Copyright William Read 1998 - -Send email if you like or dislike something to:
email: wrezzzad@ucsd.edu - -(BUT remove the zzz in the address!)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 16
It was a glorious morning. Bungston bounced out of bed then ran around banging Robigus' helmet with a fork to insure everyone else was awake too. It was time to celebrate the end of the quest. Crabs had depleted the larder, and crab soup is not good morning food, so it was Irn's bug duster paste for breakfast, and then the adventurers assembled in the main room. Bungston cleared off the altar to take inventory, assigning Robigus to write it all down. The wizard first poured out the small sack of dragon trasure in front of the altar. Irn and Robigus had kept some of the valuables they had discovered in the hoard, and these consisted of exotic figurines and big jewels. Also the bust with the chain in its nose was there. "We have - one bag of assorted loot, and one marble bust with a chain in its nose."
"Noted," said Robigus.
Bungston then set the blue-headed adze down gently on the altar. "We have the object of our quest, one magic adze." He set the modified arc light next to it. "We have one souped up ultra lantern, thanks to Irn and myself." The wizard checked his pockets and discovered the crazed enamel ball he had summoned in England. "One pottery ball of uncertain identity." Napoleon handed the wise wizard the magic wand. "We have one chewed-up stick."
"It's a magic wand and you know it," growled Napoleon. He stalked out the door in a huff.
"We have one earspoon," continued Bungston, "which I am saving just in case. We have a scale from a dragon, which we practically slew. We have two fine floppy hats, purchased in Rome. And the rest of this gold that we didn't spend. We have a pair of green spectacles. How did I get these, Bob?" Bungston passed them to the warrior. "We have a drawing of triangles." He paused, scrutinizing the drawing. "Guys, what is this a picture of?" Neither Irn nor Robigus knew.
Napoleon came back in bearing an unusual object. It looked like a bowling pin upholstered in a bright plaid print, with feathery antennae protruding from the small end. "I found this on the beach," he rasped in low-speed lawnmower tones. "Right where the spring machine went in, I think."
"What is it?" asked Bungston.
Napoleon shrugged and passed it over. "Is that not a wonger banger?" asked Robigus.
Everyone looked at him, surprised and amused expressions on their faces. "A what?" asked Irn.
Robigus squirmed uncomfortably and frowned. "Bungston, that is no doubt the thing you summoned to spin about our carriage, the object which struck the dragon's eye. You should know its nature, since you caused it to appear."
"Well Bob, you're the wonger banger expert here. I'm sure you're right. No arguments from me." Bungston examined the item critically. "You know, maybe this is our quest thing," he said half to himself.
"You've got the adze," said Irn. "That's your quest thing."
"Right, right. Well, you never know." Bungston set the plaid object on the altar by the earspoon. "One carriage-circling wonger banger. And I think that's it. We're done!" Stoagies were in order, and the crabs had benevolently spared one boxful for the adventurers to enjoy.
Life at the cabana continued as it had before. Bungston summoned up a ream of new magazines to occupy Napoleon. There were a bunch of scientific and technical journals among them, and although these didn't interest Napoleon, Robigus carried them into the side room and renewed his tinkerings on the mangled teak Harley, attempting to apply any knowledge he could garner from the magazines. Bungston lay in the sun and read On the Origins of Tree Worship, taking detailed notes in the margin. He vowed loudly and often that he would take the adze to Avalon and be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams very soon, but he also vowed that everybody should relax for a while first, to settle their nerves after their harrowing adventures.
For a while Irn was content to lie around on the beach and shoot the breeze with Bungston and Napoleon, but she felt a growing guilt about the white apes she had left waiting for her in the catacombs. One day she reminded Bungston about his promise to lend her the wrapped carriage. Bungston nervously pushed some sand around with his foot upon being reminded of this. "Mmm. You know, Irn, I've got to bring that back one of these days. You can't just tool around the world with it."
"I know, I know," she said. "I promise I'll take my apes to Canada, set them up, and I'll be right back with it. No cause to wig."
Bungston looked at her suspiciously. "I thought you said California before."
She waved it off. "Someplace nice. What say, B.T.?"
He rubbed his crewcut in distraction. "Well, if you don't bring it back, I don't know what I'm going to tell Queen Z. I gather that we've got just about their nicest one. Napoleon! Bring that spring statue out for Irn!" Napoleon obligingly shambled out of the cabana bearing the statuette and Irn's bug duster.
