears streaming down her face. In her haste she collided with the prince.
"What's the matter, Mary Anne?"
Mary Anne curtsied and wiped her cheeks with her apron, all in one charming motion. "It's the mistress, Your Grace. She must be feeling poorly, for she's in a foul mood, poor dear."
"I understand. Best you disappear until her spirits brighten. These moods pass as swiftly as they come."
"Thank you, Sire." Mary Anne curtsied again and scurried off.
Jennifer's bedroom was a shambles. Broken crockery lay everywhere, a glass of milk had spilled on the carpet and clothing was strewn about. Jennifer looked rumpled and frowzy as she sprawled out on a divan heaped with pillows.
"Knighty," she screeched, "have Mary Jane beaten."
"Now, now, dear," he said soothingly as he dumped pieces of an expensive vase into a waste can. "What has your maid done so terrible that she must be beaten?"
"Stop that fussing and look at me. What has she done? She brought sour milk. Ugh, the taste will be in my mouth all day."
"Don't be so harsh on the girl. In this weather it curdles rapidly. Besides, it's the cook's fault if anyone's."
"That's it! Defend her." Her tone, however, was a little less harsh as her temper cooled. "She should've tasted it first. But you're right, the cook must also be beaten."
"We can't whip the servants for every little transgression, dear. How would it look? Are you warm? Do you want me to fan you?"
"Yes, fan me. And hand me those chocolates to sweeten my tongue."
As he gave her the candy, he thought, Nothing could sweeten your tongue, Jennifer. He removed an ostrich feather fan from the wall and waved it over her. As he performed this chore, he thought, So this is what it's come to. I'm reduced to an eunuch slave, good only to move the air above my mistress's head. Aloud, he asked, "How do you feel? Any sign of labor?"
"Don't speak of that. I should've never let you touch me, you evil man. I look and feel horrid. Labor should've started weeks ago. You've impregnated me with a monster. I'll have to suffer months more while the awful thing grows until my stomach bursts open like an overripe melon. Fan harder."
"You'll feel differently once our child is born, dear. Won't it be nice to cradle a tiny babe in your arms?"
"Ugh. It'll go straight to a wet nurse. I hate children. Look at those brats you brought home from the quest. Three monsters. And now that they're part grown, they're into everything. You should've let them drown." As she took up another topic, her mood changed to one of almost cheerfulness. "If I'd married Dorian, things would've been different. He'd never let me suffer like this. By the way, where is your charming friend? I haven't seen him all day."
Dorian, always Dorian, Black Knight thought bleakly. What does she see in that mundane youth? He was envious of Dorian, who attracted every woman he met, including Jennifer. I wish she had married him. Then I'd be free. As you can see, he was ambivalent about the situation. But, of course, Dorian cared nothing for Jennifer.
"He's probably telling stories to children or hanging around the kitchen teaching the cook recipes. You know how he loves to experiment with food."
"Why don't you invite him up for a game of chess, Knighty darling?" she cooed in a syrupy tone. "I know you like the game. I'll watch."
Knight Black frowned and his swarthy complexion became even darker. "So that you can flirt with him," he said bitterly.
"What a nasty remark. I was just thinking of you. You seem bored."
"Thinking of me, were you?"
"Yes. Thinking of you."
"Of me."
"Of you."
"How is it Jennifer, whenever you think of me, Dorian's name always comes up?"
At the same time that a stormy quarrel was brewing in Jennifer's bedroom, as it not uncommon on torrid summer days in the late afternoon, a storm of nature was brewing outdoors. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon. Off in the distance the muted rumble of thunder echoed across the valley. A wind gust rattled the shutters and the first few rain drops splattered on the sill. Knight Black dropped the fan and hurried to close the window.
"Leave it open," Jennifer yelled as Knight Black closed the latch. "A little rain won't hurt anything. Perhaps the breeze will dispel the stench in here." Unaccountably she burst into tears.
Now, if there was one thing that disconcerted Knight Black to distraction, it was Jennifer's tendency to bawl loudly in the middle of a quarrel, just when he was making some point or other. It seemed grossly unfair and put him at a distinct disadvantage; he felt simultaneously guilty, pity for her and even angrier.
"Oh Gods, must you cry," he shouted out of frustration. "Stop this instant or I'll leave the room."
Her reply was a cold, "Go then. You have no sympathy for your poor suffering wife." She followed this up by hurling the box of chocolates at his head. It missed his ear by inches and smashed against the wall.
* * *
As the quarrel escalated in Jennifer's boudoir, nature's storm also worsened. Ebony clouds swallowed the sun and lightning crackled across the sky in continuous streaks as though the heavens were splitting like a cracked mirror. A deluge blew horizontally before a driving wind. In the parapet of Castle Klinton's highest tower, a lone guard cursed the gods of weather and donned his poncho before he continued his slow march around the perimeter. In battle this particular soldier was a courageous and fierce warrior and as strong as an ox (hence his nickname, Boris the Ox). His failing, however, was a love of strong drink and brawling when the kingdom was at peace. His penchant for pugnacity had landed him in trouble many times. Thus, although he had been in the Retsluean army for years, he held the lowly rank of private. Even now, as he made his rounds in the torrential rain, his one thought was that once his duty time was over, he would warm the chill from his bones with rum.
As he reached the midpoint of each side of the tower, he would stop and gaze over the wall to see whether anything unusual was occurring. Tonight, because of the bad weather, his view was so limited it was doubtful whether he could have spotted an attacking army if such a force did approach, which luckily was not the case. Yet, it was his duty to check the landscape and that is what he did, without thought.
So it was that, as he peered into the torrent striking him in the face on the parapet's north side, that lightning struck a large oak, splitting it in two. This brightened his mood as he knew that this tree was a favorite of Minister Dorian, a man Boris despised because he had bested the soldier during King Woden's tourney.
Too bad that he's not under that falling limb now, reading his books as he always does, thought Boris. I might be a prince today if it weren't for him and his trickery.
By the light of a second lightning flash out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. A shadowy figure of an old woman in a dark cloak approached the castle. He squinted, hoping to catch another glimpse of her when the next bolt lit up the sky. Nonetheless, when a streak spider-webbed the night, the person, if there really had been someone, was gone.
