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Carnival World Chapter 37

After agreeing to meet Colonel Zales at quarter to fourteen hundred hours, fifteen minutes before two o’clock in the afternoon, me and my bounty hunters headed to the Adventurer’s Inn.

Padre dropped his journey equipment into the storage room and walked to his quarters at the cleric guild, near the cathedral, to clean up and change.
Ghordo had a beer first, then went to his room to wash up and don a fresh set of clothes.
Mystica, as soon as she’d swilled a large cup of Dr Pepper, purchased from Long Leon, she bought another and dashed to her room.
I had a storage unit in my personal suite, and decided to just go there, rather than the bounty hunter’s guild room.
Just as I was opening my door, Long Leon, from New Jersey, who is actually taller than I am, but long and lean like a ladder, yelled, “Yo! Orlando, Anya wants you and the other bounty hunters, especially whoever is going with her to the Celebration of Life at the village, to meet her first at Latino Burrito House.”
“Did Anya say why, Leon?”
“Not exactly, Boss.” Leon added, “I think that is her way to deal with grief. Spanish food is her comfort food, you know. Of course, when she found out they speak Spanish, not exactly with her accent, she practically eats two meals a day there. I don’t know how she stays so thin.”
I chuckled, “Genetics and a high metabolism!” Before I opened my private quarters door, I added, “Thanks, Leon.”
I stopped midway through the door, “I don’t see our orange tabby and our wood elf waitress. Are they with Anya? Are you going?”
“Yes, Boss, they are with Anya. Clem and Charlie Girl are with them, too, so I am stuck behind the bar. Some of the cleaning and hunter/gatherer crews will be there, too.”
“Wrap things up, then Leon, and lock up. Only a few of us can ride the Skip Jack, so we should all go to spend time with Anya at Latino Burrito House.”
“O.K., Boss. That would be good. Maybe you can talk Mystica into going. I know she doesn’t like funerals and has said she will never step foot in the chapel or go to any clerical home meeting, but it would mean a lot to Anya to see Mystica there.”
I paused thoughtfully, then said, “Mystica cares, but she will grieve in her own way. And with time, and not being pushed about it, she may one day make her peace with Creator.”
…
About one o’clock I walked briskly over to the Latino Burrito House. I left my long Orc Star Metal axe in my room but had my hunting knife. On my back, behind my fancy pack, I had my guitar case. My bard outfit was formal, blacks and chocolates, with a Spanish masculine blouse of ruffled white. Not as audacious as when I hold bard entertainment shows in my inn. I was holding a package wrapped in shimmery purple paper, with a black bow, that was about a yard tall and about twenty-four inches in circumference.
I shook my head. Gaudy as a Caribbean Pirate Costume, The Latino Burrito is a sight to see!
It was a timbered structure, just like my inn, but without my original small house structure or the guild room addition. We had added porta-potties from earth and attached them to each living unit and my suite. There is a small, corrugated building behind the warehouse that houses the sewer station. Inside is a small potty pumper sewer truck that comes once or twice per week to pump out the porta-potties. One porta-potty tank holds waste product, and the other tank contains a blue rinsing and sanitizing solution that is left in the bottom of each porta-potty toilet.
The waste product, like much of our garbage, is dropped down an open shaft, in the sewer and garbage building, into an empty cavern at the bottom of the underground base. Only the economy hotel and Conner’s Inns and Suites has running water and flush toilets. Our inn, like the guilds, only has the porta-potties, outside, with entry doors at the backs of the rooms. Each row of porta-potties is positioned for easy potty pumper collections.
My inn living quarter rooms contain a cabinet with a sink, but there are white metal wash pans and buckets with a sipping ladle. My kitchen and each room-service janitorial area of the two hotel room hallways of my inn, have metal hand powered pump jacks. If anyone needs fresh towels or water for their drinking bucket, or heated water, they use the buzzers and call for one of the room service gals. I think we are one short day. Eva Gabori, the white catling, wife of Smokes, the gray and black tabby, who is a member of the Carny’s guild, is manning the two apartment hallways of my inn today. Mara, the hobbit woman, took a personal day. Maybe she’ll be at the wake. Not sure. Some of the garden and cleaning staff will attend, some won’t. Knowing Anya, they were all invited.
I arrived at the Latino Burrito House. So, I would guess, Jose, that’s Ho-say, and his wife, Isabella, from New Mexico, bought the lot from Conner Corp. Maybe they are just renting. I’m not sure.
Garcia’s café is about a third the size of my inn. You can’t see the timbers. The whole building inside and out is covered with a textured sandy cement to make it resemble a Southwestern American Pueblo dwelling.
Each of the four walls are painted a different color. One wall is neon light green, the other wall is fruity orange, the next wall is painted burgundy, and the last wall is painted indigo blue. On top of the structure, but barely visible behind the false façade of an open Pueblo roof, is a small second story living area.
On the left side of the door is a giant yellow smiling sunny guy with wrap around shades and a white sombrero, holding out a big burrito and a roasted cob of corn.
On the right side of the door, the sunny gal, also with a white sombrero, has a jet-black ponytail, no shades, and is holding a bottle of Coke in one hand, and a paper cup heaped up with deep fried tater tots, in the other.
One sunny caricature resembles a rotund Jose and the other, on the opposite side of the entry, resembles a moon-faced Isabella. We call her Bella.
Now Ghordo likes to call Jose, “Hozay, you hoser.” Ghordo and I may have to have a chat about that one of these days. Must have picked up that phrase from Alpha, Beta, Gamma or Delta teams. It is an eighties American phrase that he didn’t pick up from me!
