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CARNIVAL WORLD, CHAPTER 49

Orlando Bard strolled back and forth along the front of the stage of his establishment, the Adventurer’s Inn of Carnival City. At six three, dressed in dark brown leather ranger’s armor, hunter green cape and red feathered archer’s cap, of black felt, he cut quite the dashing figure. His Orc-metal hand and a half axe was propped against the stage props bookshelf near his red cushioned stage chair.
Bard’s finely crafted Elven bow peeked out above his shoulder. He deftly pulled out a copper arrow and dramatically waved it, brown and white turkey feather fletching aimed towards the audience. “This,” intoned the bard dramatically, “is a specially designed arrow, crafted from a special copper alloy, which disrupts the enhanced regenerative ability of most Cryptids.”

Following a warm smile and a crisp bow, Orlando continued, with his finest showman’s brogue,“Tonight fine folks, do I have a show for you!” He continued, in his finest, full and sweet lyrical baritone, “Buckle up boys and girls, kitties and doggies! Tonight I will be sharing ‘Werewolves, Rogue Sasquatch, Maleks and the Project Big Bird Camera Crew.’”

Bard’s sharp eyes circled Commander Zales’ briefing room. Through the long glass panel that separated the briefing room from the actual command center with its banks of filing cabinets and computers, he watched non-coms and officers scurrying about their routines.
When Zales put down his coffee cup and called the meeting to order, Orlando refocused his attention on the commander. “Welcome Bishop Conner. I am not calling in a complete Ranger team for today’s meeting, just Ranger Kai and Ranger Maria Orsic Schmitt.
“I see that Padre is already with you, Orlando. Good. Anselm is also on his way. The Bishop, although attending the meeting, will not be joining the mission.
“A podcast film company from Earth contacted Patrick Conner and asked him to provide escort for their film crew. Since most of them are Latino, they were very insistent that Brother Anselm Cruze, who had celebrity status on earth, come along on the venture as an interpreter. Anselm, as you may know is a practicing pacifist, and his joining of St. Patrick’s guild, was contingent upon his ultimatum that he not be required to bear arms. Will that be a problem for you, Orlando?”
“No, I have guided a few fishing trips where my clients did not bear arms. As part of his or her contract we provided guide service and protection.”
Zales continued, “Good. This venture will also require a specific and additional special non-disclosure agreement. Security at the sky dock will have the paperwork ready for you to sign just before boarding the blimp tomorrow morning. As a part of that agreement, any treasure found on this expedition is to be handled as follows:
*Any advanced technology objects will be taken by my science department.
*Any pottery, books, scrolls, or religious figurines that are found will be given to the archeology and film team.
*Any other treasures, such as swords, armor, gold, silver, gems and other items of that ilk, if under $500 in value, may be kept by the finder.
*Any amount in excess of that value, will be sold, after your expedition returns, and the profit divided equally among all team members. The project name is called ‘Big Bird Filming Expedition.’
“Your job, Bard, is to take the film crew to the edge of the Penal Colony Mountains and film both Jackal Heads and Rogue Sasquatch.

 

It will take two trips with the skip jack, so that is why we are going to send you via blimp. We will drop your team off on top of the old ruins of the ancient Snake Temple Butte. That ruined temple, as you may know, is located near and above the border, outside of the Penal Colony Mountains. The edifice is on top of the hill that overlooks the ancient crossroads. That gray cobblestone crossroads, of course, is just inside the border of the Penal Colony Mountains and quite visible from the temple top. The floor of the temple is intact, but the open air pillars and rubble from the kneeling pews, alter and Grecian style columns, are scattered down the hillsides. And lately, there has been an uptick in activity, according to the Cynoceph sheriffs.
In the morning and afternoon we will send a skip jack with a mess crew to provide meals. You will have c-rations and snack bags sent in mermite containers for lunches. We will also send a gas Coleman camp stove, unless Bard can supply one of his own, so that you may make coffee and a separate container of boiled water for tea. The mission scientist we are sending with your team does not drink coffee.
“Intell from Sheriff Bo, whose office is near there, says that the crossroads area there is commonly known for passing Jackal Heads and Rogue Sasquatch.

“Under no circumstances, Bard and Rangers, are you to cross the border into the Penal Colony Territory. You will meet but not film Sheriff Boregard’s team who will contact you at the designated point. The film crew has agreed to use blurring technology to conceal the faces of everyone but the film team. Sheriff Boregard and his team will meet with the film crew but they are not to be filmed. If they are filmed accidently, that footage will need to be edited out of the documentary.
“We will supply modifications to their equipment which will neutralize the ability that some Cryptids possess to blur their photos or drain equipment or battery energy. Care will also be taken by the film crew to avoid shots or edit out any sequences that could show that they are not on earth. We have a team of scientists who specialize in filmography who will assist the earth film crew with that task and audit the film following their return. One of them, Dr. Daphne Kimble – you’ve worked with her before, Orlando, on the Crashed Nazi Bell Mission; she will accompany your team and work with the film crew. She is preparing equipment as we speak.
“Like I usually ask Bard, what are your suggestions, as far as special equipment or tactics, in your opinion?”
Bard sat down his coffee cup, “If you don’t mind, I have a clarification question, Commander Zales.”
Zales ran a hand through his white spiky hair, with its fine and tapered look, often called a “high and tight” crew cut. He rolled his eyes and quipped, “A clarification question is fine as long as you don’t do your usual Bard routine, to keep us in protracted suspense. One or two of the other fine people present may have their curiosity baited, but it will just make me cranky.”
“Right to the point then,” offered Bard. “I have never been on top of Snake Temple Butte, but I have seen it from a distance.