Well, if it really was an old woman, he mused, what of it? An old crone like that can do no harm. No sense reporting what I'm not sure I saw.
He lingered at the spot to see whether others would appear, lest it be said that he was derelict in his duties. The person might be a spy. Although the storm still raged, the wind and rain abated, making the viewing better. The lightning and thunder continued as before, giving him flashes of the landscape every few moments.
Behind the fallen oak was the royal churchyard. Boris's gaze took in this area especially, in case someone was hiding among the ornate crosses, statues and mausoleums. Suddenly a strange misty blue glow appeared above a grave. Boris's first thought was that it was some strange ball lightning. It lingered too long, however, and rose towards the tower. Now, as was said before, Boris was brave and fearless in battle. But when it came to the supernatural, his courage failed. As the uncanny glow headed in his direction, he ran around the corner of the tower. There he stopped, pulled back by curiosity and his sense of duty. As quietly as possible he slid along the wall and peered around the edge. What he saw raised the hackles on the back of his neck. The glowing ball, occupying the very spot he had just vacated, changed shape, growing until it resembled in hazy outline a large man. This congealed somewhat and although still translucent into the figure of a man in royal robes and wearing a crown.
"Tis the ghost of some long dead king risen from the grave," muttered Boris. A chill like the cold, dead hand of a corpse touched his spine.
The specter groaned loudly. With piercing eyes, it gazed in Boris's direction. Boris jerked his head back and flattened against the wall. His knees quaked so hard that his bones rattled.
"Boor-is," the phantom called in an eerie hollow voice. "Come here and kneel before a former monarch of this land. I have a message to impart to my great-great-grandson."
The trembling Boris froze at these words and nearly fainted. It was long moments before he could force himself to move. When he did, instead of obeying the wraith's orders, he catapulted towards the tower door and clattered down the narrow stairwell as fast as possible. Because of his panic, he did not see General Eric coming up the steps to inspect the guard and nearly bowled him over.
Eric halted Boris's mad plunge with a firm hand. "What's the matter, Private? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
Coming upon his commanding officer so suddenly shocked some of the nightmarish fright from Boris. With a still trembling hand, he saluted smartly. "Aye sir, 'tis truly a ghost I've seen. And it's after me."
"Have you been drinking on duty again?" The skeptical Eric brought his nose close to Boris's mouth to smell his breath. He hastily withdrew it as a strong stench of garlic issued from it.
"No sir, on my honor. First lightning struck the big oak by the graveyard. Then a witch appeared and disappeared again. Then this awful king of demons rose from his grave and came after me with claws like daggers." The horror that Boris felt had exaggerated the spirit's appearance in his mind.
Eric wondered whether Boris had gone daft. "Slow down Private. I can barely follow your story you're talking so fast. Where is this denizen of Hell now? If it had been chasing you, it should be here now."
Eric's skepticism calmed Boris somewhat. Screwing up his courage, he replied, "General sir, the last I saw of it, it was on the parapet of the tower. Perhaps it's still there."
"Then let's investigate. C'mon Private, you and I shouldn't fear evil spirits. They'll be our constant companions after we die."
Boris reluctantly followed Eric back up the staircase.
* * *
Meanwhile, the quarrel in Jennifer's boudoir had become an all out war of words and missiles. The missiles being almost any object close enough for Jennifer to hurl at Knight Black. Finally the prince retreated from the room in a huff. He once again collided with Mary Anne, who instead of taking the prince's advice, had been listening with her ear to the door. This time he merely brushed past her without a word and went directly to his room where he stood by the window in the blackest of moods. As he stared at the raging storm, he soliloquized:
"To leave or not to leave: that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and crockery of Jennifer's wrath
Or to take legs against a sea of troubles
And by leaving end them. To leave; to go;
No more; and by fleeing to say we end
The heartache, and the wench's shocks
That flesh heir, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To leave, to go
To flee: perchance to meet
Aye the lovely Cloridia."
* * *
When Eric and Boris reached the tower's parapet, the skeptical Eric stepped boldly out on the narrow causeway, sure that Boris had been hallucinating. Boris followed hesitantly, ready to flee at any moment. Immediately upon rounding the corner on the side where he had his frightening experience, the ghost confronted them. "Kneel subjects," the specter commanded in his unearthly voice. "I am the departed King Dunking."
Eric, utterly confounded, did as he was bade, thinking that some trickery was involved, but not sure what. The apparition certainly appeared authentic. Boris also knelt, too terrified to do anything else.
Eric said, "What is it that you want of us, Your Former Majesty? Why have you left the other world to stand before us in such foul weather?" Eric became aware that in his haste to dispel Boris's illusions he had forgotten to don his cloak.
"I have a message for my great-great-great grandson, King Woden," Dunking replied in his eerie hollow voice.
Eric pondered this for a moment. If this was an elaborate prank, apparently the king was to be one of the butts of it. Well, it better be a good one or the perpetrators will be laughing out of body openings they never had before, he thought as he decided to play along with the gag. "Boris, fetch His Majesty."
Grateful for an excuse to leave, Boris swiftly charged down the narrow tower steps to the castle proper, jogged through the anteroom and up the main staircase to the royal family's quarters. He did not stop to catch his breath until he had reached Woden's chambers. On his way he was surprised to see that the front entrance was ajar and that rain had puddled on the marble floor. Somebody's arrived or departed in a hurry, he thought. He was right on both counts.
As he was about to knock on Woden's door, a groan and a shriek issued from Jennifer's apartment. What now? he thought. Is someone harming the princess? He rushed to her rescue, bursting in unannounced. "Gods Princess, has some blackguard attacked you?" he cried when he saw the mess left from her quarrels with Mary Anne and Prince Knight Black. "It must've been a maniac to do so much damage. Are you wounded?"
Jennifer was lying calmly on the settee where Black Knight had left her. At first she was startled by Boris's abrupt entrance. In a moment, however, she saw the ludicrousness of the situation and exploded into laughter at Boris's wild appearance. Nonetheless, she soon resumed her usual haughty manner. "Wounded in the heart only, you boorish peasant."