Both Garcia’s are short and thin and smile like well-tanned cherubs, but the moon faces do look comical on their signs.
New Mexico state flags, bold yellow with a red Zia symbol in their centers, furl in the gentle breeze from several locations.
The name of their inn, written in thick flowing cherry red, and outlined in black, greets each customer as they near the front door.
While I may have chosen either burgundy or indigo blue to off-set the two signs, they had gone with orange as the backdrop. The door and window trim on this wall is a bold indigo.
Depending on whether the door, or window, on each wall is a bright or dark color, the trim is either dark blue or neon green.
Inside, the wall colors are exactly the same as the outer wall, with the same contrasting trim colors. Several glass patio tables with bold and blindingly bright umbrellas are scattered around the building. Five patio sets topped by the same bold and radiantly dazzling colorful umbrellas are located inside The Latino Burrito café as well.
As I approached the door, Benito, their son, was sitting at a table by a white dry erase sign that had a message written in English and Spanish in large black letters, “Latino Burrito House is closed this afternoon for a wake and reserved for the friends and family of Anya Quijada. If you are not friends and family with Anya, please take a free soda and burrito coupon, from Benito, and come back after four o’clock.”
“Hola, Senor Bard,” said Benito. Benito was handsome like his parents. His was a quick, shy smile with flashing black eyes. Benito added, “I am sorry for your loss, senor.”
I smiled back at the young boy, then entered the café.
My staff and my bounty hunters were gathered around a family style presentation of burritos and tater tots. Anselm, Padre’s brother cleric, was also present. Another two tables held several members of the inn cleaning crews, and the hunter/gatherers crew who, almost daily, were sent outside the walls with guards to gather fruits and vegetables, firewood, and meat and fish. Sometimes my bounty hunters escorted them; at other times I hired off duty rangers or paladins to protect my hunter/gatherers. The cleaning staff and the hunter gather crews tended to be a bit stand offish when it came to socializing with the Bounty Hunters and my desk and wait crew. Maybe that is a good thing.
They all greeted me, and Jose and Bella as well. Padre was actually sitting, burrito in one hand while his other hand was stroking his beard braid. He was dressed in the formal green St. Patrick’s clover and speared dragon cloak, as was Anselm.
Anya, a six-foot tall Amazon, bold as her brother, but about five inches shorter, probably wanted a hug. Her friends and family often called her “the huggie lady.” I smiled and handed her the gift package.
“It is from Mystica.”
“Gracias, Boss.” She frowned momentarily, then sighed and said, “I understand. She says, ‘One! I, uhhm, don’t do funerals, an’ that, Anya,’ when I visited her outside her room before the…what is the word…wake?”
“She did promise me a condolence gift. I would rather have her here and get a hug, but…”
I joined Ghordo, Long Leon, Clem, Charlie Gal, Melodia, Flyt, and Anya at the table. I waved at Padre, Anselm, Jose and Bella, at the next table, as they greeted me again.
Anya carefully removed the black bow from the sparkling purple paper. At first, I thought it was one of the dragons that were jumbo prizes at the carnival.
It was not. It was a beautiful purple scaled wyvern. It was well made, iridescent, and beautiful. Anya squealed with delight. The tall barbarian lady pointed at the dog collar around the stuffed toy’s neck which had, etched in a fine hand, one word, “Abrazame.”
Bella giggled, “You just got that hug you wished for, Anya!”
“That’s a dumb name!” exclaimed Ghordo, his quirky purple and green lips forced into a crooked scowl. His face took on the usual eye squinting and lip pucker face that he had whenever he would say the word dumb or concentrate mentally. He swiped at some errant green and red salsa, mixed with white sour cream, that had dribbled down his lips onto his new, off the commissary hanger, double x tall, button down sunny yellow dress shirt and imported blue jeans, “What does it mean?” Ghordo frequently complained to everyone who would listen, about Mystica wearing old dirty clothes, although almost never suffering from food stains, for weeks at a time, when she was not wearing her bounty hunter armor.
Ghordo’s clothes, however, after about three days of wear, which was about how long he wore regular clothes, before sending them out for washing, were constantly and liberally blotted with gobs of food stains, mostly gravy brown, ketchup red, and mustard yellow, old and new. Often, if they were really stained, Ghordo threw them away, and replaced them, rather than sending them out for cleaning.
Ghordo’s shirt today was brand new, pulled fresh from the clear plastic it had been wrapped in at the import store, so it only had one fresh layer of food blob decorations. Of course, if you asked him about the stains, he would just angrily snap that you were imagining things or that you were just trying to make him look bad. It was always a case of “Don’t believe your lying eyes, I never have no food stains on my clothes! Or the young Orc will demand that everybody has food stains all over their clothes, they just won’t admit it.”
Anya replied, “Hug me. My little dragon’s name is Hug Me!”
“This one sees that it is beautiful,” purred Melodia, the orange tabby Catling. “Did you read the label, Anya dear? It says, ‘handcrafted by Mystica Knorn.’ But why does it only have two legs? What is this mystery? This one wants to know,” hummed and purred Melodia as she reached out and petted it like a kitten.
“Yes, well done. Beautifully crafted. Much better than the ones you can win at the carnival,” offered Flyt the creamy brown wood elf. “My people have tales of this creature. It comes from the islands of the southern sea but visits into our lands when it hunts food. It has a long scaly tail with a spike. This is not a dragon, but it is of the dragon family. But more of a lizard and smaller. Ask Lando the bard. He will know.”

