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The Aimless Quest of Bungston Shag
Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Chapter 13. Chapter 14. Chapter 15. Chapter 16. Chapter 17. Chapter 18. Chapter 19. Chapter 20. Epilogue.Chapter 8
After Bungston steered the coil through the proper arch and they had left the hapless shoggoth in their wake, the wizard turned and smirked at his fellow passengers. "Well! Our first conquest! That was a little closer than I like. I bet you guys were sweating."
Robigus shook his head. "No. I do not sweat as do most men. I am always moist."
"I'm a dog, so I only drool," rasped Napoleon in grinding tones.
Bungston was a little disgruntled. "Well, I didn't sweat either. I just wanted to comfort you guys in case you did." He ran a hand through his damp crewcut and devoted his attention to the control statue.
Robigus moved closer to the wizard, allowing Napoleon to flop over and get comfortable. "Although this was an inauspicious beginning, I am pleased that this quest has begun. Plans are important, but action is necessary for men of action." Bungston had to concede the truth of this symmetric point. "What destination have you chosen?" asked the warrior.
"Well, I figured the best way to track this thing down would be to ask people about it. There's a guy I know who keeps track of magic stuff in general, plus he has a great library, so we can research. You read Latin?" Robigus nodded. "Good, that'll help. Plus this guy lives in a great house; no pool, but we can make do. He hangs out in a suburb of London, around 1880 or so."
Robigus frowned and scratched his head. "I have been pondering a puzzling matter, Bungston, and that is this travel through time. How is it we do not create paradox when we meddle in things that have already taken place?"
Bungston mumbled something and made a great show of examining the control device for the wrapped carriage. But now Napoleon was interested too, and he was more persistent and twice as rude as Robigus. "Yeah, Bung. You always take off when I ask that. Do you know? I bet you don't."
Now his competence was being questioned, and the proud wizard could not let it slide. "OK, OK. The reason we don't make a paradox is because the stuff that you do when you go back in time just doesn't make that big a difference. It all evens out."
Napoleon grumbled at this. "Yeah but Bung," he rasped. "Suppose I took a TV set... well, not a TV, but maybe a gun. Yeah, a machine gun. I give it to some guy back in the Dark Ages. Now wouldn't that screw stuff up?"
Bungston shook his head. "Probably he doesn't take care of the gun right and it breaks or he runs out of ammo trying to shoot birds or someone steals it and loses it. Something like that is bound to happen."
Robigus broke in. "Yet suppose he slays a man who is your own ancestor? Suppose you yourself accidentally kill your own ancestor? Do you cease to exist?"
"Here's the deal. If I kill Joe Blow in the Year 0 and he's my long lost great great great grampa, then someone else a lot like Joe Blow will wind up being my great great great grampa. Moe Blow, maybe. But what's even more likely is that Joe Blow wasn't really my great grampa, that it was the postman and Joe himself had no kids. Maybe your Dark Ages peasant with a rifle goes to war and he shoots a few extra people. It usually turns out that those people would have died soon anyway, probably in that same battle. When I ripped off Excalibur from King Arthur, he got another sword that worked just as well, and named it Excalibur and everything stayed the same. Things tend to balance out, and its practically impossible to change things of any consequence."
Napoleon didn't like this theory. "OK Bung," he began belligerently. "Maybe I get an atom bomb and take out Philadelphia and all the Founding Fathers with it. Then what?"
"You'd have a hell of a time doing it. The bomb would go off in transit and blow you and a bunch of ocean up, or the plutonium would fall out, or someone would hork it, or someone would kill you or something would happen so that you couldn't blow it up. Just like you'd have a heck of a time killing your own father, and you absolutely couldn't do something like kill yourself when you were a baby. Events would conspire against you. And if you did manage by sheer luck to cave in Jefferson's head, then another guy just as smart would crop up and write the Constitution instead. And chances are it would be attributed to Jefferson after all. In fact, exactly that happened to Shakespeare." Bungston fished a fresh nutmeg from one of his pockets and rolled it between cheek and gum.
