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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 4
There was nothing to complain about in their assigned rooms; each had a private bath and Napoleon's bed was round and sunken so he could sleep curled up as he preferred. The Queen had researched the twosome well. After washing up Bungston discovered there was even a little eye makeup next to the slimy green brand of deodorant he preferred. Mascara was a weakness of the wizard's; at first he just daubed a tad on, but then couldn't resist and went hog wild, rendering his unremarkable hazel eyes into deep seductive pools of blue-black. The clothes provided for him were comfy, if a bit conservative for his tastes. Since they had time before the feast, Bungston went to find Robigus.
Napoleon was nowhere around, so Bungston went to their escort's room alone. The room smelled of the not-too-unpleasant mustiness associated with Robigus. It was basically the same room as Bungston's, only with more things in it; a small statue here, a long Roman shield hanging on the wall, several spare pairs of sandals by the bed. The wizard suspected that this lodge was basically an upgraded Motel-6 for heroes. Robigus had just finished shaving, and looked at Bungston a little nervously, perhaps because of the mascara. He motioned Bungston to take a chair. "Robigus," began the wizard politely, "who are you? No offense, but I've never read any epic adventure tales about you."
Robigus nodded slowly and solemnly. "Yes, this disturbs me from time to time," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You see, in truth I am no a mere warrior at all, but a god." Bungston opened his eyes a little wider. He had been teasing a god! Then he got suspicious, and waited for Robigus to continue. "I am the Roman god of war and..."
Bungston leaned in closer. "Didn't catch that."
"Mildew! I was worshipped as the lord of war and mildew. Mostly mildew."
A hundred jibes leapt to Bungston tongue, but he refrained after a look at the warrior's face. Robigus was deeply ashamed of the fact that he was a mildew god, and even the wise-cracking wizard could break out the tact from time to time. "War and mildew, eh? Not too shabby."
"Well, in these later times only mildew. Once I was a mighty war god, but after a while Mars took full charge of that, the overbearing, er,..."
"Buttface," prompted Bungston.
"Yes, buttface!" spat Robigus vehemently. "And I was relegated to mildew. I was lucky, I suppose; many gods lost their status completely. Some even became saints. A mildew god gets a decent amount of respect. Unfortunately I cannot keep my clothes." Robigus ruefully indicated a pile of linen moldering in the corner. "I go through so many; this is why I prefer to wear armor at all times."
Bungston nodded. "Ever try synthetics?" The mildew god's expression was blank. "Nevermind. So, you can mildew anything you want?"
Robigus shook his head, always keeping a wary eye on Bungston. "I try to avoid using my power, in hopes that it will diminish..."
"Shut up! You can do something great like mildew anything you want and you want it to go away? I know people who would lop off a leg to be able to raise just a little corn smut, and here you can mildew stuff! C'mon, Bob, mold something up for me!"
Robigus frowned but nodded his head after some thought. He stood and drew himself up to his full height, fixing his gaze on an unused towel hanging across the room. With his furrowed brow and outstretched hand, the lean gray warrior truly looked godlike for a moment. There was a gust of damp air as the mildew god pointed toward the towel, and Bungston had a flashback to his dungeon-busting days. Then Robigus relaxed and turned to Bungston. The wizard went over intending to scrutinize the towel, but then decided he didn't really want to pick it up, and instead examined it from a distance. It looked as if a basketball team's communal towel had been neglected under a bathtub during the summer, then perversely folded and hung up for reuse. Bungston was mesmerized by the newly grown polyps and tendrils of mildew, and could not keep himself from taking Robigus' razor and shaving the towel. "Holy flaming buffalo balls! That's great! Can you mildew stuff that's alive?"
Robigus seemed uncomfortable. "Yes, though not easily. Yet Bungston, I dislike like to use my power overmuch, because though it is insignificant..,"
Bungston cut him off and proffered his own tan forearm. "Right here. A little mildew. Yeah, you know you want to!" Reluctantly, Robigus reached out to touch the wizard's arm, leaving a small oval patch of mildew behind. Bungston was ecstatic, looking from all angles at the mold on his skin. "Excellent! We've got to play a trick on Nap and mildew his fur good while he's asleep! That dildo mutant is always putting garbage in my bed; it's about time he got what's coming to him! Heh heh! He'll wake up a big ball of mold!"
Robigus shook his head firmly, then had to clutch at his tunic as the shoulder seams simultaneously gave way. His clothes were rotting off even as Bungston watched. "I should not have even done this much! Ah, now I must don my armor for the feast."