"Your heart? Oh Gods, the intruder has stabbed you in the chest. You're mortally wounded."
"You fool," Jennifer shouted impatiently. "No one has stabbed me. At least not in the chest. Oh, oh, ow. Here comes another." The last was a gasping sob.
"Another intruder? Where? I'll protect you."
"Not an intruder, you stupid dolt -- a labor pain. Fetch my father. Fetch the prince. Fetch the servants. Now!!! I'm having the baby!! Don't stand there gaping. Do it."
The hopelessly confused Boris ran from the room to do her bidding. He immediately encountered Mary Anne, still lurking in the hallway.
"Mary Anne, the p-p-princess ... she's ... having a ..."
"I know. I heard everything. I'll take care of Princess Jennifer. Go and notify King Woden and Prince Knight Black. Then fetch hot water."
She rushed into Jennifer's room, leaving a stunned Boris scratching his head. "Hot water?" he muttered. "She must've thought I meant that the princess is having a bath."
Nonetheless, he marched to the Woden's apartment and pounded loudly. While he waited, he recalled his original mission. So, when a sleepy Woden appeared in his dressing gown, he bowed low. "Forgive the intrusion so late at night, Your Majesty, but Princess Jennifer is having a ghost and a baby is haunting the north tower."
"Eh, what?" Woden mumbled sleepily. Nonetheless, when he realized that it was Boris who so rudely disturbing his rest, he came to life and yelled, "Drunk again Private? This is the last straw. We've been too lenient with you. It'll be thirty lashes and a month in the dungeon this time. How dare you disturb my slumber?"
Boris fell to his knees. "But Your Majesty, I haven't had a drink since early this morning. I've only come to tell you that Princess Jennifer is in labor and that the ghost of a long dead king has appeared."
"Jennifer is having the baby? Wonderful news. Why didn't you say so in the first place? Are the servants with her?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Mary Anne is attending her."
"Good, good. And what is the other thing you said?"
Boris, feeling calmer, told his story about the strange happenings at the tower.
"Hmm, a portent. After I dress and see to Jennifer, I'll go up to the tower with you. Meanwhile, tell Prince Knight Black the good news. Meet me at the tower entrance."
Boris waited until Woden closed his door before rising. He went to Black Knight's apartment at the end of the hall. To his surprise, the door was ajar. He tapped lightly before swinging it open. The room was dark and silent. "Prince, are you there?" he called softly. No reply. He called again, louder. Still no answer. He shouted, "Prince Knight Black." Only silence. He stepped inside, felt his way around until he found a candelabra and lit the candles. The room was neat and orderly -- and empty. A glance at the bed told him that no one had slept in it.
Now I'll have to hunt him down, thought Boris testily. What a night. He's probably with that blackguard, Dorian, playing chess. While his lovely wife suffers.
Not anxious to return to the tower to face the ghost and in all likelihood General Eric's wrath at the delay, he slowly tromped down the main staircase towards Minister Dorian's apartment. Halfway there he encountered a strange middle-aged woman in a black cloak that dripped puddles as she headed upstairs. Recalling the figure he had seen from the parapet, he was immediately suspicious. "Who are you?"
"I'm Wortcillia, the midwife. It's my understanding that a woman here has come to term," she croaked in a voice like fingernails scraping a blackboard.
"Oh! It's Princess Jennifer herself who is in labor. Right up these steps and to your left."
She scampered past him holding her skirts from dragging with claw-like hands. As she disappeared around the corner of the landing, Boris scratched his head and wondered how a midwife had arrived so quickly. Nonetheless, he shrugged and continued on his way to Dorian's abode.
A Humorous Fantasy
On Friday the thirteenth in the dead of winter, somewhere in Vamipirevania Pim, a beautiful woman, chains up her werewolf lover in anticipation of the full moon. When the orb rises blue and later turns to blood, her lover disappears. In addition, the castle of her vampire friend, Count Gorblud, is burned to the ground. She consults a gypsy fortune teller and is told to locate her long-lost sibling whom she will know by a dragon-shaped birthmark. She journeys to the Kingdom of Retslu to ask the sorcerer, Mordrake, to use his magical crystal, but becomes lost in his labyrinthine castle. So starts a tale that takes place in Retslu, a fantasy land in the tradition of Oz or Xanth, with humor, satire, love and adventure. Some of the many quirky characters include: Pim, the lovely gypsy girl in love with a beast; Mordrake, the sorcerer who wants King Skeemer to stop bugging him about the ultimate magical weapon; Doctor Nemesis, the evil scientist who turns the moon blue and forgets to change it back; the youthful King Black Pawn who worries that his mother will make him marry a haughty noblewoman; the sinister Gnorduc who wipes the mind of the king's father returned from exile; Hokum, an illusionist pretending to be a real sorcerer; Lord Noise and Clank, a bumbling dragon-fighter and his metal assistant; and many more. In addition, there is a castle whose labyrinth passages trap anyone who enters it, an enormous crystal ball that broadcasts the news of the future, a war fought with wooden soldiers, a magical painting that transports people to the lair of the ferocious red dragon, and other monsters, magic and mayhem.
BLUE MOON
Friday, the thirteenth of January, was bitter cold in the rugged hill country of Vampirevania. Deep in the woods Pim, a woman known and admired far and wide for her beauty, trudged along a narrow path accompanied by her lover and companion. Terry was not as handsome as Pim was beautiful. Nonetheless, with his dark beard, he was good looking in a rugged masculine way. His melancholy expression testified to a great tragedy in his life. As the couple pulled a hand-drawn sleigh of firewood down a narrow forest trail, each puff of frigid air shook small blizzards from snow-laden firs and spruce upon their heads and shoulders. In the icy air, every breath was needles in their lungs. Except for the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the sighing breeze, the forest was silent. They hurried. Soon the pale winter sun would disappear behind the mountains, making the thick forest a place of utter darkness and frigidity -- like a grave.
To Pim, her good looks was a mixed blessing. Sometimes they embarrassed her. When she entered a room, every head turned. Every man present let out an involuntary and spontaneous sigh. Her waist was slim, her hips full and her legs long. Her heavy cloak did not hide her prominent curves. In the waning light long strands of copper hair strayed from her hood and glistened scarlet.