"So Bungston", spoke Robigus, "the gist of this is that no matter how hard a man tries to change his lot, it can never matter in the long run? This is a depressing thought."
"Gist? Gist what are you getting at, Bung?" Napoleon harvested a kick in the knee for his effort.
"Well, maybe we do have free will, in our own times. Maybe we can decide what happens in our lives. But even if it is all predestined, who cares? It doesn't seem like it is. So what does it matter whether it is or not? Just like I'm inhaling little bits of dog dandruff from Nap's shaggy ass right now. Who cares?" Bungston rolled his nutmeg around, clacking it on his teeth in satisfaction. Robigus and Napoleon were both trying to assimilate this last spurt of wizardly wisdom with its opaque dandruff allegory, and so Bungston went back to looking for fish with his arc light.
The sudden transition from ocean to air caught the three adventurers off guard; since it was night, there had been no gradual lightening of the water around them as they rose to the surface. The glowing coil made an eerie reflection off the choppy waves as it crossed over the shallows toward the beach. A faultless landing left the three standing on the sand and stones. There was a strong offshore wind, kicking up sand and rain. Bungston crinkled up his generous nose as he peered through the dark. "What's the matter, O Mighty One?," jibed Napoleon in a grinding attempt at baby talk. "A little wind get you down?" The big mutant danced around, kicking up gouts of sand and pebbles onto the wizard. Bungston snaked out a dextrous foot and caught a shaggy ankle, sending the mutant down to grovel in the sandy mud.
"I could care less about wind. But... this isn't where we're supposed to be."
Robigus jogged up out of the dark, having been on a quick solo reconnaisance mission. "There is nothing and no-one nearby. I see no sign of your friend's beautiful house."
Bungston shuffled around, then gestured imperiously. "OK guys! C'mere! We'll try this again." He fiddled with the control statue, and the wrapped carriage emerged glowing from the sand. Napoleon and Robigus piled in, followed by Bungston. The coil rose up from the sand, arced, and made for the waves. "No! NO! Aaagh! You jerk! TURN!" Bungston wrestled with the statue in an attempt to make the coil turn around, but to no avail. In moments they were back underwater. Robigus and Napoleon were silent, watching Bungston press and twist the statue in his hands. The coil executed a dizzying 180 degree Rockford turn and leapt from the water once again, headed back towards land. But all Bungston's efforts were in vain; once again the coil paused over the beach, then tilted, dropped, and burrowed in. Enraged, the wizard spiked the statue onto the beach and began to stomp around, cursing Avalon, Queen Z, England, beets, and anything else that entered his crewcut head. "What good is this thing if all it can do is take us to the beach!" Bungston looked around for the control statue, intending to give it a kick, but Robigus had picked it up anticipating just such an action. A sizeable black and orange crab out braving the storm scuttled by the wizard at an inopportune moment, and Bungston redirected his wrath from the control statue to the puny beast. "SCREAMER REAMER MOTHER WEINER! FLAMER LAMER SHAMER MAIMER! ARRRGH!" The crab launched itself from the sand out into the ocean, skipping across the waves and throwing off sparks and flame like a chunk of potassium with claws. Bungston watched it go through the night until his view was blocked by Robigus.
"In truth, perhaps it were better that our carriage refuses to budge any further inland," said the warrior soothingly. "Such a machine would doubtless cause comment. And we are fit; a walk will not kill us."
Bungston snorted. "You think he isn't going to cause comment?", expostulated Bungston, indicating Napoleon with a dramatic gesture. "We have fifty, maybe sixty miles to go, mostly full of people. On foot, with no disguises, we don't stand a chance of slipping through. They'd grab Nap and pound him with a silver candelabra or something." The wizard sat on the sand and moped, chewing halfheartedly on his nutmeg.