"Sorry Robigus. Ok, you could just take this mildew off my arm, then I'll go get Napoleon for dinner,"
Robigus was surprised. "Bungston, understand that I am the god of mildew. I cannot remove that." Bungston pursed his lips, but decided not to belabor the point. Back at his room, a thorough scrubbing and treatment with deodorant got rid of all but a vague gray stain. He briefly considered trying a little magic, but the six knuckles on his right ring finger were a constant reminder of the unreliability of his healing spells. It was feast time, and he went to fetch Napoleon.
He found the big dog in a chamber reminiscent of a YMCA rec room, with pool tables, foosball, and some old pinball machines. Napoleon was reclining on an overstuffed couch surrounded by blonde nymphettes. The girls looked like variations on a theme; they could have been a renegade pep club from New Oslo, South Dakota. Napoleon was growling out some grossly exaggerated tale that seemed to entrance the bevy of cuties; one had a little brush and was working over the matted fur on the back of his neck, and the rest leaned close, ooing and aahing at appropriate moments in the story. Bungston swaggered up and adjusted his voice down an octave; it had been a while since he had seen so many women in one place. "Hi everyone!", he proclaimed fruitily while jiggling his Bert monobrow to its utmost. "Feast time!" Nonplussed by a little guy wearing too much eye makeup, the women glanced his way politely but quickly turned back to the maroon mutant.
Napoleon, however, rose to his feet, unceremoniously dumping one of his admirers giggling to the floor. "If Bung says it's time, it's time," he rasped. "I'm so hungry I could eat a kid! But hey, let me introduce you to my bud here." Napoleon began introducing the nine or ten women there to Bungston, but mixed up Lori, Laurie and Lora.
Avalon might not be quite the no-name repository he had thought, realized Bungston when he and Nap arrived at the feast. Although Valhalla clearly had first pick of the heroes, there were quite a few seated at the long table whom he recognized. A wizened little man seated them and Bungston began to scan the people already there. Next to him was a group of Arabic-looking types speaking Old Persian. While the warrior next to him was unknown, Bungston thought one of the others was the hero Rustem, and the old guy was probably Gilgamesh. Farther down and across the table was a sizable group of Trojan men and women, among them Hector and his wife. There were none of the famous Greek heroes in attendance; probably Valhalla scooped them up, reasoned Bungston. Hector was quite a catch, though. Robigus was seated close to the Trojans, with one or two others who looked like they could be Roman or Trojan. Aeneas was conspicuously absent. Directly across the table was a fur-clad man even shorter than Bungston who was glaring at Napoleon. Bungston guessed he was some Bronze Age brute. Suddenly there was a flurry of high-pitched honks from the main entrance.
Semidall, the clownish warrior they had met earlier, was heralding the arrival of the Queen and her court. Bungston was not too surprised by her appearance. She looked like one of Napoleon's giggling fan club plus about thirty years: blonde, statuesque, high cheekbones, flashing ice blue eyes, and all the other prerequisites. Accompanying her was a leonine looking fellow wearing a skinny sword, looking like the archetypical Prince Charming straight from a razor ad. Bungston leaned toward the man at his right and asked in Old Persian who the Queen's consort was. It seemed he really was Prince Charming. Bungston rolled his eyes; first Philip Marlowe, then Bozo, now Prince Charming. Behind the Queen and her consort was a rotund doddering old fellow in fancifully-embroidered purple robes with a pointy dunce cap on. Bungston marked him as the court wizard, which started him wondering once again why he had been brought here.
The Queen proved herself an excellent hostess by serving food before talking business. The food was quite good; heavy on the meat and wine but better than any Bungston had eaten in a long time. Bungston noticed, however, that everyone at the table except he and Napoleon had a little bowl of colored balls next to them. After every bite, the feasters would chuck a few of these in their mouth, crunching them up like candy. Bungston swiped one from the Persian knight next to him and discovered that it was candy. He loved candy. The wizard signaled to a bustling fairy steward, who jogged over. "Hey, how about some of these candy balls for me and this mutant here?"
The fairy shook his head. "Sorry sir. New edict from the Queen. No non-residents of Avalon can eat Avalonian Jawbreakers until they prove themselves responsible enough."