“Indeed, Flyt, you are correct.” I added, “It is a Wyvern. They have only two legs, not four and the small spike on the tail is poisonous.
“Two wings like a dragon, but less legs, and a lizard by look and shape, not a dinosaurian creature. They can whip that tail like an alligator and break your leg, trip you, or sting you.
“Wyverns are small compared to dragons but strong creatures.”
Anya hugged the large, beautifully crafted, sparkling scaled wyvern to her chest and did a tiny dance, then sat it down in its own chair by her side. It easily peered over the two round patio tables of gathered mourners.

Just then two of Cigar Man’s officers came in with Keegan’s dire axe and his golden neck torque. “Colonel Zales sends his condolences. He thought you should have these, Miss Quijada.”

“Gracias, officers,” said Anya, fighting back tears. “I will take the neck jewelry, but you may place the double axe on one of the nearby empty tables, por favor. Would you like to join us?”
“Thank you, Miss Quijada. We would, but we are on duty. We will see you at the skip jack at…two forty-five P. M.”
As the airborne rangers, from Gamma team, exited the café, we began sharing memories of our adventures with Keegan.
Anya placed Keegan’s golden torque around her neck, then clasped it shut. She cried again softly, “I will wear this now, but I think I should have Father take it to Teewee. She was his betrothed. That meant they had their private family marriage, but they would have had their full clan celebration…about now.” Anya wept again, “If I see her, I will give it to her, but there will be strange people at the funeral. Jarg will not let them come to our gathering, but they will probably be watching from the other side of the lake.”
Thirty minutes passed as we shared sodas and burritos with tater tots and churros. I brought out my guitar from its case. It was a cherry Sunburst. I had decided to use my guitar and not my lute. “Here is the song I composed this afternoon for Keegan. I call it ‘Ode to Keegan.’”