If it is the same one, it is just flat and empty. It looks like there about two dozen broken Grecian style columns, equidistantly spaced around the flat temple floor above a hill formed around and old petrified tree stump. There aren’t any stairs or toeholds to get up there. And it must be almost a mile around it from top to base and quite steep. We won’t be hiking up there. And once we are there, we aren’t getting down without climbing gear and safety harnesses. How are we getting their and then leaving?”
“No hiking or climbing Bard. We’ve got that taken care of and will detail our plan later in the briefing.” Zales concluded, “I am ready for your questions now, Bard.”
Bard nodded, “How do I unpack this? Just in case we run into Cryptids, I plan on equipping my team with double quivers of copper alloy bow arrows and cross bow quarrels to negate the Cryptids super-charged regeneration abilities. Your Rangers should bring extra rounds of their copper alloy bullets. Your new mercury rounds, in my opinion, will work like the standard and hollow points, and standard shot gun slugs, worked on that toxic-blooded, clown-faced giant, in the White Dwarf Mission. The mercury rounds will, indeed, blow holes bigger than the hollow points, but heal almost instantly. Probably a few seconds longer. Not much. It is not just quick physical regeneration, but one augmented with supernatural healing unless blocked by copper and/or meter ore contact.”
“Duly noted Bard. Continue,” remarked Zales crisply following an impatient hand gesture.
“Point is, chances are,” Bard chuckled and ventured, “if there are Cryptids on this venture, most likely we won’t see many. And more than that, usually they are formidable enough without any high tech gadgetry. If you remember, that clown- faced giant had a belt contraption, that gave him limited invisibility and non-satellite detection from the Ebony Knight Satellite.
Bard said to himself, Careful now Bard, Zales and his Rangers do not know that the Ebony Knight has space to surface lasers, and if they find out, they may try to take them “for study” and to fulfill their mandate to find high tech items to justify the expense of continuing Earth’s Carnival World Research Project.
Bard cleared his thoughts and continued, “We aren’t coordinating with the sentient computer that operates that satellite as Cyno Sheriffs do from time to time. So, that being the case, we will not know when it is monitoring our continent during our mission. That being the case, during the time that Bo Regard and his other sheriffs are not with us, if we don’t see Jackal Heads or Rogue Sasquatch, they may still be around.
“And if that invisibility tech is more common than we think, we may not be able to see the enemy until it is too late. And if they have that tech, even the Ebony Satellite scanner may not see it in time to warn us, through Sheriff Bo. And while we can see it faintly at night, to know where it is patrolling, during the day we won’t know its location around the planet. It just constantly circles the globe scanning the world while doing its daily weather and population patrols. So, for the same reason, chances are if we do see one or two Cryptids, we need to keep in mind that as things go, there is always a chance we will see more than is normal.
“Hopefully, since the force fields that once guarded the penal colony boundaries are just a memory, we still rely on the deterrence that has resulted from the constant, centuries long watch care of the Ebony Knight and the Cyno Sheriff patrols. That deterrence is all that keeps the borders safe and quiet for us.”
“Affirmative, Bard,” inserted Zales with a scowl, “We do know about its orbital monitoring. We found the Research Colony where the data was studied, and now that we can translate Ancient, Middle, and New Enochian, thanks to the materials Scholar Zazazi provided to us, we keep tabs on that data stream. Thank you for your briefing, Orlando.
“Any questions, Orlando Bard?”
“First, is it our usual fee? Second, Will the whole of Alpha Team be joining us? And third, which members of my Bounty Hunter’s Guild can assist with the Project Big Bird Filming Expedition?”
Commander Zales cleared his throat and focused his blue steely eyes on Bard. “Yes and no on the fee. I will pay you the usual triple hazard pay with no taxes levied. However, the leader of the film crew, when they arrive, will offer you a separate compensation package. The leader of the Earth film crew will discuss that issue after he arrives.
“Concerning your second question, Orlando, no. Only Kai and Schmitty will be accompanying you. The rest of their crew is busy on a newly discovered Ancient Atlanticean Scientific Outpost in the far south east. Just inside our patrol area, of course, or the Irish Pub side Command, and their assigned U.S. Rangers, would be investigating it.
“The answer to your last question, Bard, is a bit more complex. Padre of course is already here. You may invite the Elf princess. My men,” he rolled his eyes briefly, then rolled his hand, fingers fluttering upwards towards Ranger Maria Orsic Schmitt, “and my women warriors have informed me that, even as a child, especially when you take into account that Nordic Elf Super Soldier ability she has, the young Elf maiden is a strong fighter. As for Ghordo, he’s a good fighter and he makes a better pack mule than any two of my soldiers. I’ll grant him that. That said, the whole of Carnival City is well aware, of the constant love-hate relationship, between him and Ranger Schmitt!
Zales turned his gun turret eyes onto Maria and snapped, as she stared, tight lipped, at her untouched coffee cup. “I don’t give a fat rat’s tuchus if they fight or flirt when they are off duty! As long as they don’t end up in the hospital or the brig!
“I want you to know right from the get go, Bard, if they start arguing, or if they start chatting like magpies, or run off to rut, as soon as the sun goes down, I am coming with the skip jack! I will haul his Half-Orc carcass back here straightaway! And I haven’t decided yet, if I am going to send him off to the Bounty Hunter’s Guild with a few choice words, or park his green padooka in the brig for a week. I am not going to be a happy camper, Orlando, if I need to waste my valuable time, doing an extraction run, because of Ghordo!
“I am giving Kai the red cell phone, and their behavior will be part of his daily sit rep! You can bring your pet along, Bard, but you keep a tight leash on him. And I mean it, Orlando!”
Bard nodded, “Will do, Commander Zales!”
“Oh, and one more thing Bard,” snapped Zales crisply. “Earth does not have green skinned soldiers. Tell Ghordo that he needs to go to the infirmary and take a pigmentation alteration injection. His skin will be a light to medium brown, with an olive tint, for three or four weeks until the conditioning dose wears off. The she-Elf and the Half-Orc will need to keep their ears covered, too. And use a mouth cover or helmet to hide Ghordo’s tusks. I am aware Bard, that filtering technology exists, to remove such elements, but this is a time-sensitive project. Wasting time to scrub the film for Elf ears and Orc green skin and tusks is not acceptable!”
Just then the door sentry announced, “Colonel Zales, Sir, Brother Anselm and the earth film crew has arrived.”
Zales remained seated but smiled, warmly but seriously, and welcomed them to their seats and offered them coffees.
“O.K., Big J,” said Zales, “You’ve got the floor.Keep in mind that all briefing sessions are recorded for audio/visual documentation purposes.”
Anselm whispered to two short but wiry and very sun-darkened Latino men, interpreting Zales’ words.
Big J was a muscled but slightly portly man of just above medium height. No longer young, but not quite middle aged, Big J’s voice was thick, but with hints of a southwestern earth United States accent. His voice was unique in that at times it would, especially when he was excited or irritated, lurch into a higher pitch. The large dark forearms that poked out of the sleeves of his black t-shirt were covered with tattoos including several stylized religious crosses.
My arms were tatted up just like that, thought Bard, before I had the physical make over from the sentient computer and medical device in the secret Atlanticean lab behind the Goblin Caves. I went from earth human U.S. Cryptid Ranger, Rafe McKenzie, to Orlando, Half Elf, archer and bard of Carnival World, in less than twenty four hours. Seems like more than a life time ago! After I passed my evaluation test series for joining the Cryptid Rangers, back on earth, they souped me up a bit. I passed on the non-human enhancements. They did use chemicals and an advanced technology device, on earth, to make me stronger, smarter, faster, and more agile. And then again, Zazazi’s sentient computer upgraded me one more time and also regressed my age slightly. However, it did not change me into an actual Half-Elf, and yet I can see in the dark and hear better than a human should. Not quite sure how that works. But the sentient computer had promised me that it would not add animal, Elf or angel DNA to my body.
Big J had a shiny bald head, deeply tanned, with a round face, a permanent five o’clock shadow and an elongated chin dimple. His dark brown eyes, slanted, were hidden behind black plastic glasses, and bushy black eyebrows.
“Hola, everyone one.” The earth film crew leader waved with one hand and smiled. “I will not be using my real name. My code name is Jabali. Spelled with a J but pronounced with an H sound. Haa-bah-lee. Jabali means wild boar in Spanish. But don’t call me that. Just call me Big J. And we will all be good amigos together!”
“We have a separate financial contract with the military here. My patrone, Big Bird, has already fulfilled those financial obligations.” Big J turned his gaze upon Orlando, “As for you amigo, this is my offer. Just for guiding and protecting us during this venture we will pay your Bounty Hunters Guild fifteen thousand American dollars.