Bungston pondered this briefly. "Ok then, bring me some more beer." The steward ran off and soon returned with a big jug which he set before the mollified wizard, who resumed his meal. Once full, Bungston kicked back and watched Napoleon, who had been oblivious to the candy debate and seemed content without any Jawbreakers. The shaggy beast was gradually becoming the focus of attention of the assembled crowd; he was putting away food and calling for more at a rate only a canine could manage. The table servants were exclusively tiny men, and there was close to a steady stream of them carrying in new food for the mutant and bearing away what little he left uneaten. There were a few warriors who seemed to take Napoleon's food capacity as a challenge, and strove to keep up. Napoleon himself was oblivious to this, but the other diners began to cheer for their favorites. The servant gnomes began to bustle faster and faster, bringing in improbable amounts of food. Bungston frowned at a squad of fairies who ran in bearing an entire roast pig for the Gilgamesh looking guy a few chairs down. The Bronze Age warrior who had been staring at Napoleon earlier was receiving a similar helping, and Bungston could see a stuffed roast calf being rolled on a dolly toward some gluttonous hero near the end of the table. As the cheers increased and competitors dropped out, Bungston slipped away.
In the kitchen the serving staff was in a frenzy, trying to prepare the extra food being demanded of them. Smoke poured from where a harried fairy was putting out a grease fire with a box of corn starch. The floor was full of tiny men, none over three feet tall, tossing knives, skewers, and open cups of mysterious liquids to and fro; Bungston marveled that no-one was impaled, much less doused in ketchup. The cooks, however, were rapidly dispensing with subtleties of flavor and concentrating on just cooking the meat and ferrying it out. Bungston nimbly dodged a team running out to the dining room with a hogshead of beer and a basket of hams and made his way to the larder.
It was amply stocked with typical domestic beasts: carcasses of pigs, cows, horses, sheep and possibly a donkey hung from the ceiling. There was also a barrel of the gaudy candy balls which he had been forbidden in the dining room, so for revenge he filled his pockets with the sweets. The wizard then picked out a fat and sweaty dwarf who seemed in charge and bent to whisper in his ear. The head cook, angry at the interruption at first, soon smiled and nodded rapidly. Bungston grabbed a big greasy spoon and began to shout. "TIRADE MARINADE LEMONADE AND FAT FACADE, GAME PRESERVES SERVES ONE TO THREE IS ALL THE TIME WE HAVE TO BE..."
Napoleon belched mightily. It felt so good to eat again. It was certainly noisy in the dining hall, though. Napoleon picked up a loaf of bread to gnaw on and met the gaze of the fur-clad warrior across the table, who seemed to be engaged in a feeding frenzy. The warrior snarled at him, and Napoleon waved back jovially, then gestured with a stained paw to the waiters for a little more food. Suddenly there was a huge cheer from the diners in the hall. Napoleon cheered too, for the heck of it, then turned to see a flying wedge of servants hauling the improbable form of a roast giraffe with a watermelon in its mouth towards him. The shaggy beast had to laugh. He was getting full, but he had never tried giraffe before. Probably some of the other diners would want some too. Napoleon brandished his knife and noticed the cheering grow louder. Puzzled, he flourished the knife and cut the hapless giraffe's head off with a single blow, astonishing himself and the people around him. More cheers. Napoleon looked up to find a legion of eyes upon him, except for a guy down the table and the scowly man across from him, who were both eating as fast as they could. It was an eating contest! Born for excess, Napoleon started to lay it on thick for the crowd, and they loved every minute. Huge chunks of the rather tasteless meat flew through the air into the mutant St. Bernard's maw. He balanced pieces on his nose, then threw his head back and ate it all. He chewed up bones with relish. Finally, he finished the watermelon, put the two halves around his head, did The Melonhead Dance, and finished by bashing his head against the table, showering everyone with melon rind. His audience was going crazy! Napoleon looked at his scraps, realizing he had finished an entire giraffe and was still hungry. Suddenly a veritable army of servants burst from the kitchen, struggling to carry a gargantuan deep-fried breaded squid. Even his competitor across the table bulged his eyes at this. Napoleon began gamely, noticing that squid tasted just like giraffe. The only person left eating besides him was the warrior across the table, who was slowly finishing a roast ox. Napoleon sucked up tentacles like spaghetti, never getting full; this squid was pretty bland stuff. Finally the fur-clad warrior fell off of his chair, and the hall erupted in accolades for Napoleon, who did a victory jig on the table and chugged a beer. Strangely, he didn't even feel full.