"Thanks Nap, you big teddy bear." She messed up the mutant's fur, which had been restored to its fluffy maroon glory. "And I'll see you soon, Bung. It sounds like Bob's busy, so say bye for me." The adventuress ran down to the beach, the humming coil emerging from the sand to meet her. She jumped in, waved, and took off.
Bungston looked at Napoleon and sighed. "I bet she doesn't bring it back. It's just too good."
Napoleon nodded. "You wouldn't,"
"I might. The thing is, Irn's so fired up about this adventuring business, plus she doesn't have a great place to live like our cabana. That machine is a free license to wander,"
The incessant tortured roar from the cabana rose in pitch and Napoleon involuntarily howled a pained howl. "I've got to go talk to that guy," he ground. "That poor motorcycle doesn't deserve him." The big dog covered his ears as he entered the cabana, and he quickly made his way to Robigus' room.
Robigus shut off the screaming engine when he saw Napoleon. The teakwood of the once glorious teak Harley was the only thing recognizable from its former incarnation. It barely looked like a motorcycle anymore, and more like an Flash Gordon tangle of vacuum tubes and nozzles and other eclectic bits. "Napoleon, I am pleased you are here," said the armored warrior. "Do you know of a device called a magnetic bottle? I read of it in this journal, but I cannot comprehend all of the terms used."
Napoleon was happy to help, since he thought a magnetic bottle sounded nice and quiet. He took the magazine and gave it a once over. "No pictures, huh? Well it can't be that tough. Magnets we can salvage from our amps; Bungston can't fix them after how the shoggoth ripped them up. And bottle..." There was a tremendous assortment of bottles and jars of all sorts in the cabana, some filled with spices or strange creatures preserved in alcohol, some empty. Napoleon scanned the lot. "Well, any of these but Bung's genie bottle would be OK. How about this gallon jug?" Napoleon poured out the handful of alligator teeth that had been in the jug, storing the teeth in a mason jar which also contained reptile teeth. Robigus took the magnets and jug and put them together in an interesting way, hooking them to the motorcycle project with a long metal tube. Napoleon left the room, content that the mildew god was doing something besides making terrible noises.
The big dog had not even reached the door when there was a muffled but portentous pop from Robigus' workroom. A cloud of greasy greenish smoke billowed out with Robigus at the fore. His armor and face were blackened and soot smeared and he coughed and gagged helplessly. Napoleon grabbed one of his outstreched hands, but then got a whiff of the toxic gas himself. Watery St. Bernard eyes got waterier, and he could barely see well enough to get them both clear of the cabana. Outside on the sand neither of the two could speak well enough to explain what had happened, being too involved with paroxysms of coughing. Bungston watched the green plumes of smoke coming out of the windows of the cabana. "Ok, you guys just sit here and breathe," he said. "I'll figure this out." He threw a sweaty beach towel over Robigus' shoulders to ward off the sun, then headed inside.
Bungston owned a sharp looking gas mask, so good looking that he kept it hanging by the door to inspire any visitors the cabana might have. The crab horde had been less inspired than most, and their pincers had been cruel to the mask's once gaudy ornamentation of long braided tassels and feathers. However, its essential function was unimpaired, and Bungston pulled it on then forged ahead into the smoky cabana, blocking the storm door open behind him for more ventilation. He found the source of the smoke in Robigus' workroom. The foam rubber seat of the motorcycle had apparently caught on fire; it was smoldering and putting out great greasy clouds. No wonder, thought Bungston. Some of the pipes fixed across the gooey wrecked seat were still glowing red hot. Plus there was probably thirty years of accumulated caustic butt sweat in that seat. Bungston put on his alligator oven mitts and grabbed a protruding thing that might have been a handlebar once. He started to slide the entire smoking contraption across the smooth stone floor of the cabana; once he had it outside it could smoke all it wanted.
He stopped. Two orange eyes blocked the wizard's advance. They glowed hellishly at him through the smoky miasma, and a body resolved itself from the swirling mists. It was a huge stooped muscular body topped by a tremendous head. It was not Napoleon. *****italics here. "You who hold the Chazberglaith," said a hollow echoing voice. "Render it unto me, and I shall not harm you."