Now Robigus too looked doubtful. Napoleon, feeling that the time had come for his role as Bungston-goad, settled onto the sand beside his master. Although he concealed it well, Napoleon, like most dogs, had tremendous confidence in his master's abilities. Napoleon was also about eight times as smart as your average dog, and understood how to motivate his master to use those abilities to their fullest. "Hey, Bung," grumbled the big St. Bernard. "Remember that time you made a fake bird out of chain-link fence and Brylcreem and had it fly up and spook the Russkies?" Bungston smiled a little at the recollection. The mutant continued. "And that time you summoned up the Budweiser boat and we went fishing? That boat was awesome!"
Bungston laughed and wiped the rain off of his face. "Yeah, too bad it couldn't handle that ramp we set up."
Robigus leaned in, his unhealthy hair whipping about in the wind and rain. "In truth, I think a bird built of chains would be unwise in this weather; there is lightning in the distance."
Bungston snorted at the mildew god. "Lighting shmightning. Just power the puppy up! Haven't you ever seen Frankenstein? All those golems are alike."
Napoleon hung his massive head with calculated doubt and sadness. "Yeah, but Bung, we don't have anything to work with here." Bungston raised his brow at this, seemingly about to say something.
Robigus patted the wizard on the back. "Do not feel bad, Bungston. It is not your fault that the wrapped carriage has its limits; all things have their limits,"
The big mutant nodded his assent, while suppressing a wriggle of glee. The "limits" thing Robigus had accidentally stumbled onto was precisely the next step in the Bungston goad. Bungston stood up and began to flail his arms. "Bob! Nap! Don't get so down! Something will turn up!"
Napoleon cocked his head. "It's a little much to hope for that you can work some magic in a storm like this..." The big dog knew full well that the storm had nothing to do with it, but it was the push that got the ball rolling.
Bungston snorted. "Hah! Storms just make it challenging. I have an idea ... DRIPPING FLIPPING YARROW WHIPPING PIEBALD REBEL SMELLING TRAIL AND YELLING NAIL ME TO THAT SECRET TREE! WHOAH HEY ITS BETTER YOU THAN ITCHING STARCHY WITCHY SPARKING HABITS CHANGE THE MAN WHO KNOWS YOU SHOWS YOU GROWS TO MOWS YOU! MOW IT!" A hatbox appeared, which Bungston opened to reveal three red knit caps. Napoleon was afraid that Bungston was about to go into a sulk again, but the wizard just pulled a cap on to his own head and passed out the rest. Then the wizard picked up his Voyageur pack and Robigus' bag of armor and marched confidently up to a stand of scrawny trees just beyond the beach. Bungston withdrew his Human Cannonball Helmet and camouflage tarpaulin from his pack, then securely stashed the pack and the armor bag underneath the tarp. Then he devoted his attention to the underbrush The plants were whipping about in the wind, being almost more weed than tree, but Bungston put his marvelous agility to work and seized one. It came up easily, and Bungston threw it on the ground in triumph.
Robigus knelt to examine it. "This is a strange tree," he pronounced.
Bungston laughed and grabbed two more trees, one in either hand. "Damn straight. Hop on. Tonight we ride! I have no limits!" The wizard swung one leg over the trunk of the tree, looked back to ascertain that Robigus and Napoleon were imitating him, and pulled on his Human Cannonball Helmet. He braced himself, then flipped up his visor and shouted into the storm. "NO BREAKS NO SHAKES NO DUMB MISTAKES IN A CLOUD OF SMOKE AND WHAT IT TAKES BY YARROW AND RUE AND MY RED CAP TOO - HEY! WE'RE OFF!" The tree trembled, and then shot up into the stormy sky, wizard astride. Napoleon's tree went next, and then Robigus was airborne too.
It was one wild ride. The flying trees were propelled by their branches, which flipped and snapped like a nest of squid on amphetamine. Bungston hung on tight to his magic branch. Whether because of the storm winds or some inherent defect, the woody steeds seemed prone to quick and unexpected changes in altitude and direction. The Helmet was no help. Bungston's stomach was notoriously vulnerable to drastic ups and downs, and he devoted all of his agility toward minimizing the swoops. He also spit out his nutmeg, having become suddenly oversensitive to the normally delectable flavor. Robigus, on the other hand, adapted well; bent low to reduce wind resistance, he rode the flying tree like a master. Napoleon was having much more difficulty.