Terry once said to her, "Everything about you is beautiful. Your most attractive feature, nonetheless, are your eyes, dark as midnight and deep as a desert well. When you're excited or angry, they flash like a danger signal. One look in them is all a man needs to set his heart on fire. If he gazes deep enough into them, he is forever lost, your slave for eternity."
After Terry rekindled the fire at their rustic cottage, they warmed themselves with cups of hot cocoa before the crackling flames. Finally he broke their silent contemplation of the fire. "Soon the moon will rise full. You know what that means, my love."
Pim sighed heavily. She dreaded these monthly episodes. "Yes Terry, my poor dear. Are you ready?"
He kissed her cheek for a reply. They gathered warm quilts and again braved the frigid air. She clutched his hand fiercely as they strolled along their narrow garden path to a dog house large enough to house the greatest of Great Danes. Near the entrance a strong chain and a heavy leather collar was attached to an iron spike driven into the ground. Pim kneeled in the snow and spread the blankets inside the enclosure. When she rose, she fastened the collar around Terry's neck. "I hope you'll be warm enough."
"I'll be fine. Don't forget that I'll have a fine fur coat."
They embraced tenderly, and Pim trudged back to their cabin. A single tear rolled down her cheek and froze into a glistening ice crystal which she did not bother to brush away. After she entered their living room, she extinguished the candles but one and changed into a flimsy nighty before the roaring fireplace. With the aid of the candle, she crept to their cramped bedroom and crawled under a silken comforter. Although she was apprehensive about her lover out in the cold, she was exhausted from their hike and soon fell asleep.
Hours later the moon shining through her window woke her. Strangely, it was deep blue, almost the hue of Terry's eyes. Outdoors, a wolf bayed, long and plaintive, as though it lamented the world's sorrows, a chain rattled, and the moon changed to blood red. Something is terribly wrong, Pim thought. She bounded from her bed, threw on her fur-lined cloak and boots and rushed out the door. When she reached the doghouse, the chain lay on the ground with the collar broken. Terry was nowhere in sight.
"No," she cried and gazed around. Wolf prints led to the woods. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed. It was no use going after him now. She'd only be placing her own life in jeopardy. You see, Terence Lalbert, Terry, was a werewolf.
Sadly she trudged to the cabin, sat bundled in blankets before the fire and watched sparks dance around the logs like tiny demons. After a long while she nodded off.
***
As the early morning light drove away the shadows, Pim knew that she was still alone; Terry had not returned. Quickly she dressed in her warmest garments and wandered through the woods calling his name. She tried to find his tracks but fresh snow had obliterated the prints she'd seen the night before. She returned to the hut at noon. The fire had burned to embers, and she restocked it with the fresh wood they had gathered the day before. After a light lunch, she returned to the forest to call out her lover's name for hours. The next day she did the same. And again the following day. Finally she decided to seek help.
Vampirevania was ruled by Count Gorblud. Although he was a vampire, he was kindly in his fashion, satisfying his blood lust only on condemned criminals. It was to this warmhearted bloodsucker whom Pim intended to go for advice. Years ago she and he had rescued a foreigner by the name of Dorian from being tortured by Duke Savage the Barbarian. They'd been friends ever since.
She set off on a horse-drawn sleigh for Gorblud's castle in the mountains. Although the distance was not far, at this time of the year it took her two arduous days to cover the dangerous route. The first day a blinding blizzard forced her to seek shelter in a farmer's barn for most of the afternoon and all night. The next day the rutted roads were at times blocked with drifts that made her make wide detours. At times the wind blew the snow so hard that it created whiteouts during which she had to use extreme caution not to end up in a ditch or go over a cliff. After sunset , since this was Vampirevania, there was danger from werewolves, werebears and vampires.
When she finally reached Gorblud's estate, she wearily plodded up a narrow path to the vampire's bleak home. She passed through the gate in the outer wall only to find to her dismay that the castle was in ruins, consumed to the foundation by a conflagration. Wisps of smoke rose from smoldering timbers. Broken blocks of stone and snow soaked ash were all that remained of Gorblud's proud palace. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she wandered about the ruin in the vain hope of finding a clue as to what had happened to her friend. She discovered nothing.
Crestfallen, she drove to the village at the foot of the mountain, a place called Frankenheim. During supper, she sat in the darkest corner of the inn with the cowl of her cloak shielding her face. As she picked at her meal of stir-fried vegetables over rice with minuscule bits of chicken in it, she eavesdropped on the conversations around her. A group of drunken local men were bragging how they'd attacked the castle and burned it down.
"Yah Fritz, dot garlic-hating vampire vill never again burden us vith his cruel laws. Imagine outlawing the importation of garlic. Everything mine wife cooked tasted burnt. It vas awful."
"He vas a bloodsucker no doubt, dot count. No voman vas safe from him. Gute riddance to bad rubbish. Did anyone ever find Gorblud's body und pound a stake through his black heart?"
"Nein. He flew away as a bat vile ve pounded on his door. Someday ve cotch him. Den ve make him true dead and not chust undead."
For some reason the men thought the last statement was hilarious because they all broke out in uncontrolled laughter. Tears again flowed from Pim's eyes. Poor Count Gorblud, she thought and prayed that he had escaped unharmed.
She retired to her lonely room in despair. Who to turn to now?