"Chazberglath!" exclaimed the wizard, releasing the machinery and slapping his head with an alligator-mitted hand. "Chazberglath!" He grabbed a magic marker and quickly printed `Chazberglath' on his arm. That was what it was called. He looked up at the demon, which was still standing in the swirling mists. Old Angar Firestorm was pretty clever after all; he probably figured once Bungston did the scutwork and collected the Chazberglath, this demon would mug him and take it, and then Bungston would get no wildest dream reward and Firestorm would be sitting pretty. "Hah!" spat the wizard, full of vitality now that the entire plan had become clear to him. His spit, however, stayed in the gas mask with him.
"Render it unto me or I shall bite away your legs." Very direct, thought Bungston. This demon looked equipped for the job too - more than enough teeth and a healthy mandible to work them. He had to make it leave somehow. Bungston's brain shifted into high gear. This was not a very smart demon, if he remembered correctly. He put his hands before him in a V and swayed his masked head from side to side.
"None can deny or confront the shield it creates, demon!" declared Bungston in oratorial tones. "What benefit is it to one such as me, sweaty and lonesome, stick armed and swarthy, overwhelmed by the aura and vehement virtues this thing does fling with abandon to all sides, sideways to sideways? Also up and downways." The demon opened its toothy mouth, then shut it again. Sounding good, though the wizard. He began to slowly flap his arms up and down and continued. "Yep, yep, yep, the Chazberglath is what it's called, an air of power so potent and poignant, so purple primping patchy pugnosed puffer fish power, it deflects the ambitions of those who would clutch at it and carry it from place to place, boldly thrusting it forth at parties so the women say `Wow, that is a cool thing.' So what use has a mortal for such a thing? Huh? Huh? What use?" He paused and waited for the demon to answer. While waiting, he noticed that his diatribe had caused a fine looking conga drum to unobtrusively appear.
"You have no use for it," the demon eventually said.
"And thus," droned Bungston from inside his mask. "Big wheel keep on turning. If it passes you can procure it, it is yours. Let us press on and I shall show you, demon, how it can be done. It is not something I can do, not my sort of thing; I break out in hives. Out." The demon paused again for almost a minute, then turned and lumbered through the hazy cabana. Bungston heard the altar begin a high-pitched wailing chorus as the supernatural being passed. Its footfalls resounded heavily through the cabana, and Bungston got the idea it was pretty massive. All the better, as far as kinetic energy was concerned.
Bungston grabbed the smoking machinery again and slid it along behind the demon and out the open storm door into the light. The sun was concealed by swirling infernal mists, no doubt a direct result of the demon's presence. And it was a nasty, noted Bungston - head like a warty horn toad with an underbite, long gibbon arms, forked tail. It stomped out into the open, the sand fusing to glass beneath its hooves. Napoleon and Robigus sat on the sand among the cabana's onyx gargoyles; Robigus almost leaped to his feet on seeing the demon, but Napoleon had the good sense to clap a furry paw over the gray warrior's mouth and hold him still. Bungston left Robigus' smoldering handiwork on the green brick circle and led the demon around back to the railway gun.
"Behold, the shrine, the tubular home of the thing which you seek." Bungston pointed with an alligator oven mitt at the rusty orfice of the giant cannon and shook his masked head. "No mortal may enter without blastifying himself to popcorn, but anyway therein it lies. Go hither and take it if you want." The demon pounded the ground thunderously with its hooves and floated into the air, then slid down inside the barrel of the cannon. Bungston ran around to the back. "Do you see it yet?" he yelled. Then he fired the railgun. There was a bright flash and a loud bang, and the infernal mists occluding the sun dissolved away. Bungston wriggled out of his gas mask and hightailed it back to Napoleon and Robigus.
Napoleon was examining a cooled glass hoofprint he had picked up from the sand. "Whoah, Bung. That was a mean looking demon. You summoned one after all. How come?"
"I didn't summon it," replied Bungston. "Angar Firestorm sent it to get the Chazberglath from me."
Robigus pounded his palm with a fist. "That scheming, er... butthead!" he spat. "We should have known he would attempt to prevent our success." Robigus, with his fungal vigor, had fully recovered from his smoke inhalation problems, and now he leapt to his feet indignantly. "Let us repair at once to Avalon and report his traitorous act to the Queen!"
"Calm down, calm down Bob. But some repairing is a good idea, because... because our quest is not over. There are places to see and things to do. Let's hurry."
"Bung, you know this isn't how you do quests," complained Napoleon after hearing this news. "You don't go home during the quest. You finish and then you go home. And here we are, home. We must be done."