…

Anya, Ghordo, Padre and I boarded Colonel Zales skip jack five minutes early. Following a quick run and a last gentle glide onto the mountain, we embarked just outside the tribal compound, called Trading Post Village, and it was not yet three P. M.
Zales came with us, but his rangers, Gamma team today, stood guard at the ship, with the Beta pilot. Anya ran to her parents. They held each other and cried. The rest of us waited and the chief walked over to us. As Anya had asked, I bowed and handed Chief Escarra the Dire Axe that had been Keegan’s. The two-handed axe was fine steel, which had been crafted by Gurg, the Master Smith of Ghordo’s former Orc Clan. The weapon was not the costly, mottled green, Orc Star Metal, as was Ghordo’s mace, but it had melted meteor stone poured into the surface etchings of the blades.
I pointed to the green meteor stone runes embossed on the fine steel blades. “Chief Escarra, the runes on this blade are Old Orc. They say, ‘Honor Thyne Clan’ and runes on the other blade say, ‘Smite Thyne Enemies.’”
The chief thanked me and gestured for all of us to sit at the log benches. He was a handsome old man, just starting to gray and wrinkle, a smidge less than seven feet tall with a hawk nose. Dressed in fine furs his golden torque had the rune of a chief connected with the golden nuggets, turquoise beads and bear claws that signified his station. Chief Escarra, like his people, dressed in furs and leathers like barbarians, and spoke a mixture of strangely accented Anglo Spanish.
Tables between the benches were heaped with roasted deer and elk and smoked fish, each emitting the tantalizing scents of wood cooked meats. Bowls of fruits and vegetables were scattered between the trenchers of roasted meat. Pitchers of water, fruit juice, home-made beer and berry wine were also close at hand.
Keegan’s mother, father and Anya sat near us. The chief spoke in formal cadence, “Keegan has brought his tribe great honor.”
Chief Escarra displayed the double blade dire axe, holding it aloft with both hands, for all the gathered friends and family to see. “We shall now share a meal in his honor. When you are ready, por favor, share stories of our tribe’s son and brother.
“Help us mourn his loss and celebrate the life he shared with us.
“The famed bard, Orlando, an old friend of our tribe, will tell us the tale of Keegan’s last battle and will provide a song in his honor. Following the meal, we will gather at the funeral pyre and say goodbye to our beloved Keegano Quijada.”
Suddenly a Samurai chatter, high pitched keening in fast-paced Ojibwe, carried forward across the lake. Zales elbowed me and whispered, “Is that Samurai chatter, Bard? There are sasquatch here on Carnival World, Bard?”
“Yes, Zales,” I whispered. And it is a native American dialect. I can show you or let you listen to it in my library. I don’t have the open to the public area up and running yet, but I have the private library open, by appointment only, in the back room. The young female, that you are hearing is human and Squatch hybrid, and she is crying out, “My Keegano! My Keegano is dead!
“I don’t know if you knew, but Keegano was married for a few months. She was his new wife. They have known each other since they were children. The Barbarians have a private family only wedding and then an open, Clan Wedding, four to six months later.”
We shared the meal together. The nearby woods of the mountain were alive with the chitters of squirrels and the calls of birds. Nearby campfires snapped and popped. Sounds of eating, drinking and quiet conversations flowed around the tables.
Keegan’s cousins, who I have told you about earlier, went to the scout ship and after the rangers unzipped the Cryo bag, collected Keegan’s body.
Santiago and Guerra (Grumpy Guy) carried Keegan’s body to the raft, filled with dry grass and wood, and placed it in state.
The one, Guerra, who did not like me, stayed with the body. Santiago joined us at the table.
Padre, Ghordo and I had agreed to wait for the friends and family to share memories of Keegan before sharing ourselves.
Padre shared that Keegan had joined his home fellowship group, several months before, and about three months previous, came daily rather than weekly. Later, Keegan had wanted to take orders with St. Patrick’s Cathedral and then visit every clan in both mountain ranges.
I had known, that the young Barbarian had wanted to repent, and agree to serve Jesu, because Keegan had asked me, what he had to do to make amends and serve Creator. I talked with him briefly, then walked with him to visit Padre.
Later, he must have asked Niijii Padre how he could become a missionary to the nation of his clan who lived scattered throughout the mountains. Niijii is an Ojibwe word pronounced like the famous home furnishing store, from Earth, called IKEA, except with a jay sound. Nii-ji-uhh. It means friend or brother.
I had not known that it had been prophesied that Creator had not blessed his quest. Instead, when petitioned for blessings on the venture, via two prophecies, in different fellowships, the same hour, Creator had informed Keegan of His will. Now, in both words, Keegan had to make the choice, and he was promised that if he decided to stay, he would be blessed, but that his sacrifice for his people and in service to Creator and his Son, would bring a hundredfold blessing to his people, and that a great calamity would be averted for Carnival World in years to come.
Creator had promised that Keegan would die with honor, in the not-too-distant future, and become a legend among his people and throughout his world.
In the heavens he would receive a special crown and on Carnival World his testimony would last more than a thousand years.
Creator promised that His Son, even now was preparing an abode in the heavenlies, that was waiting for him. Many who had gone before were eagerly awaiting the coming of Brother Keegan Quijada in the heavenly realms. Once again, Teewee, daughter of Jarg and Sha-Rae wailed from across the lake, joined later by the deeper, bull moose keening of her father.
Padre cleared his throat, “Aye am not a bard, but Keegan taught me the song he had planned on singing to the tribes when he visited them.
“Aye told Keegan, ‘Yer oot o’ yer mind if ya think aye will sing yer song to yer tribe. Ask Bard, not me.”
Padre did his famous eyebrow dance and rumbled a deep sound of irritation. “I told the wee lad to ‘sit there on your bahookie and be quiet.’ More than once. He towered o’er me like an old cedar tree. Aye called him a lad. And he was.”
Padre’s voice caught in his throat, then he continued.
“Aye, Keegan was a fine laddie. Strong as the mountains he loved and a heart just as deep and strong and wide. For all o’ that he was a man o’ honor and compassion.
“Keegan was as persistent as his sister Anya. I did nae want ta’ do it, but I finally gave the wee beastie me word.

“Here is Keegan’s song, that he wrote, may the lad rest in peace,
“Creator we need you, we need aid to return.
Help us go back to the days of the Old Ones
When every lodge knew what was right and was wrong.

We’ve all become scattered and forgotten your ways.
Creator, Creator, bring us together.
All tribes together, together as one.

Help us Creator to honor your ways.
Creator we need you and your Medicine Son.
Creator we need you and your Medicine Son.”