If we return to earth with quality footage of a Sasquatch, a Jackal Head, and meet the Cynoceph Sheriffs, we will provide you a four hundred and thirty five thousand dollar bonus.

“Me and my crew look forward, amigos, to starting the mission,” concluded Big J.

Zales stood up. “Thank you for offering us, Big J, the opportunity to share this mission with you. Successful or not, you will have five days to complete this mission. I suggest you all get some rest.

“Tomorrow at 0800 sharp everyone meet at the sky dock and board the blimp. Expect a pause in boarding, as each of you will be inspected and the Beta Team guard will receive the signatures for your paperwork. Shortly after take-off, breakfast will be served. At approximately fourteen hundred hours a skip jack, with a mess crew, will be sent to the hilltop temple butte site with your evening meal. Everyone is dismissed.”

CARNIVAL WORLD, CHAPTER 50

 

Warm and soft, the breeze above the ruined Snake Temple Butte firmly caressed each passenger as they disembarked from the Carnival City Blimp.

Crickets hiding in the nooks and crannies of the flat top mosaic of the ancient temple greeted them with a buzzing, rhythmic pulsing that was halfway between a soothing orchestral serenade and tension bar music. Scents of post thunderstorm ozone laden air, sea shells and old dust tickled their nose hairs and concealed the lush serengheti smells of the nearby bottom lands. And yet it had been several months since there had been a lightning flash within miles of the temple. It rarely rained on Carnival World. Abundant water and thick morning dews provided copious amounts of moisture. Where is that ozone scent coming from? thought Bard to himself.