A Humorous Fantasy
Chaos is the most enigmatic, mysterious and powerful of all the gods and goddesses. Only she can turn what is to what is not, make nothing of something and with the help of her servant Time, destroy all that is or ever will be. Thus, the heart trembles and the knees quake when this powerful and capricious goddess interferes directly in the affairs of humankind. Pity, therefore, the citizens of Retslu, a tiny kingdom ruled by an honest, just and liberal monarch, King Knight Black, whose only faults were muddle-headness, not an unusual trait in rulers of this land, and a tendency toward extravagance. During his reign, the once proud and prosperous Retslu had become destitute. Several years of drought, wars with neighboring Neerg, poaching by the dreaded beast-things in the south and the reign of several incompetent and extravagant kings had left the kingdom impoverished. Near King Black's castle squatted an ancient venerable and hoary church. Presiding over this church is Bishop Faith, whose ambition is to replace the church with a tremendous cathedral. When two marriages are to be performed, the king throws a lavish masquerade ball, and the goddess Chaos appears, awarding Bishop Faith the prize for the best costume. When others ridicule her choice, Chaos curses the kingdom. The very next day, the royal treasurer, Screege, discovers that not enough gold is left in the treasure room to pay the king's bills. Thus begins a hilarious serious of misadventures in the tradition of Diskworld and Xanth. In it you will meet Captain Blite, a pirate with an unusual buried treasure, the hapless knight, Lord Noise, who must hock the Royal Crown if he can survive the monsters that litter his path, the king of Atlantis and his troll, Turkle, Ping Pong, a monsterous gorilla, the witch, Wortisha, plus Lord Noise's slutty daughter, Hunkerina, Pancho Beastman, and many other crazy and irresistablecharacters.
The king's ball was to celebrate his friends wed.
Each room was a different hue, even red.
At the judging of the contest, Chaos did reign
Excerpt from The Poem of Chaos
The double wedding was held a scant two weeks after Bishop Faith's fall from the pulpit Grace. This event occurred in the early evening, after sunset, as a courtesy to one of the grooms, Baron Philander, who never ventured out while the sun shone. Beforehand, Faith called in carpenters to make the most pressing repairs to the church. He decorated it himself in a manner he hoped would make up for its shortcomings. He paid for this miracle with the meager donation that he had received for performing the ceremony.
Garbed in luxurious robes, he beamed with pleasure to see his church crowded with the couples' friends, relatives and well-wishers. As the brides' entourages strolled up the aisle at a slow cadence, the wedding march was played superbly on the church's old organ by Eager, a friend of one of the brides. Although the decrepit instrument often went off-key, the artist's skill made its stringent tones sound heavenly.
The brides in their wedding gowns were spectacularly beautiful. Even in ordinary garb, both were lovely women. For this joyous occasion they were splendglamorous. Cindy, Baron Philander's betrothed, was a chestnut-haired charmer. Her frilly gown, formfitting at the bosom but floating free like a magical mist at the skirt, had a train that trailed several paces down the threadbare carpet. As Faith performed the ceremony, he gazed into her deep, dark eyes and envied Philander.
Pim, Terence Lalbert's wife-to-be, was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. She was more bold in her choice of apparel. Her bare shoulders, elaborately coiffured copper locks and plunging neckline kept Faith's eyes busy moving from a deep chasm surrounded by mounds of quivering flesh to her lovely face. Otherwise the dress was simple and satiny, hugging her soft curves like an apple peal hugs the tasty fruit within.
Since both women were orphans, King Knight Black, in royal robes as glamorous as the women's gowns, gave the brides away. With a bride clinging to each arm, he strode up the aisle looking solemn, masculine and martial in a fur-trimmed black cape, jeweled golden crown and silver-brocaded uniform. After he turned the lovelies over to their grooms, an usher escorted him to a throne especially placed for a good view of the ceremony.
An opening hymn was sung by Lady Melody who accompanied herself on the harp. (She had a beautiful soprano voice that brought tears to the eye. Alas, she was a sorrowful figure. Her husband, previously General, now King Eric, had deserted her when he became monarch of a foreign land.)
Faith beamed as he presided over the exchange of vows with all the pomp, display and showmanship that he was capable of. After he bestowed his final blessing on the congregation, he gave each new bride a peck on the cheek, shook the hand of everyone present and led the happy couples to their awaiting carriages.
As he threw rice after the departing vehicles, he noticed that the night sky had clouded over so that not a single star shown, and a chill wind had picked up. Hence, he stepped lively along the path to the castle, anxious to reach his apartment before the impending storm broke. As he entered through the fortress's huge oak doors, the first lightning streak split the sky, followed by a slow drum-roll of thunder.
Once safely in his room he dressed for the evening's entertainment. Although the ball would not start for an hour, he was anxious to appraise the effect of his costume, which he had chosen with the utmost care. He stood before a full-length mirror for several minutes admiring his garb, that of an impoverished worn, coarse monk's robe. In his mind it represented his church's poverty. After it was adjusted properly, he tugged an elastic mask over his silver locks and stretched it snugly under his chin. The man in the mirror was a tonsured old monk. To complete his disguise, he bared his feet, wriggling his toes at the unaccustomed feeling of not wearing footgear.
Impatient for the reception to begin, he alternately paced the room and adjusted his costume until the mantel clock told him that the party was about to begin. Even then, he waited a few additional minutes, glanced at his image one final time and strode with a firm step through the castle halls. He marched through the wide double door to the west wing, pausing only to hand his invitation to the servant collecting them.
As he entered, he was dazzled as though by a bright light. The walls and decorations in this first chamber of the several in the west wing were a stark white. The milky light was produced by a brazier behind white glass. It made every object pale and alabaster hued. He felt as though he had stepped into an arctic wilderness. Wall murals portraying vast ice fields and snow-covered glaciers sent icy shivers down his spine. On the lofty ceiling, pearly winged angels cavorted among billowing clouds while the Frost god blew icy gusts. A furry white carpet tickled his bare soles. In the corners marble vases overflowed with bouquets of bridal wreath, white carnations, edelweiss and lilies. A string quartet in pale dinner jackets bowed, "White Room" on ivory instruments. Even the guests' multihued costumes provided little relief from the blinding whiteness.
Faith scanned the crowd. Since he did not recognize anyone, he sauntered to a long service table covered with a cloud-hued lace cloth. Its centerpiece was the several-storied, sugar-frosted, angel-food wedding cake. On either side were platters of white hors d'oeuvres and punch bowls filled with eggnog. Faith filled his plate with a hard boiled egg, cauliflower florets dipped in horseradish and a slice of turkey breast. He poured himself a glass of Chateau Blanc.
Due to the room's white glare, he was becoming snow blind. To escape, he took his plate to the next chamber. It was as strikingly violet as the first had been blinding white. Here, deep purple light rays flickered on murals depicting a murky sea bottom. Mermaids, fish and octopus swam among Atlantis's ruins where the god Neptune held court, trident in one hand, from a coral throne. A purple-clad orchestra played "Deep Indigo" and floral decorations of violets, dahlias and orchids perfumed the air.