Following the song, he called out Keegan’s good-natured cousin by name, “Santiago, Keegan asked that you take this song to the other tribes instead.”
Santiago was stunned. His tribe was stunned. We were all stunned, me included.
Anya’s father clasped her arm, “Can you speak for what the Dwarf Cleric is saying, hija? Did Keegan tell you he was going to leave bounty hunting and travel the mountains as a cleric to our nation?”
Anya wept. She answered, “Si, mi padre, I knew that was his dream. But Keegan never told me that he was going to die! There was a sadness in him, the last several weeks. He said it was nada, nothing. He would smile and take me to Latino Burrito and buy us food. Now I know why Keegan was sad.”
Santiago seriously intoned, “Si, if this is what cousin Keegan wanted, I will honor his request. I have a family now, but we will find a way to honor Keegan’s wish.”
Ghordo shared a memory of when he and Keegan had first worked together with Orlando Bard on a bounty hunting mission.
Finally, I shared the tale of how Keegan, Ghordo, Mystica, Padre, Klawse, Rob the Paladin and I had fought the nine Hob Goblin scouts.
“Padre the Dwarf had been in the rear with his sling staff. Padre the Dwarf is trained for battle, but his position is really one of prayer and as a very basic medic.
Hob Gob scouts had charged Keegan, Klawse, Ghordo, Mystica, Rob the Paladin and me. Rob was the first to go down under the dual wielded axes of those berserker Hob Gob scouts. Next was Klawse, the blue Feyhoomon warrior. Klawse was a short sword and dagger fighter. If he had used a shield, he might have survived. The axe blow that took him could have easily been thwarted by a good shield defense.
“When Rob the Paladin went down, his body vanished. An advance technology device teleported him out of there when his skull was split by an axe. None of us have the gold to buy that technology contract. We never found Klawse’s body.
“Rob the Paladin is recuperating at St. Patrick’s hospital. He is still in a coma from what I have heard, but his body is regenerating. He was one of those rich guys from earth who come to visit the carnival. Conner Corp will be sending him back to earth soon.
“Three of them Hob Gob scouts had tag-teamed Keegan.
“Keegan took out three of those Hob Gob scouts in one swing of his double-bladed dire axe. Meanwhile those two that had immediately killed Rob and Klawse, had jumped around Keegan and attacked him from behind.
“Those greenish gray monsters, screaming at the top of their lungs, had swarmed him.
As you may know, Hob Goblins take any infant or child they deem inferior and kill them or banish them. Those that are smaller in stature, but still strong or fast enough to learn battle, but not good enough to become a warrior, are made scouts and servants. So, scouts are challenging warriors, but nothing compares to the strength and savagery of the Hob Goblin warriors of this world.
“We have a she-elf bounty hunter companion named Mystica. She is technically a High Elf. That is the offspring of a Nordic Elf and a human. The old Nordic Elves were cosmic super-soldiers from thousands and thousands of years ago.
“Our Mystica, by blood from the royal family, even though still a child, fights like a well-seasoned adult warrior. Genetically, she has probably inherited more than the average strength, speed and skill, of those super soldier genetics from her Nordic Elf ancestry.
“Creator had given the Nordic Elves a place here on our world, or so the ballads say, because they had served above and beyond the call of duty in an ancient war against servants of the snake gods.
“The Atlanticeans worried that the Nordic Elves would break their promise, only to defend themselves if negotiations proved unsuccessful, then went to their labs and designed their own super soldier – the Hob Goblin warrior. They were designed as warriors and royal guards, but more pointedly, to have the potential to become legendary warriors equal to the Nordic Elves.
“Without the watch care of the Atlanticeans, those Hob Goblins have degenerated into the brutish berserkers of contemporary days.
“We took them out, the Hob Goblin Scouts, a much weaker version of enemy soldier, but the main army of twenty brutes were charging in the distance.
“Yes, we conquered, at great loss, the scouts, but the rest of us, knowing that at times discretion is the better part of valor, scattered and disappeared before the main army could catch us.
“I went out later and tried to find Keegan’s body and Klawse, too. One of Zale’s ranger teams was able to get Keegan’s body back. I will let him tell you that story.”
Then I had Zales tell the story of how his team had fought the Hob Goblin main army force of twenty super soldiers to reclaim Keegan’s body.
Eight American Special Forces rangers, trained to be the best of the best, men and women who were deadly shots, known for their ability to battle enemies under intense combat conditions, with the best 50 caliber automatic machine rifles, were victorious. Only the last Hob Gob warrior survived its long-distance charge to fall dead at the feet of the lead American warriors.
When I played the guitar and sang “Ode to Keegan,” it was well received.
After that we gathered at his pyre near the small, cold, mountain lake. Once again Teewee cried out her long wail and then, in fast-paced Samurai chatter, “My Keegano! My Keegano!”
Keegan’s cousins shoved the raft into the water. The pull from the stream, that chuckled in the distance, and fell off down the mountain, tugged at the raft, slowly pulling it out into the middle of the lake.
Santiago and his brother each dipped their torches into the nearby fire and tossed them onto the dozen bundles of dry grass and multiple piles of stacked logs of dried firewood of the funeral pyre. Additionally, there were many freshly cut blue spruce branches and mounds of sage scattered throughout the dried grass and wood.
The pyre would burn for several hours before completely burning Keegan’s body and sinking into the lake. Even so, as soon as the fire began, we started the final phase of his Celebration of Life ceremony.
First, we all sang their tribal song, that was a cultural bon voyage, for their people, who left to join Creator in His heavenly realm.
Then the chief asked me to sing “Ode to Keegan” one more time. Fiery orange flames huffed and danced, then gentle lake water breezes carried the winding blue gray tendrils of smoke, from the roaring flames atop the raft, into the bright blue dome of mountain sky.
To me anyway, it seemed symbolic of his redeemed spirit entering the abode that Creator had promised him. Then I watched as Anya and her parents left the funeral pyre to travel around to the back of the lake to grieve with Jarg, Sha-Rae, and the grief stricken and expectant, but barely showing, Teewee.

CARNIVAL WORLD CHAPTER 38

“Welcome to tonight’s Bard show. My tale tonight will regale you with my most recent tale. While Zales sent two of his Ranger teams to take out a nasty Orc Warlord. The very one who was responsible for the death of Ari Wolfer’s parents. Zales separated the newest Alpha team ranger, and former spy, to infiltrate the Dark Naga Castle.
“While I will only summarize the Orc Warlord Kill Quest, I will share the Nazi Bell Mission and the Dark Castle Recon Quest in detail. Get ready for a wild pony ride, folks!
“The Adventure begins!
“Well, folks, now it is time to move onto the Fort Zanaghrudu Bandit Clan Mission, also known as the Orc Warlord Kill Quest. That action takes place at the Barbarian village formerly known as Broken Helm Barbarian Village.
**
This is also where Ranger and Sully and I were given the Dark Naga Castle Quest.