Napoleon's Bronze Age competitor pulled his bloated body up onto the table and leveled an accusing finger. "The monster cheated! There is no way one could eat so much and not burst!" This was true; there was no way he could have singlehandedly finished a whole giant squid. Then Napoleon realized that his accuser had himself finished an entire ox, in addition to other stuff, so maybe different rules applied in Avalon. A gaudily clothed black warrior near the end of the table shouted back in Napoleon's defense also in English, which seemed the lingua franca. Things started to quiet down in the hall, and many of the men were avidly watching this debate. The Trojan contingent was moving the women and children towards the door as the exchange grew heated. Finally the Bronze Age man picked up a heavy tankard and hurled it at the black hero who had taken Napoleon's side. A heavy bracelet deflected the metal mug into the face of a fellow nearby, who leapt upon the table shouting threats, then he and the black warrior both made their way down to where the mug had come from. The Bronze Age barbarian had a friend with braids and a big mustache who met them halfway, and things degenerated from there. An American looking guy pulled a snubnose revolver from his coat to quickly end the dispute, but was immediately felled by a tremendous overhand blow delivered by a potbellied brute with ridiculously long hair wielding a jawbone and bellowing in some strange language. The longhair swung again but caught a spinning back kick on the chin from Bruce Lee, and then was buried in a cursing heap of keelboatmen, lumberjacks and cowboys. Napoleon suddenly received a hearty thump on the back of the head by the warrior with the mustache and braids, who had broken free from the growing fray. The hippie-looking guy was unarmed, and seemed like he wanted to fistfight; this was even likelier after he landed a solid punch on poor Napoleon's sensitive nose. Being canine, Napoleon's paws were none too agile. He had trouble grasping objects tightly, so weapons were out, and he couldn't curl his digits all the way around, so he couldn't make a fist, as his opponent seemed to expect him to. He did, however, have tremendous jaws. Without a thought for good sportsmanship, Napoleon launched himself roaring at the belligerent warrior. Fortunately for all involved, Bungston returned just in time to see this happen and swept the feet out from under the mustache man, sending him to the floor and leaving Napoleon to crash into the table. The man leapt up and began hopping around groping at his own butt, and Bungston took advantage of the respite to drag his pet mutant from the hall and into a quiet side passage.
Napoleon was a bit miffed. "What does that guy think now, Bung? Big hunk like me turning tail like a scared rabbit. Hmph!" He swiped absently at the wall.
Bungston pursed his lips. "I'm pretty sure you couldn't have beaten him, Nap. That was Fionn mac Coul, and he used to do stuff like pop the heads off of sea monsters and giants. And he wouldn't have thought twice about popping your worthless head off and letting you scamper around like a chicken. But the reason I butted in is that I'm not sure you would bounce back to life tomorrow morning like these guys do, seeing as you're just a visitor. And I sure wouldn't want to have anything to do with your skanky ass once you were dead."
Napoleon was a little cowed. He accepted the proffered handful of hard candy and munched away. "Fionn, eh? That Irish guy," he muttered, sounding like an outlaw hog revved by a pensive biker. "I always pictured him as bigger. Yeh, thanks, I guess. What did you do to him, anyway?"
Bungston shrugged. "I had a jellyfish handy, and I just slipped it in that diaper he was wearing. Come on, shagboy, I think we should find the Queen and have her tell us why we're here."
On the way, Napoleon confided a fear he had developed. "You missed the eating contest, Bung. It was pretty great; I whupped this little toad who thought he was some hot stuff. They were giving me giant squids and giraffes to eat!" Bungston nodded. "But I think I've got a tapeworm, a monster", he continued in a quieter tone. "I ate all of that food and I'm not full even now."
Bungston shook his head. "No, I guess cheated a bit in your favor. The squid and the giraffe were my idea, and since they came ready prepared, the cooks were plenty happy to go along with it. But you probably noticed it all tasted the same, and sort of flavorless. Doesn't fill you up, either. I've never had much luck conjuring up food out of thin air."
"Right, right," said Napoleon. "That's why we've got everything at the cabana except food."
Bungston held out some more candy balls. "I did snag these Avalonian Buttbusters for you, though."
Napoleon accepted a second handful of hard candy, guffawing mightily and expelling colorful bits. "Why, Bung? Why did you cheat?" Bungston shrugged. "Same reason as that dickfour, I guess." The big dog looked sideways at him, cheeks bulging with sweets. "Huh? What's a... oh, nope! Not me! Nice try though."
They had arrived at the royal throne room, where Bungston figured the court had retreated when things had gotten rough at dinner. As he entered, he noticed that the small patch of mildew Robigus had created on his arm was fuzzy and noticeable once again. He fiercely scrubbed his forearm on one of his socks, adjusted his collar, then followed Napoleon in.
NEXT CHAPTER (5)
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.