"BUNG! BUNG! MAKE IT STOP! I CAN'T HOLD ON!" Napoleon's hands, poorly designed for grasping, could not get a firm purchase on the wet wood beneath the miserable mutant. In addition, the big dog's considerable bulk caught a lot of wind, and crossbreezes threatened to knock him off his perch at any moment. "WAH! BUNG! WAAOOOOOO!" Howling and wailing, Napoleon's scrabbling claws finally lost hold, and the mutant swung down and around the airborne tree. Only his legs wrapped around the trunk saved him. Hanging upside-down by his legs, the St. Bernard slid backwards until stopped by the animated branches at the back end of the tree. Being beaten by frenzied fronds did not improve his mood.
The fast moving trio were now over the outer fringes of London; they were going to skirt the city itself on the way to the fashionable suburbs further inland. Bungston's original plan was to fly at high altitudes to avoid notice. The wizard, feeling queasy and more or less deafened by passing wind and rain, was not aware of his mutant's bad luck, and so stuck to his plan. Napoleon's tree executed a huge sky-sweeping spiral, then plummetted toward the street below. Despite the hour and the weather, the street was not quite deserted. Howling at the top of his lungs, the shaggy mutant bore down upon the sole pedestrian. Man and mutant made eye contact for the briefest of seconds before a maroon arm plowed into the terrified pedestrian's umbrella and carried it off skyward. Napoleon could tell he was about to bash into the second story of a building and made a last feeble Wile E. Coyotesque attempt to cushion the impending blow with the remnants of his newly aquired umbrella.
Seconds before impact, the leading end of Napoleon's tree was seized by a gray hand and pulled nearly vertical. For a few moments, Napoleon's body was completely entangled in the thrashing propeller branches, and then he was flying level again. Gray hands in white cuffs pushed him upright and steadied him there. From his vantage point behind, Robigus had seen Napoleon's predicament, but had been unable to anticipate the crazed loopings of the big dog's mount well enough to catch up until the last moment. Robigus directed his own branch with legs alone, his right hand supporting the mutant by a handful of fur and his left hand steering the other tree.
It was not long before Bungston began flying down to land in the courtyard of what was, as he had said, a beautiful but poolless mansion. Bungston's fabled agility was badly eroded by dizziness, and he half-rolled from his perch, then struggled to his knees in the wet lawn and pulled off his Helmet. Robigus landed both flying trees, and after heaping Napoleon against a wall walked over to confront Bungston. "That was a most dangerous experience. Napoleon almost perished, and you did nothing to aid him. I believe that you should spend more thought before launching us into such perilous undertakings." Bungston nodded absently and adjusted his red knit cap, then threw up in a shrub.
After he felt thoroughly expurgated Bungston left the shrub and walked over to where Napoleon was crumpled. "How're you doing, big shooter? It was a bad ride for me, too." He hoisted the moaning maroon mass to his shoulder and, nose wrinkled against the powerful wet dog smell emanating from his mutant, shuffled toward the mansion. Robigus had been fiddling with a mulch pile not too far away and joined them. "Bob," began Bungston as he tried to clear stringy fur from his face, "I think you better knock. If a servant sees Nap he might freak and break out the candelabras." Robigus agreed, and he rang the bell while Bungston and Napoleon took cover behind a bush, not the same one with which Bungston was already acquainted. It took several rings and some solid knocks to elicit a response, it being about two in the morning. Finally a groggy looking man came to the door. He said nothing, staring at Robigus' outlandish disco suit and reddish-gray cap.
"Ahem." Robigus drew himself up to his considerable height and fixed a godly gaze upon this woozy butler. "We have come to see..." Robigus then realized he did not know the name of the house's owner. He paused, and then tried louder. "We have come to see..."
"Erskine! Mr. Erskine!" whispered Bungston from the bush. "Yes," proclaimed Robigus. "Mr. Erskine. Tell him to come to the door." The servant was about to do no such thing; one did not wake one's master up in the middle of the night to consort with crazily dressed strangers and work very long as a servant. Robigus managed to slide a sideways platform shoe into the door as it swung closed. "Bungston! What shall I do?"