Bard and his bounty hunters, Rangers Kai and Maria, along with the lady scientist, Dr. Daphne Kimble, and the camera crew, disembarked onto the mosaic tiles of the ancient temple. They surveyed the landscape around them. Curiosity and dread filtered their impressions as they scanned the horizon far below. Each one perused down onto the surrounding plains and the foot hills of the Penal Colony Mountains to the west. Strangely, the plains animals and even birds, that should have been present, were no where around.

Mystica grumped, “Uhhm. One!” up came her pointer finger. “What is that annoying buzzing sound! I wish the crickets, or whatever they are, outside, were louder to drown it out!”

Bard concentrated for a moment. “Yes, Mystica, I can barely hear it. Although it seems equally annoying – both the mysterious drone and the drone of the bugs. The bugs must be nesting under the temple slab, or living nearby, hidden in the cracks on the butte itself.”

Whispers, both in English and Spanish, fluttered amongst the mission team. No one else seemed to hear the mysterious drone, only the buzz of the insects.

Bard offered, “No bugs on the floor and no birds, or bird guano here either. Maybe there is an invisible anti-bug, mice, and bird magnetic field over the temple.”

The team continued shuffling in and out of the dirigible.

Cobblestone crossroads, dark and medium gray stones laid out like a checkerboard, were visible to the west between two rocky escarpments of gnarled spiky fingers of rock. Spires, like two fat, wrinkled, arthritic hands, poked upwards, thrusting boldly into the sun-kissed skies. Above the craggy foothills was a layer of thick woods, but scattered in huddled hunter green and dark brown copses. Above the clustered stands of oaks, maples and evergreens, rose the slate blue mist covered mountains of the Penal Colony territory.

Snake Temple Butte was empty and bare when Bard’s team stepped off the blimp. The gray marble slab, topped with mosaic art and small seashell imprints, raised and pressed, filled the top of the butte in a long rectangle.

Some sections, crumbling and falling in loose scattered piles, were actually old decaying seashells. Forgotten remnants of ancient mollusks, such as snails, clams, and oysters. Others may have been found in barnacles, horseshoe crabs and brachiopods.

Daphne, after depositing her gear on a nearby granite column stump, carefully examined the stray piles of shell. Excitedly she chattered to her self as she worked. Following a squeal of delight she exclaimed, “Hey! Some of these are real; some of them are artwork. This conch shell is broken and the inside is rough and knobby like the broken temple column stumps.

“This fan shell crab appears as if it was once real, and then the living form was turned into marble.” Daphne frowned and continued, “You can see the inner formations of this inner portion in startling clarity! This pinna nobilis, for example, has not only the shell of that common fan shell crab, but where it is broken down the center, I can clearly see the tubular midgut section.” She gasped suddenly, and frowned, as she looked at the distant gurgling fountain. “I hope those nymphs and feathered serpents are just sculpture!”

Bard offered, “I have heard stories of ancient statues of marble that when broken displayed in accurate detail the internal organs. And talking about snakes, the myth has possible connections, accurate or conflated, to the Medusa mythologies.”

Most of the others took interest at this point. Kai interjected, “I thought Medusa was an earth legend.”

Bard replied, “Strangely, many earth legends are also Carnival World legends. Here on Carnival World, for example, we had an advanced race of humans called Atlanticeans. On earth, I believe – feel free to correct me if I am wrong – their was a similar race of advanced and ancient humans called Atlanteans. Padre here, a Carnival World Dwarf, when he joined my guild, spoke a mixture of modern English with a bunch of old earth Scottish terms. There are strange parallels between Earth and Carnival World.”

The discussion suddenly ended as the crew continued to unpack gear and curiously peruse the empty broken temple area which was only slightly smaller and narrower than a football field. Standing on its surface provided a bird’s-eye view of the surrounding countryside. Long and empty, devoid of life, only the broken stumps of Grecian marble, equidistantly placed around the inner edge marred the stomach tickling view far below. On the west end, about twelve yards in, was a large fountain. Dancing nymphs of milky white marble danced as streams of water gurgled from their mouths. Several polished green and rose streaked marble statues of flying snakes participated in that dance as well.

Just below the temple’s edge, where the marble topped the butte, the rock stretched down about thirty yards. Long vertical striation, after that, were covered with a pebbly sand, halfway down the long hill, to wear grass and vines had volunteered their emerald shrouds. The butte, thought Bard, may just be a rock formation, but it suspiciously resembles an ancient petrified tree stump.

The slope of the hill under the temple was strangely bare down to the bottom, where the broken milky and charcoal streaked temple columns and granite pews were strewn in heaps like forgotten children’s toys.

Lush grasses had covered some, but not all of the broken granite architectural pieces. Except for a few pillar bases, most of the temple floor was flat and empty. The contents of the temple, except for the fountain, blown to kingdom come, off the butte in some forgotten war.

Moss covered, especially on the north side, the milky font speckled green, was a large shell, like Venus on the Half Shell, surrounded with dancing water nymphs. Both the nymphs and flying serpent bird, seemed to have miraculously survived that ancient war unscathed.