Through the purple dimness, he noticed a woman in tiger stripes by the refreshment table plucking purple grapes and sipping burgundy. Minister Dorian's wife, he thought as he strolled up to the tigress. He bowed in a courtly manner. "Good evening, Tiger. Aren't the decorations remarkable?"
The lady tittered. "Yes they are. Let me guess who you are. I'll bet you're Bishop Faith."
He was disappointed to be recognized so easily. Nonetheless, he continued politely, "You're quite correct. And how is your husband, the minister?"
The feline giggled again. "Oh how delightful. My costume has you completely fooled. You've mistaken me for Dorian's wife." Lowering her voice, she whispered, "I'm really Queen Jennifer."
Flustered at having addressed the queen in such an offhand manner, Faith bowed again and stammered out an apology. "Pardon me, Your Majesty. I ... I really thought ..."
"Oh bosh, that's the whole idea of a masquerade -- to be taken for someone else." She placed a finger to her lips. "Don't give me away. Any other time I may be a queen, but tonight I'm a tiger. Grr." This last word she pronounced in a throaty, suggestive manner and led him by the arm into the next chamber. "Come and see the rest of the wing. It was His Majesty's idea, you know, to make each room a different color and have a different theme."
In the blue chamber, on the longest wall a lonely castle overlooked an azure sea from a solitary pinnacle. From the water rose Diana, the moon goddess. Overhead a blue moon cast an eerie glow on blue-clad musicians playing "Blue Moon." Vases of bluebells, delphiniums, foxglove, hyacinth and rhododendron scented the air. At the refreshment counter steaming dishes of rhubarb, turnips and broccoli were covered with melted blue cheese. To Faith's delight, since he loved seafood, the main course was blue fish garnished with black olives. For desert a slice of blueberry pie tempted his palate.
While Faith exchanged pleasantries with Queen Jennifer, they were joined by a dragon and a white kitten. This couple turned out to be Minister Dorian and his wife, Lady Tiger Lily (the woman he'd mistaken the queen for). After a few remarks about the rainy weather after a loud peal of thunder sounded, Jennifer wandered away. At this point Tiger Lily remarked, "That blue moon gives me the willies. It reminds me of the time Dorian and I were lost in an evil enchanted castle. If you don't mind, I'd like to continue our conversation in another room."
Since Dorian always acquiesced to Tiger Lily's wishes, Faith followed the couple to the Green Room. It might have been called the Jungle Room. Not only did it depict a verdant forest and an olive nature goddess, but the chamber was so filled with potted ferns that Faith had to brush away the leaves to make his way to the board. Tiger Lily filled her plate from a huge salad of bell peppers, cucumbers and green olives over raw spinach. Dorian, on the other hand, went for the asparagus and peas in a green sauce. Faith merely took a few green grapes and limes from the fruit bowl. They each had the bartender mix a different drink. Tiger hand a daiquiri, Dorian, a mint julep, and Faith, a limeade.
The trio were joined by Duke Wisdom, Retslu's esteemed doctor of philosophy and science, and Lord Noise, a boisterous retired knight who claimed to be a great dragon slayer in his youth. Wisdom was costumed as a pig, and Noise as a detective, outfits selected because of an adventure they had participated in the past. At first Noise dominated the conversation by relating for the thousandth time the tale of his encounters with goblins and gnomes in the underworld. When Faith was able to get in a word edgewise, he described his plans for a new church. Although the others expressed interest, they appeared bored by the topic. Noise even rudely yawned as Faith described the fabulous murals that would grace the domed ceiling.
While they conversed, a servant announced that the newlyweds had arrived. The friends returned to the white room where the quartet had just struck up "The Wedding March." The servant at the door bellowed, "Baron and Baroness Philander," whereupon Philander and Cindy entered arm in arm. The couple, like everyone else at the ball, had changed to costumes. Philander was dressed as a wolf and Cindy as a scullery maid.
"Mister and Madam Talbert," the servant cried as the other couple marched in, Talbert as a zombie and the gorgeous Pim as Little Red Riding Hood with a child's short skirt that showed off her long, comely legs.
When the royal family entered, the tune changed to "The Gods Save the King." Knight Black wore the outfit of an ancient warrior, a black and white plaid kilt; Queen Jennifer had on her tiger outfit; and the handsome young Prince Black Pawn was garbed in dark armor.
To the tune of "The Gang's All Here" came Duke Woden, the queen's father as a peasant farmer, and Wortisha, his youthful wife costumed as a pirate. Clinging to her shoulder was her pet raven made up to resemble a parrot.
As the string quartet played "Hi Neighbor," old King Skeemer, ruler of the Kingdom of Neerg, strolled in as a dove, symbolic of his peaceful intentions.
After these esteemed personages completed their grand entrance, the string quartet struck up Queen Jennifer's favorite waltz, "The Merry Widow." The newlyweds, the king and queen, and Duke Wisdom and his wife began to whirl around the floor. They were soon joined by several other couples.
At the end of the first set, King Knight Black toasted the new brides and grooms. He was followed by several others who wished to honor the newlyweds by raising their glasses to them and wishing them well. Seeing this as an opportunity not to be missed, Faith rose and suggested that they petition the gods to bestow a long, happy and prosperous life of wedded bliss on the joined pairs. During his lengthy prayer he called upon the gods to bestow their benefits, not failing to mention the lack of participation in his services and the need for a more adequate house of worship. Everyone sighed with relief when he pronounced his final blessing.
At this point in the celebration the master of ceremonies announced that the guests were invited to partake of the banquets if they had not already done so. Faith, his hearty appetite still not sated, although he'd snacked heavily from the white and violet boards, decided to wander through the remainder of the wing to see what delectables he might still consume. With platter in hand, he strolled swiftly through the chambers he had already visited to the yellow room where golden walls covered with crescent sand dunes were smiled upon by hot, bronzed Apollo. Since this desert theme made him thirsty, he downed several goblets from a hogshead of beer. No longer dry, he ate an ear of hot buttered corn, several cheeses and a slice of corn bread. After he supped on these goodies he continued to the next room without stopping to admire the yellow room's marigold, straw flower and sunflower arrangements.