Robigus frowned. "Although I am ready to return to whatever tasks remain, I also fail to understand. Do we not possess the goal of our quest?"
Bungston started getting ancy, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He knew the demon was going to come back as fast as it could. Hopefully the time travel railway gun would make it dizzy and disoriented, but probably not. "Uh, we've got to go because Firestorm switched our magic things around, so we might have the wrong one now, you understand. His demon masters commanded him. That was one of them just now, and it might be back. In a leg biting mood." Bungston was already in a speech-making mode, and he drew himself up to his full unimpressive height and gestured with both mitted hands. "Yet despite demonic interference, despite scheming skulduggery, despite deceptions and drudgery, we must return to finish our appointed task, and we will not be stopped or even slowed down. Our experience will serve us well, and we shall overcome. Right guys?"
Due to his eagerness to leave, the speech was faster than Bungston's usual drawn-out oratorical style, and the wizard omitted his customary pauses for effect, but it left Robigus ready to go. Napoleon was not so sure. "Wait, Bung, if he switched the magic things then why did he want this demon to come..."
Bungston cut his mutant off with a pained groan, and his inspiring poise deserted him. "Oh no! I'm so stupid! Why did I give our carriage to Irn? We can't go anywhere! What are we going to do now?" The wizard anxiously massaged his legs in anticipation of demoniac teeth.
Robigus walked over to where the remains of the teak Harley hunkered on the green bricks. "It may be that this modified vehicle can help us."
"Modified?" growled Napoleon. "You modified that cycle like I modify food that I eat."
Bungston gave the modified cycle an appraising look. Robigus had a fondess for chrome, and the thing looked as if Dr. Frankenstein had taken up plumbing as a hobby. The wizard recognized Irn's modified arc-light lodged among the tubes; it was hooked to an old moonshine jug which dimly throbbed with an inner light. The teak was well oiled but somewhat mildewy. "Where do you sit?"
Robigus brought up a leg to demonstrate and swung it through a gap in the machinery, but then yanked it back. "How did it become so hot?" he asked. "It is not even turned on."
Bungston fingered his chin. "Is it fast? Really fast?"
"It should be. I believe it has a Tokumak engine, running on Irn's spiced azogem of phlogiston. I am uncertain, though, whether the wheels turn."
There was a series of wires and a thin pipe threaded through the spokes, so Bungston guessed they probably didn't, or at least shouldn't. "A spiced azogem, huh. You're a brave man, Bob. Last question. Can we steer?" Robigus sputtered and frowned and examined the magnetic bottle he had recently installed. Bungston nodded in understanding and motioned for Napoleon to follow him into the now ventilated cabana. Bungston jogged out holding several chains, including the long chain he had attempted to convert into a helicopter many days ago. The wizard held open the door and Napoleon trudged out dragging a full-sized bobsled on his back. Robigus looked on in confusion. "I think we're going to put your hobby to good use, Bob. Fire it up."
The warrior immediately started cranking on gaskets and polishing the teakwood. Bungston hooked the shortest chain to Robigus' phlogistified progeny and attached the bobsled, and fitted the other chains to either side. "Looking good, looking good. Almost ready, Bob?" The warrior redoubled his efforts. Bungston charged back into the cabana to fetch his essential Voyageur pack. It went in the bobsled, and Bungston went in after it. The wizard tossed Robigus a welders mask to wear with his crested helm and he himself donned the trustworthy Human Cannonball Helmet. Napoleon got the big cooking pot. "Sorry bud," said Bungston. "Short notice."
"It stinks like crabs in here," echoed Napoleon's grumble from within the pot. "And I can't see. Can't you fix that, Bung?"
Bungston took the pot and heaved it into the air, noticing as he did so that the sun had begun to cloud over with familiar looking dark mists. The wizard drew his Peacemaker and plugged a hole in the falling pot. He caught it before it hit and reclaimed the bullet then passed the pot to Napoleon. "Better?"
A rheumy eye stared out the bullet hole. "No depth perception,"
Bungston swiveled the pot so the eye disappeared and Napoleon's wet black nose poked through instead. "Now you're set. OK. Are we on? Do we have it?" Robigus hooked a string deep in the vitals of his machine and ran back to the bobsled, assuming a place behind Napoleon. "OK! We're back in business." Bungston took a quick look at his arm. "Chazberglath here we come!" He flipped down the visor on his Helmet and yanked on the string.
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