 

 

While I was present for most of the briefing, I and Sully were sent to a separate training room to prepare for our quest which was separate from the Ranger teams who were sent to take out the Orc Warlord’s fortress.
Zales sent Sully and Bruce the Moose, Kai, to collect me from my inn. I was working in the guild training my crew on self-defense drills at the time.
Kai said to me as he entered my guild hall, which is in back of the inn, behind the kitchen area, “Sorry Orlando, I know you are still grieving from Keegan’s passing, but Zales has a special mission, and he wants your assistance. Triple hazard pay, tax free, as usual.”
I waved at Mystica who was self-training in back. I dismissed three of my other employees, two from the hunting and gathering crews and one from janitorial.
Then I followed the two Alpha Team Rangers, who sprinted, rather than walked, to the second floor of the Command Center’s underground base. We followed the new gold floor line to the briefing room.
Long black tables lined up end to end, with fancy water and coffee pots, clear glasses for the water and basic white cups for the coffee, commanded the center of the room.
Zales was impatiently puffing his stogie and sitting at the north end of the table as we entered. Both Alpha Team and Delta Team were already assembled. Delta Team was the only team with a lady captain. She was a gray-haired matriarch, with the voice of a bull, darkened by too many years of chain smoking. Major Marlstaad was built like a trim troll, her face lined with wrinkles and pockmarks. In her best days, she had a face that could sour milk or make babies cry. She was a forced DEI hire, but she was also quite skilled and had been jacked-up with Darpa gene therapy and had been, a few years ago, strong as a mule and faster than a rattle snake in the blind.
No one had known Lacey Marlstaad to have had a husband or boyfriend. Although, it was rumored that every vacation, she took to earth, was spent at a private resort on a Caribbean island that catered to whims not acceptable to most national laws or common cultural mores.
Except for when she was in the presence of Zales, she had as much give as a locomotive plowing full steam ahead. Many would be the collective sighs of relief when she retired at the end of the month and headed back to earth to begin her retirement. Marlstaad’s crew was on the east side of the table, with the captain closest to Zales.
Mike Miller nodded to me, as I took a seat on his side, the west side of the table. Mike was seated, nursing a cup of warm black coffee, with heavy cream, heavy sugar, near the Colonel. I sat down at the southern end of the black tables with Sully and Kai.
The chairs were all fancy black leather, squeaky new, and we could see through transparent walls, the operations room with its banks of computers and the science labs on the opposite side.
Zales noisily cleared his throat. “All right, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get down to business. Be sure to confer with your briefing manuals as the conference progresses.
“Thank you for joining us, Bard. I hope that your newest Bounty Hunter, Mystica Knorn, is doing well. Since she is recuperating from her family loss and settling into being your Bounty Hunter and working for the Carnival, it would be best if you did not send her along on this mission. If Ghordo is up for it, we can give him a private briefing and send him along with Alpha Team.
“I am certain that you are all aware that Ari Wolfer, the tall Barbarian child, who was at the orphanage, but is now working for our newest guild master, Lady Q Quetzicoatl, was recently orphaned, like Mystica Knorn of the Royal High Elf family.
“Ari’s parents were both killed outside of our walls, just as they were coming to seek work and residence with us. What you may not know, is that Ari’s parents probably would have survived the cave bear attack, outside of our walls, as Rangers Kai and Jax were already on their way out to assist them. The Wolfer’s clan had just been taken over by an Orc Warlord of great cunning and ruthlessness. The commander, or so we glean from reports, possesses a military genius like the famous Sun Tzu, author of the Art of War. He captures slaves and blackmails people, by holding their wives and children captive and conscripting them into his army or as slaves. Jukmahkhan (jook-muh-con) had recently taken over a large Barbarian village, known as Broken Helms Barbarian Village, formerly the clan of the Wolfer family.
“That old Orc Warlord is absolutely ruthless, and the other Orc Clans are concerned, as he had openly proclaimed, that unless the other Orc Chiefs named him High Chief, one by one he would raze each Orc fort. His little brother. I can’t remember his name at the moment. Another one of those thick Orc three syllable names, was killed when they attacked Ari’s parents as they were coming to our city, not too far passed the place we call Outer Campsite, where the Ratkin merchants park, before asking permission to enter our city and sell wares.