The mossy bath was placed at the front of the temple, where the old broken, unusable steps, lay tossed in a heap that meandered down the long hill to the bottom. Old worshipers had ceremoniously cleansed themselves in the cool, clear waters before quietly treading into the temple proper.

Only at the foot of the hill, the broken architectural granite, like sawn white and ridged yard long timber rounds, finally disappeared into heaping shrouds of vines and grass. The tinkle of the water splashes blended with the other aural ambiances as it over flowed, in a descending cascade of smaller shells, into a small hole in the mosaic tiles.

In the center of the temple, a kaleidoscope of brilliantly hued seashells were set carefully and artfully into the mosaic tiles. The picture displayed there was a haunting, sneering humanoid snake man, dressed in rainbow chain armor, wearing a Kokopelli headdress. Not in Naga form, but in a scaled reptilian bipedal design. Colorful feathered serpents complemented his singular form. He was the small god of the ancient and evil Dark Naga Queen, Zzzillzzzaga. Ameruca was his name. The fallen angel wielded a curvy long dagger in one hand and carried a pin wheel watch icon around his other wrist. Below that massive wrist he held a mysterious satchel, etched deeply with ancient Enochian script.

When Mystica later viewed the long curved dagger she scowled, shuddered and quickly looked away. She did not realize that a trio of false memories had vanished like smoke above a water-drenched, end-of-camp, fire pit.

Back and forth, several members of the mission team, traipsed in and out of the blimp. As they exited off from the ramp onto the tiles, fetching more equipment and personal gear from the blimp, their footsteps changed from the heavy wood echoes of the stair ramp to disconcerting hollow taps. Meanwhile, the sounds of the cricket serenade had vanished, accentuating the crew’s ghostly footfalls. Only Bard, who was wearing moccasins, seemed unnaturally silent.

While Bard’s crew and the rangers each carried boxes and bags of extra materials, the scientist, Dr. Kimble and the camera crew had hauled several locked aluminum boxes, filled with protective dark gray foam and expensive camera equipment. Four porters, dressed in gray uniforms with red sashes, and light red and gray stevedore caps, also carried boxes and bags off with them. While Bard’s team stayed, the four porters disappeared back into the silver dirigible. They circled around Anselm and a Latino who were wheeling out a porta-potty.

When all were off the blimp, the helium-filled ship quietly raised the wooden step ramp and sailed majestically back to Carnival city.

Each man and woman began to unload their containers onto the relatively flat but broken pillar base which made a convenient table. Anselm and one of his Spanish speaking charges came last, even after the stevedores, struggling with a wheeled porta-potty.

“Now that I have finished playing with seashells” quipped Daphne, following a short giggle, “I am going to check the fountain waters, Orlando, for parasites or toxins.” Bard nodded and offered, “Great idea, Doc.”

Jose, one of the camera crew, had eyes for the beautiful, yet mousy lady scientist. He followed her, camera gear still on his shoulder, with what he thought of as cool, moon dance shuffle steps. The spry, wiry Latino youth crooned to Kimble in his flowery accented voice, face glowing, “Daphne, my hermosa mujer, are you ready for our adventure? After a fine desayuno of mixed fruit, waffles, bacon and eggs, while on the blimp —”

Ranger Kai could see that Miss Kimble had not relished Jose’s amorous prattle. She had been studiously ignoring the foppish young man, as she opened a small black leather case and prepared to do a chemical test of the water.

Carnival World Chapter 51

Kai intervened by causing a spectacle.Quickly taking the folding shovel from its leather loop on his pack, he slammed the blade down hard on the metal mermite container, which he had recently parked next to his ammo box of twelve gauge shotgun slugs. He carried standard slugs in his belt loops, and in his pockets, but the box was full to the brim with copper alloy projectiles.

Bruce the Moose, Kai, after banging his shovel on the mermite case, rocked back and forth, like a muscle bound man, and gestured with his shovel. While Kai was almost as large and muscular as Ghordo, it only added to the effect.

The ranger launched into a Cajun accent and demanded, “Dude, yous ain’t had a good breakfas’, until yous have et Cajun!

“I gare-awn-tee dat, Senor Jose! Today, jus’ for yous, we ahh gonna pretend it is lunch time. Today I am about to learn yuh how to make a good Cajun shwimps boil ovah white rice!”

Ghordo cradled a golden Spartan helmet that he had purchased earlier at the Carnival City Gift shop, as he smiled a goofy toothy grin. He ran his rough fingers through the alternating bands of stiff red and black horse tail hairs.

His new skin, which he was starting to admire, was a well-tanned brown with a strong olive tint. The horse-hair crested helmet was a bit warm for his taste, but looked sharp, and only needed to be worn during filming to cover his large ears and protruding lower canines. Those ears did not have the long tips of Goblins, but did have scalloping along the outer edges like Hobs and Gobs. The golden helmet was not just a toy. The Carnival City Gift Shop not only sold cheap plastic tourist items, but real, pricey, and usable arms and armor for the Carnival Games.

Ghordo dropped into a resting squat and chuckled like a cement mixer. While he was really talking to Maria Orsic Schmitt, he talked as if he was speaking to everyone, “Gawds this will be funny! Kai does this impression of…what does he call it? Oh, yeah, the Cajun Beer Bong Chef!”