The theme of the orange room was autumn. A pastoral farmland scene with rows of pumpkins, corn husks, heaps of straw and autumn-hued trees was overseen by the orange-glad earth goddess, Gaea, who spread her bountiful harvest through a horn of plenty. How appropriate for the season, Faith thought as he loaded up on stewed carrots, candied yams, a tangerine, barbecued pork ribs and pumpkin pie while the scarecrow band played "September Song."
As he sipped a glass of sherry, a man costumed as a golden statue began a conversation. "Is it you, Bishop, behind that monk's mask?"
Faith knew at once that this was the treasury minister, who loved wealth above all things. "Yes. And you're Screege. I'm afraid our costumes are not enough of a departure from our actual employment to fool anyone. What a happy encounter, he thought. Just the person to start buttering up to start the ball rolling for my building fund. Aloud he said, "I imagine this party is a welcome diversion for someone with your responsibilities. All that counting of tax receipts, preparing budgets and so forth must keep you hopping."
"Right you are. Especially in these hard times. It's a full time job going after tax cheats. People have many ways of hiding wealth."
"Ah, but is it not also difficult deciding how the money should be spent. Naturally you would want the proceeds to go for projects that would bring the most happiness and enlightenment to our citizens."
"Certainly. But who could say what that might be. Besides, the allocation of funds is out of my hands. I advise His Majesty, but he's a stubborn man who has his own ideas on how the crown's meager wealth should be spent. And, believe me, sometimes his choices are extravagant and inopportune. Take this ball, for example. I tried to tell him to keep it simple. But no, you wouldn't believe what the decorations alone cost." Screege went on to complain about the various expenses associated with the masquerade.
At that point Faith stopped listening and thought, No use in approaching this tightwad about funds for the church. Their conversation deteriorated to gossip about mutual acquaintances. After a while Faith excused himself and wandered into the red room.
A flickering red light on painted carmine flames caused the walls to dance and flash as though a real conflagration was in progress. Demons and imps capered among the fiery tongues, torturing damned souls as Satan watched from his throne. Revelers in phantasmagorian costumes whirled around the room to a hot tune, making it difficult to distinguish them from the denizens of hell. One couple in particular cut a lively figure. Count Gorblud of Vampirevania, in an outlandish costume, spun the lovely Pim around in a lively Czardas (a folk dance of Gorblud's native land). As they twirled Pim's cape and her short skirt flew out revealing her hot pink thong. It seemed truly a scene from Hades.
After Faith watched the dancers for a while, he went to the board where he sipped tomato soup, had difficulty deciding between the goulash and a bloody, rare steak, and made himself a salad of kidney beans, pimentos, red peppers and beets which he washed down with a glass of Rose'.
Although his enormous appetite was now sated, curious as to the final room's theme, he moseyed on. To his surprise, the door to the last of the eight chambers was shut. After he slid it open he stood at the entrance in shock. The chamber was as black as a coal mine.
Once his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he shuddered to see that the firelight's effect upon the dark hangings through blood-tinted panes was ghastly that no other partygoer was bold enough to set foot within. Dark clouds roiled chaotically on one long wall while witches, black cats and ravens gamboled among them. The goddess Chaos, in a hooded cloak that hid her terrible countenance, presided somberly over her creatures. The strains of "Funereal March" issued softly from black-garbed musicians who were all but invisible against the inky background. To Faith's horror, a coffin surrounded by black dahlias, black orchids, deadly nightshade and mandrake stood upright along the far wall.
In addition there stood a gigantic ebony clock. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, monotonous clang. When the minute hand climbed to the clock's pinnacle, and the hour struck, there came from the clock's brazen lungs a sound which was clear, loud, deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at the lapse of the hour, the musicians paused momentarily in their performance to hearken to the sound.
Faith's first impulse was to leave these bleak surroundings immediately. As he turned to go, however, he heard a groan issuing from the coffin. Wondering what might have caused this weird sound, he opened its lid. A pale corpse with carmine lips rested inside. As Faith stared in horror, the cadaver stepped from the upright coffin and cried, "Boo." Faith leaped backwards in fright.
The corpse laughed. "I've been waiting for someone to come in here so I could do that."
Faith recognized the evil voice immediately. "Not a very nice trick, Mordrake," he cried testily, shaken by the practical joke. (Mordrake was King Skeemer's court sorcerer, a notorious mischief maker.) "What if I'd had a bad heart?"
"Oh bosh. This would be a dull party without pranks. You're being a bad sport. By the way, you have me at a disadvantage. You evidently have guessed my identity, but I know not whom I've just had the pleasure of scaring the cassock off of."
"Bishop Faith."
"I might've known. You always were a party pooper. But let's not quarrel." Half fawning, half sneering, Mordrake placed an arm around Faith's shoulders. "Join me for a dark beer."
Although Faith cared little for Mordrake's company, rather than be impolite, he allowed himself to be led to a dining table covered in black velvet. Upon this ebony cloth were platters of charred pork roast, dark bread, black-eyed peas, devil's food cake and dark chocolates. Mordrake joked about past times when he and Faith had been rivals for a prize awarded by Duke Woden, who at that time had been monarch. This made Faith even more uneasy. Hence, he was relieved when King Knight Black strolled into the room. He and Mordrake bowed and greeted His Majesty.
"Well, here's an unlikely twosome," Knight Black remarked. "A tonsured monk and a vampire. And who are you really?" Faith and Mordrake revealed their true identities. "An even more unlikely pair. I can't imagine what you two would have in common to discuss."
"Just reminiscing about old times, Woden's great quest to obtain water from the Fountain of Youth," Mordrake replied. "I love the way you've decorated each room for the masquerade. Very ingenious, Your Majesty."
"Thank you, Mordrake. The idea came to me in a dream. I wanted to do something unique, something Poe-etic, for such an auspicious occasion. But, please continue with your tales of those glory days. I too have fond memories of those times."