Jukmahkhan’s little brother was waiting, along the road, as if for parley. Then, while he had Brucca and Ari’s mother’s attention, two of the bandit crossbowmen shot them from behind, from concealment, in their knees. Well, thankfully, the crossbowmen were not the greatest shots, only injuring but not totally disabling them. But, as you all know, the roads of Carnival World are dangerous, and predator attacks are a constant peril. They were attacked almost in sight of Carnival City by the bear! They were hobbling their way to the gate, when they were attacked by that big bruin.
“That Orc Warlord is right on our doorstep, so to speak. And bold enough to waylay travelers within an hour or less walk of the city! With his battle skill and absolute ruthlessness and savage nature, we need to take care of this problem and pronto! Not only is it the honorable thing to do people, but we have new friends and neighbors that will be prey to his ruthless ambitions.
Five hundred gold bonus to any soldier who puts a 5.56 into his forest green carcass!” Zales grinned a hard grin, “But to be fair, if any Bounty Hunter puts a dart, bolt arrow, or standard weapon into him that is a kill shot, they get the same gold. Sorry, Bard, you won’t be in on that side bet. Be sure to let Ghordo know.
“I have been authorized to use both skip jacks and my superiors are in agreement with my assessment of Jukmahkhan. I have the orders for Alpha and Delta on the table. Scan the documents for a few minutes. And I will let you know when it is question and answer time.
“Our scientists have a couple of new high-tech toys for you to use for today’s missions. New item one. They are called Flash Bangs. Flash Bangs are a non-lethal hand grenade, that temporarily blinds and stuns enemy combatants. Both skip jack teams will be issued communicators, and you are to time your attacks. The first cloaked skip jack will drop a case of the Flash Bangs into the center of the enemy compound. The Barbarian village already had walls, but the Orc Warlord is in the process of building an outer defensive perimeter, much like an Orc Fort, but sturdier.
“I want the body of that Orc Warlord and NOT alive! The second skip jack will drop Alpha Team into the concealment of the nearby woods. As the Flash Bangs fire, ladies and gentlemen, I want Ranger Snipers Stiltenpole and Schmitt to take out any lookouts on the catwalks.
“Watch out for traps when you go in! I want everyone else taken alive if possible and bind them securely. It may take several trips, but I want them brought in and we will confine them in the underground base jails. When we ascertain who are the bandits and who are the slaves or forcefully conscripted human and humanoids, we will hold a military trial for the bandits, both the lieutenants and the general issue bandits and they will be given death by firing squad.
The others will be given the choice of leaving the city or staying, under probation. If those on probation stay out of trouble, and wish to stay on in Carnival City, they will be given work and assisted with finding lodging. If they fail their probation, depending on the merits of the case, they will either be sent back to confinement for a year or as the standard penalty for their offense, we will decide their sentence.
Bard and Sully get to try the other new advanced technology toy. Bard and Sully, you are going to be dropped off by skip jack first, before we take out the Warlord’s new fort. Both of you will be going on an undercover mission to the Dark Naga Castle. Find out if the daughter of the Dark Naga Queen is planning a world war like her mother. We found two Doppelganger Harnesses in Atlanticean Research Colony thirteen! Bard and Sully, leave your briefing paperwork on the table, and head over to the lab.”
Zales pointed through the glass observation walls, “The scientists will have new documents for you. They’ll walk you through it. It’ll be a doozy! I tried one on myself. They have been programmed to disguise you both as Dark Naga Serpent guards! Just learning how to balance and walk – or should I say float – as a half snake, half human and how to fight with Dire Axes, will probably take you the rest of the day.
“Alpha Team Rangers will skip jack transport you, Bard and Sully, tonight. The rest of you will be off at 0500 hours on the dawn raid of Fort Zanaghrudu.
Except for Bard and Sully, it is question and answer time. After that, my executive assistant, will collect and file the briefing folders.
Following the last of the debriefing Zales said crisply, “Best of luck Majors Miller and Marlstaad. Leave your paperwork on the desk. My executive assistant will collect and file them.
“Make it happen people!”