Two men from the camera crew who didn’t understand English, Gomez and Jorge, having just finished with erecting and stocking the porta-potty with toilet paper, plucked at Anselm’s robe and exclaimed, “Lo que esta sucediendo?”

Anselm shook his head and rolled his large dark brown eyes, and began interpreting for them, but not much above a whisper. With furtive glances back at Anselm, from time to time, they closely watched the animated Hawaiian ranger do his Beer Bong Cajun Chef impression.

Banging the mermite carrier one more time for emphasis, Kai shouted, “Let’s do it! First we-ah will add the water. No seasonin’ just yet! We-ah will bring dis King Cooker double boiler pot to a boil.” Ranger Kai pretended to toss a couple of water buckets into the audience, “Get dat outta he-ah!”

Then Kai did the muscle bound dance shuffle, once more, and threw back his head, like he had long goldilocks-hair tucked under a ball cap. Of course, the ranger had crew cut raven hair, a bit oily from sweating, under his Ranger beret.

“We start wit’ the water and trow in dose ten lem-awns. Do-un peel’em or squeeze’em. Jus’ cut’em in half and trow dem in!” He slammed the mermite box again with his shovel blade. “Now put in a bag of red witch noses. Pop! Pop! Pop! Jus’ like dat! Dudes!”

Kai pretended to throw a pan at the group and exclaimed, “Get dat outta he-ah!” He smiled and added, “Trow duh whole igloo cooler of dem dere shwimps in dat dere water when it is at a roillin’ boil. No shwimps left behind! No more dan sixty secon’s! Hooo weee! Keep stirrin’ them! I’ll show yuh all. Do-un know if stirrin’ is impo’tant, like when yuh all is makin’ a rue, but it looks cool.”

“Den,” continued Kai, “ yuh all jus’ drains it, dan puts it back in the ice chest. Dataway, Dudes, those shwimp will cwack easier, when it is time to eat!” Kai pretended to dump the imaginary shrimp, lemons and the wrinkled bright red cayenne peppers into an ice chest.

Kai hit his shovel on the mermite box, but gently. “Yuh all gotta use dat Holy Trinity: A pound of cel-ah-ree. A pound of un-yawns. A pound of yeller and a pound of red sweet pep-airs. And do-un yous forget the one gallon of pickled ghost pep-airs an’ jalapenos. Boom. Next yuh gotta add a bucket of small purple and yella potatoes. Pop. Pop. Pop. Jus’ like dat!”

Kai pretended again to stir the imaginary giant pot with his short shovel. “And even dow we-ah put in a bag of un-yawns er-lee-er, we do it again! Boom!

“Looky he-ah, Dudes! As yuh all can see, I gotta dem in-gree-dee-unts waitin’ in my black plastic food can-nu. Well-ah, its gotta flat back and pointy front, so it is a kid’s boat, but I call it a can-nu, jus’ like my Daddy did! And do-un forget duh smashed garlics. And do-un forget the fro-zen cawn, and cut it up…the cobs… into t’ree or four chunks. Next get that little Miller beer souvenir bucket of hawt dogs. Do-un cut’em up now! Jus’ trow dem in to duh pot!” Kai gestured wildly with his shovel, then exclaimed, “Pop! Pop! Pop! Dudes! Jus’ like dat!”

Stirring one more time Kai continued, “And now…too many people add duh cawntry sausages too early! Now is duh time to add that cut-up smo-key, cawntry sausage!” First he pretended to throw a container at the audience and exclaimed, “Get dat outta he-ah!” Again he pretended to stir the giant boiler pot with his shovel.

“Now we-ah gonna add two containers of my market brand Ragin’ Cajun, Beer Bong Chef’s seasonin’s. Boom! And boom! Now we-ah will grab that igloo chest, ice and shwimps, and t’row it in duh King Kooker Double Boiler. Not the igloo chest, Dudes! Jus’ duh shwimps and duh ice and stuff in the container! Didn’t I learn yuh right!

“And jus’ like dat, I learned yuh, Jose, to do a nice shwimp boil.” Kai turned east, “While the King Kooker is finishin’ our Cajun Shwimp Masterpiece, we uhhs gonna cook up ‘bout four pounds of nice white rice for duh bed for our shwimp boil, in duh rice kettle. Kai exclaimed, “Cover dat cooker up!” then banged the mermite a quick exaggerated snap with his shovel.

Kai pretended to fill a beer bong with a can of beer, held it above his head, then pulled the imaginary tube down, and stuck it into his mouth. Then, talking out of the corner of his mouth, Kai, cooed animatedly at his audience, “And… while… we …wait, …we… hydrate!” He animatedly pretended to chug it all down. Kai shook his head quickly, burped loudly, and exclaimed with a drawn out Cajun drawl, “Now yuh alls put dat on yuh sodie cracker an’ eat it!”

Kai bowed as dramatically as if he were Orlando Bard on the stage of The Adventurer’s Inn. Several people clapped.

Bard grinned and said, “I ought to hire you to play at my inn!”

“I’d like that,” replied Kai with a smile.

In a more serious tone Bard continued, “All right, girls and boys, kitties and doggies, fun time is over. No socializing!” Pointing, each in turn, following the ‘I am watching you,’ ranger sign talk, at Ghordo, Maria Orsic Schmitt and Jose, he commanded, “Keep your cats and wallabies down, boys and girls!” The two rangers knew exactly what Bard was referring to, but Jose was not certain. He thought he might know, but wasn’t sure.