"Tell him who you are!", came the hoarse whisper. The servant was pushing hard on the door and was apparently calling for aid from within the house. Robigus put his face up to the crack maintained by his shoe.
"I am Robigus, god of War and emissary of her Majesty Queen Z of Avalon! Bring your master or face my wrath!", he bellowed. This pronouncement increased the urgency of the cries fom inside. Then a log swung by some quick thinker in the house hit Robigus' toe, knocking it away from the door.
"MARVEL WARBLE POOP-ED QUARTER SNARLY QUARRLY QUIBBLING BARTER! ACID NO QUESTIONS TELL ME INCITER INSIDER ASTRIDER TRY FIRE!" Fortunately the door did not catch on fire, as Bungston was sort of hoping, but instead turned into a row of harp strings strung vertically within the frame, which was more aesthetic and less smoky. Three servants stood agape staring through their door at the disco mildew god on the step, who did them the same honor. Robigus was a little quicker on the rebound, having associated with Bungston a while. He rang the bell again, and this time was hurriedly admitted. Bungston attempted to rouse Napoleon to look at the cool door he had transmogrified, but the St. Bernard would not budge. The wizard contented himself with watching through the strings as servants scurried around. Eventually Mr. Erskine descended some steps, and after conferring with Robigus cleared the servants away.
Mr. Erskine was in his fifties, with gray hair, a bit of a belly and coke-bottle glasses. He looked over the harp strung door appreciatively, then opened it and called into the dark rainy yard. "Bungston? Are you out there?" Bungston shook Napoleon, who had begun to snore, and shuffled with his gradually reviving mutant toward the door. He realized that servants were probably watching out the windows, but it was probably too late to do anything about it.
"Hey Mr. E. Sorry to show up so late." The gracious wizard presented a freshly plucked flower to butter up his prospective host.
"There is no problem Bungston; I had only just retired myself." Mr. Erskine accepted the flower and allowed the two to enter. "Mr. Robigus - or is it Lord Robigus? - has already introduced himself. It's not everyday the gods call on us out in Treadley!" One could not tell from the unflappable Englishman's demeanor whether or not Mr. Erskine really believed Robigus to be a god, but it didn't seem to matter much. "This must be your familiar," the scholar continued, indicating the shaggy mass draped over Bungston's shoulder.
The wizard grimaced and dislodged a odiferous tuft of shag from where it had drooped in front of his eyes. "Too familiar sometimes. But no, this is Napoleon, the mutant, and he's had a rough trip over or I'm sure he'd greet you himself." Bungston shook the big limp dog around, and Napoleon stumbled over to lean against a wall. "If you have somewhere out of the way we could stay, where no-one would have to be spooked by this big dog..."
"Yes, yes, I understand completely. I knew of a sorcerer once who kept a great ruddy werewolf as his lackey and familiar." Mr. Erskine nodded his head earnestly. "Napoleon rather resembles it. Of course werewolves vary."
Bungston could think of no reply to this, so he ingratiatingly presented Mr. Erskine with another fresh flower which the wizard had kept on reserve just in case. "I hope you don't mind if we use your library quite a bit; that's why we're here. We're on a quest."
Again Mr. Erskine was unflapped. "Quite alright, quite alright. I'm happy to see it get some use. But I'm sure you'll want to rest up and such tonight. Let me show you to your rooms; they're out ..."
Mr. Erskine was interrupted by a melodic and strange arpeggio from the newly created harp strings. Napoleon did his best dreamy-eyed gaze into space, and then strummed the door again with a claw. Mr. Erskine smiled. "That is beautiful; I'm not familiar with that scale. What is it?"
Napoleon patted the frame knowingly. "Dorian scale." Bungston wept.
NEXT CHAPTER (9)
Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Chapter 13. Chapter 14. Chapter 15. Chapter 16. Chapter 17. Chapter 18. Chapter 19. Chapter 20. Epilogue.