Because Faith wanted to curry Knight Black's favor in the hope of softening him up for the moment he would try to convince him to allocate funds for the new church, he also complemented Knight Black on the decorations and told a few anecdotes about the quest all three had been on.
As they swapped tales of their adventures, the stories became more elaborate and heroic with each retelling. Finally, Knight Black glanced at the antique clock in the corner. "Oh dear, it's almost midnight. I must gather the guests for the costume judging."
"Where are you holding it, Sire?" asked Faith, wishing that there was a way he could get Knight Black alone.
"Right here, I think. I like this room above all the others. It's so peaceful. Like death."
"Excellent choice," said Mordrake. "It's also my favorite. Although the red room is nice too, with all those torture scenes in Hell."
"Mine too," Faith chimed in, although in truth he despised the gloomy chamber. He disliked lying, but felt it was necessary in his just cause. "Uh, Your Majesty, may I help you assemble everyone?"
"Of course. How gracious of you to offer."
As Faith followed Knight Black from the dark chamber, he noticed that Chaos's statue was not as it had been when he entered the chamber. That's strange, he thought. I could've sworn the goddess was near the coffin. My memory is getting terrible.
He and Knight Black meandered through the wing pausing in each room to announce that the costume judging would be held at midnight in the black chamber. As they strolled along, Faith nonchalantly mentioned the present church's dilapidated condition and spoke about his plan to construct a new one. Knight Black nodded politely in an abstract manner as though he wasn't really listening.
When they returned, the awful, dark chamber was crowded with revelers who chatted, giggled and burped from the good food and wine they had consumed. At this point in the party, even the somber room's gloom could not dispel their high spirits. Knight Black ordered the servants to furnish additional candles for the contest. They did little good; the inky walls seemed to absorb light.
"Now, who shall be judge?" asked Knight Black as the antique clock sounded the first stroke of the midnight hour with a somber "Bo-o-ong," long and drawn out.
"Who? Who will judge?" repeated Wortisha's pet raven.
Someone cried, "What? A raven dressed as a parrot making sounds of an owl?" The crowd laughed heartily at the jest.
"Bo-o-ong." The antique clock struck the second stroke.
Another person cried, "You judge, Your Majesty."
"I wouldn't dare," replied Knight Black in a jocular vein. "I'd have to choose Queen Jennifer or get my ears boxed." Again the crowd roared with drunken laughter.
"Bo-o-ong." The clock bonged a third time.
Lady Tiger Lily remarked loudly, "Yes, the judge must be someone unattached. Perhaps Screege or Bishop Faith." Both men declined the task.
"Bo-o-ong," came the fourth note.
Hokum, the court wizard, volunteered his services.
"Bo-o-ong," repeated the clock.
Pim, the most beautiful woman in Retslu and the bride of Lawrence Talbert, cried, "Oh no, Dear Hokum. Everyone knows you have a crush on Queen Jennifer. It wouldn't be fair."
"Bo-o-ong," came the sixth note while several other names were shouted.
"Bo-o-ong."
Queen Jennifer said, "We must get someone who is absolutely impartial."
"Bo-o-ong."
The room buzzed with chatter as the crowd argued about who would be suitable.
On the ninth "Bo-o-ong" the room lapsed into silence as no agreement was forthcoming.
When the clock struck the tenth "Bo-o-ong," a mysterious figure in a dark cloak whose cowl hid the person's face pushed through the press to stand in the center of the circle that surrounded Knight Black.
"It's Chaos," someone cried while the clock "Bo-o-onged" for the eleventh time.
"Yes, how appropriate that someone in the costume of this room's deity be the judge," remarked Knight Black.
The mysterious figure held up a golden apple. In a voice that matched perfectly with death-knell pealing of the clock, she said, "And this shall be the prize."
The twelfth and final "Bo-o-ong" sounded as the entire assembly cheered their agreement.
"Promenade," the weird voice from behind the hood's dark folds cried.
With much good-natured jostling and confusion, the revelers lined up in a spiral pattern and strolled, danced, primped and cavorted before Chaos. The goddess nodded at each one as she gazed critically at the merrymakers' costumes. When the last partygoer passed her station, she raised her hand for silence. The musicians stopped playing and the crowd held its collective breath in anticipation of the goddess's verdict. The deity twirled around once with her arm outstretched and her finger pointing like a compass needle.
When she stopped, the digit pointed directly at Bishop Faith.
"Me?" Faith asked incredulously.
The mysterious figure nodded ascent and crooked the pointing finger in a come hither gesture.
Faith trembled as he stepped forward to take the golden apple from hand of Chaos. This action started the crowd grumbling. "Why him?" "His costume is just old rags." "I knew who he was at a glance." Several people shouted. "Who are you to judge so poorly?" "Let's see the person that would not pick me in my costume that cost a thousand guilders." "Yes, show us who you really are." "Remove your mask." The drunken revelers became surly, each believed that his or her costume was a hundred times more clever than Faith's.
"Ungrateful wretches," Chaos croaked at them. "Very well, I'll reveal my true identity. But first I'll curse such rudeness.
"Let this curse be upon this company,
Who disdains me as referee.
The curse of Murphy shall your bones chill.
What can go wrong for you will."
So saying, she flipped back her cowl to reveal -- nothingness, chaos, blackness so dark that to gaze at her was like falling into a bottomless pit of everlasting night.
The crowd gasped in horror. Someone cried in a hoarse whisper, "It's really her. Chaos incarnate." The company drew back in fear and loathing.
Faith's legs turned to mush, his ears rang and sweat beaded on his forehead. To receive Eris's golden apple from her own hands was awesome and frightening. The room closed in on him and fuzzed around the edges. The hand that grasped the prize felt as though it held an enormous weight. The object dropped from his numb fingers and smashed into a thousand shards. Simultaneously, the dread goddess vanished.
Faith did not quite faint, but had to be held by the arms to keep from sinking to the floor. Someone handed him a parchment scroll, saying, "It was inside the golden apple." Absently, he placed it within the folds of his robe. "I feel ill," he whimpered and ran to the nearest water closet where he vomited everything he had eaten and drunk at the party. Afterwards, he was helped to his apartment where he collapsed on the bed and passed out.