Orlando Bard added, “Kai, take north point. Schmitty take south point. Ghordo take north east point. Both of you, Ghordo and Kai watch for the Cynoceph Sheriffs. Cyno sheriffs look like jackal heads but dress like me. Well, their faces are more human than the standard Jackal Head, and they keep their head and body hair trimmed short. They are not supposed to join us until tomorrow breakfast, but I have a feeling they will arrive later today.”

Dr. Kimble interrupted Bard’s orders, “Hey! Orlando, the water in the fountain is palatable but I am getting very faint radiation readings from the water in the sink hole.”

Bard nodded, “But you are saying the water in the fountain is safe to drink, Dr. Kimble?”

“Yes, Orlando, the fountain water is safe for human consumption. I am going to clean some of the moss and debris from the shell pool, but it is surprisingly clean. It is the exterior of the basin that has most of the moss build up.”

Bard continued to dole out orders, “Mystica, take northeast point. Keep the west point clear, so Dr. Kimble and Big J’s crew can do their filming. And cover your ears, Mystica!

This film is being made for distribution on earth, where elves are not supposed to exist, at least in civilized places. They have filter tech and blur tech that can fix that problem, but Zales says it takes too long. He wants you and Ghordo to hide some of your non-human features, so if you do get in the film, they don’t have to spend laborious hours editing the mistakes out. Wear a hat or ditch the pony tail. Your choice, princess, but cover your ears. That’s an order.”

Mystica wrinkled her nose and smirked, “Aye, aye, Captain Bard.”

Bard ignored her snarkiness and continued barking orders, “Padre! Anselm! To me. I need to confer with you quietly. Ghordo, take northeast point. Schmitty, take south point. Padre, south east point. Ghordo! Don’t stand there staring off into the wild blue yonder!
Get to your post Ghordo!

“Big J, you and your crew are already setting up your cameras at the west point. If you have anyone free in your camera crew, Big J, have them trade off with the southwest point. I expect that Dr. Kimble will join your film team as her science testing allows.”

“O.K. Amigo,” he gestured towards the southwest at Jose and shouted “Jose, take the southwest point.” Jose stiffened, gave his pony tail an irritated shake, and opened his thin-lipped mouth to argue. He never got a word out. Big J glared at his newest employee, gestured with a massive scarred thumb, to the southwest, then slipped from thick guttural vocalizations to a shrill falsetto, “Rapido! Rapido!”

Everyone began to take their places. Ghordo spat onto the tiles and grinned at it before sauntering over to the north east corner.

Padre and Anselm shuffled over to the center of the temple oval, but well away from the mosaic snake god icon.

Anselm Cruze was wearing a brown robe with the speared dragon symbol of the Carnival City Cathedral. Padre, dressed in the green St. Patrick’s traveling robe, also with the same icon, itched his paunch, then twirled his brown braid beard, “What’s burning your onions, Laddie? I know it is morrre than that abominable work of ewil art in the center of this Creator-cursed temple. Seeing he-who-shall-not-be-spoken-of is an ewil portent, but there is something else.

This old dwarf has been ‘round you long enough, Orlando Laddie, not to ken it!”

Bard toed a bit of sand scattered on the mosaic tile with his moccasin. “I feel it in my gut, Padre. Something’s not right. I can feel a spiritual battle going on around us.”

“The temple is a rrrelic of a dark, dark past!” snorted Padre as he huffed like a snuffling stallion through his beard. “As ewil as it is, Laddie, this temple has the top hacked off. Mayhap, it would effect us, like Bishop Conner’s Cathedral. But in a different way. The Snake Temples always used different structure patterns. There are great White Dwarf scholars, Orry my boy, who ken such things. Not me. The Tartarian architecture looks different. That’s all I ken, Laddie. We dwarves have books stacked on top of more books, Orlando, on how the ancient Atlanticean’s were able to use their specially designed buildings and their spires and bells to effect us for good. Not many snake temple builder’s books in the White Dwarf castle library, but there is prolly one buried there in the King’s Tome Tomb somewhere.”

“Yes niijii, Padre, my brother,” replied Orlando Bard, “the Tartarian style of architecture enhances the resonance qualities of the Cyclopean walls of the Star Portal edifice. According to what I have read in bardic scrolls of the elves, the energy it exudes – puts out – combines with lay line energy that stimulates our biological magnetic field and promotes feelings of strength, calm, energy and well being. It also kicks our immune system up a notch, too.”

While Anselm nodded quietly, Padre the Dwarf, chewed on his beard braid and grunted in agreement. Bard continued, “It is my opinion, Padre and Anselm, that the Snake Temple Architecture, if still here, because we serve Creator and Jesu – not the Snake Gods, that would not be good. In that, Padre, you are correct. ‘Right as rain’ as you often say.

“The effect, indeed, Padre, would be negative. Weakness, fear, anxiety, mind fog. Well, the extent would probably depend on what level we are walking in favor and protection with Creator.”

Anselm quoted in his sing song Latino narrator’s voice, “He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust. His truth shall be your shield and buckler. Psalm 91:14. No time now, for a study, but there are several verses that suggest that through carelessness, sin or rebellion, we may walk out from under Jesu’s protection.”

Bard and Padre nodded in agreement. Padre nodded once more, then he asked, “What is botherring you, Orlando, my boy?”

Bard looked anxiously around the heights of the temple top at the western mountains. “My gut feeling…my spiritual premonition… is that before the day is done, things are going to get very tense. Yes, it will become very dangerous and it will have little association with the architecture of this old spooky temple,” opined Bard with a scowl and a sigh.

Just then Big J, the filmographer and archeologist, leader of the earth film crew, walked by with a camera equipment box over one beefy shoulder, “I can feel it too, amigo. As my patrone says all the time, “As above so below!” He added in a whisper, “When the spiritual realm gets riled, it is only a matter of time. Like death and taxes, it will eventually manifest in the physical, amigos.

“Brother Anselm,” commanded Bard, “you stick close to Gomez and Jorge, in case you need to interpret. Padre, stand watch in the southeast position.”

As Big J left Bard and the two padres, he suggested, “If you are praying men, amigos, now would be a good time.”

“We are and we will,” replied Orlando Bard. He added, “Although, personally, I am quite independent and don’t wear my relationship with Creator on my sleeves. Pray as you feel led, padres, and I will be in agreement with you, but do it quickly, and then to your tasks. I will take the circumference check.”

Three hours plodded by like lazy pachyderms on parade. Except for the gurgling splash of the fountain, all was quiet. The grasshopper and cricket ensemble had left the open air building. Their tension-bar music of rattles and scratches silent at last. Warm was the breeze that carried tantalizing snippets of sweet grass and clover scents. The mysterious odor of burnt ozone, old dust and seashells still lingered.

The dark and medium gray cobblestone crossroads at the Penal Colony Mountains boundary remained without motion. No sightings of Cryptid wolf humanoids, or rogue Sasquatch, at the crossroads, stirred in the distant crossing paths far below, just beyond the emerald green valley at the bottom of the foothills.

Big J swatted a buzzing fly and then commanded Jose to get off the broken pillar seat, at southwest point, and relieve Jorge at the camera. Big J motioned to the short wiry Latino with the scraggly salt and pepper van dyke and whispered in Spanish, to Jorge, that Anselm would be sent over if interpretation was needed. Dr. Kimble left her lab kit to consult with him on the camera positioning and asked if the special telephoto lens was to his liking.

Bard walked the perimeter of the temple top and chatted briefly with each guard and the other members of the team. When he approached Ranger Kai, the large, svelte Hawaiian chuckled, and said, “I have heard you have a copy of the Jurassic Park Movie series in the Earth Fiction section of your library.”

Orlando Bard grinned a crooked half grin and nodded, “And I can guess which line you are thinking about!”

Ranger Kai laughed, then replied, “Well, Bard, I don’t know if I can quote the actual line from the first movie. A close paraphrase will have to do. It is Dr. Ian Holmes asking, ‘Are there actually any uhh dinosaurs, uhh, on your uhh dinosaur tour?’”

Bard stretched, then replied, “Close enough. But the line was delivered with significantly more sarcasm.”

“When are we breaking for lunch, Bard?” asked Ranger Kai.

“Oh…about noon. Or, in military parlance, about twelve hundred hours. I am going to set up my Coleman stove. We have a box of flashlights and lanterns for tonight. You will have night vision goggles for the night watch. Pretty hard to keep a campfire going up here. I brought two coffee pots, one for coffee and one for tea.”

Kai worked a kink out of his knee, readjusted his shotgun sling and added, “We have the chemical heating packets and cans in the mermite containers. Most of the MRE kits come with those little heating packets. You just put the sealed food packet in the heating pouch and add the water to the chemical pack bag. And voilah! Heated food! But it would be good to have fresh coffee. I might have tea today, though. I don’t think Dr. Kimble will drink the whole pot. I am not sure I like the MRE grape drink packs. The red and orange ones are tasty, though. When you mix the grape one up it is sky blue! And, rhetorical question, Bard, how does the blue drink taste? Blue!” Kai threw up his hands, his Islander face expressing bewilderment. He shook his head and laughed.

Bard worriedly scanned the grassy lands around and below the temple top. The grass only climbed about half way up the temple and was pebbly sand the rest of the way to the top, until the rocky top below the marble slab of the ancient temple foundation. The sand was so steep and loose, after that, it would be challenging to climb down without tumbling to the bottom. “I have shared enough missions, Kai to know how MRE’s work,” replied Bard as he scanned the horizon.

Bard thought to himself, As an earth Cryptid Ranger I have eaten more than my share of MRE’s. Most of them were quite tasty and convenient. But of course, I can’t share those memories. I am disguised as a Carnival World Half Elf and if I don’t keep that secret, I could end up in a Black Cell on Earth or assassinated. If that mind reader, Cynoceph Bo, uses his mind scrying, psionic ability on me, I hope he keeps the knowledge to himself. Hopefully the other Cynos aren’t as skilled with that trait as he is, or I could be in a heap of trouble, as the old saying goes.

Clearing his stray thoughts, Bard said, “We are going to have a split break, I will have someone relieve you when you are up.” Bard continued to check at each guard posting station and gave everyone a heads up about the split break.