CARNIVAL WORLD CHAPTER 39

Sully and I waved at the Alpha Rangers as we picked up our weapons and strapped them on our packs. We stepped off the back of the skip jack ramp and down onto the ground. With a mechanical hiss and woosh the vehicle was off and back to the sky dock to pick up Ghordo. He would be excited to hob knob with the guys and gals on this mission. They weren’t leaving for their mission until morning, but Ghordo was going to chow with them, then go for briefing and training for the Orc Warlord Mission, that would start early in the morning. Ghordo would spend the night in the underground base basic guest room. There were larger, fancier apportioned rooms for more distinguished guests.

For all of his Orcish personality flaws, he respected the guys and gals of Alpha team. And now that Stiltenpole didn’t rattle his cage as much anymore, they tended to get along. Ghordo and Maria Orsic Schmitt, still had their love-hate relationship going. She had literally told him not to hang around her like a puppy dog, drooling like an idiot. Not to even look at her. Then when he’d least expect it, she’d be knocking on his door, about once or twice per month, order him to take a bath, and off they’d go like energizer bunnies.
Well, guys and gals, doggies and kitties, enough on that.
We were dogging it along, looking up at the Dark Naga Mountains when Sully said, “Well Orrie my boy, when do you think we should switch over into our Black Naga disguises?
“Well Sully my boy, how about the twelfth of never?”
His stoic Japanese features broke into a grin, as his crew cut head flipped back, “Is the twelfth of never different for a Half Elf Bard on Carnival World than for a Japanese American Spy from Earth?”
“Not that I have read, Sully.” I really must watch my flippant mouth. Orlando Bard, write this down in your journal, then stick it in your pipe and smoke it: THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK!
I am no longer an Earth Ranger with Earth human memories. I am a disguised human from earth, who is supposed to be a Half Elf orphan who was found wandering as a child in the woods by a Wood Elf family of Carnival World. The imaginary father had supposedly taught me how to hunt and move like a ghost in the woods and the imaginary mother, an aspiring bard, who got drunk and knocked up, and needed help raising a little girl, had married the Wood Elf out of necessity, but then took me in, too. Just a deep cover story, like I had been trained to concoct back on earth, modified to circumstance here on Carnival World.
I continued, “I read that in one of my library books. Feel free to correct me if I am using your Earth colloquialism incorrectly. If I have blundered, Some Ting Wong, then here is your opportunity to rectify my…what is that other earth word? Faux pas?
Sully rolled his eyes, “You really need to spend some quiet time thinking up new material, Orrie! You can only MacGyver that phrase for so long, and you just end up MacGyvering it to death. But, as to your question, in line with your recent offer, Bard boy, requesting my correction if necessary. Technically the French phrase faux pas, is an embarrassing or tactless remark. The French word for mistake is ‘erreur” or in American, ‘error.”
I was quickly trying to think of a snarky answer when Sully said, “What is that metallic flash, just up the mountain, but south and east of the Dark Naga castle?”? He added, “Does that set any of your Lore Bard Spidey senses tingling?”
Quickly checking my impulse to spit out some inane comment about the Marvel Comic’s character Spider Man, I replied. “I do have a theory, based on an obscure reference from an old Bard’s tale, pun intended, that the spot you are pointing at is a strange metal structure shaped like a bell, is about fifty feet in diameter with the broken cross peace symbol on its surface. It seems to have mysteriously appeared a few centuries ago.” I paused then offered, “If it means I can avoid activating my high-tech toy for several hours and not suddenly become a stinking snake man, Sully my boy, I am all for a little detour. We can just tell Zales that we thought it was the castle and then we made a course correction.”
Ranger Sully replied, “Works for me. I am not too fond of that snake oil. Which reminds me, Orrie. When we arrive at the Dark Naga Castle, I may need to hide my rifle and locate a Dire Axe. You’ll need one, too. Although, I think your long axe might be able to be used by the disguise program. We should have checked that out during our training session. You probably won’t need to find a Dire Axe.”
“We’ll cross that creek when we come to it, Sully!” Following that comment, Sully and I alternated between sprinting and walking towards the metallic flash. I really did not look forward to activating my advanced technology Doppelganger Tech as the scientists had termed it. I know what Lady Quetzi meant when she said that the smell of Naga snake oil made her wretch. You would think, since she had been born one, that she would have a resistance to the gagging reflex.
I have done some horrific training in my life, but that was worse than crawling through sewer lines. Today is a day I want to put behind me. I showered three times! I can still smell it.
Reminds me of when my mother’s mother, back in my rez days, asked me to come clean the garter snakes out of her garage. She promised to cook my favorite meal for me if I took her garden hoe and cleaned out the nest of slithering little pests out of her garage. They were hiding under an old tarp.
I was just a snotty nosed half Scotch, half Ojibwe kid, shorter than the hoe handle my grandmother held out for me.
Thinking about my favorite meal, fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy, I tackled that task like an adult on the warpath! The stench was terrible. I should have just searched the piles of junk and found that porcupine gnawed short spade shovel and then scooped up the blood and guts and drenched sands into the dented metal bucket.
I had leather snow gloves on, and rather than look for the shovel, that I knew was buried in the mess of old crates, boxes and piles of tools and old garbage, I just knelt and scooped the blood and guts up into that bucket. Then brushing the bloody sand off my old jeans, I carried that hot stinking mess out and threw it into the woods for the skunks.
My grandmother had stopped me before I had entered her house. She had me wipe off my leather boots with an old cloth, and drop my jeans, t-shirt and gloves into the garbage, and the old cloth, then walk it out to the burning barrel.
Spouting a gout of muddled Ojibwe, she shooed me into the bathroom and then came in with a t-shirt, and another pair of jeans, that she sat on the toilet lid. Grandma returned with a blue bottle of Dawn dishwashing soap from the kitchen sink and an old stained, ripped towel, and warned me in broken English not to touch her new towels and dish cloths.
I tried cleaning my hands with Dawn dish soap and that cleaned me up, but it didn’t take care of the smell.
My grandmother suggested that I try washing my hands and my knees one more time with tomato juice and then with a white vinegar wash, and it helped.
I then had changed into my old clothes she had gathered from the spare bedroom. The stench lingered and every time I lifted a piece of chicken or my fork of mashed potatoes to my mouth, I gagged my way through that favorite meal. And to this day that is no longer my favorite meal! It took me years before I could even look at that food combination again. And right now, that stench, but sharper, muskier, and worse, was making me ill. And once I used the Doppelganger tech, the smell would be fresh and horrid once more.
I was hungry as a tuckered plow horse, but I did not even want to think about eating! Fairly set me to gagging, just thinking about campfire and chow time.
I was regretting accepting this mission, but like everyone says, it is hard to say ‘No’ to Zales and the pay, at least for Bounty Hunters, is liberal and tax free! Most missions I do for the Colonel are considered hazard pay and I usually get three times the amount of money per quest or mission than I would doing standard bounty hunting quests or guided hunting and fishing for rich Earth million and billionaires.
Three hours passed, and without a predator incident, when we came to the metallic object that had been glinting in the late afternoon sunshine. Since the sun sits in the west, just like on earth, Sully and I had plenty of light. On the other side of the mountains, it was much darker.
The device, according to Earth myth and legend was a metallic monstrosity shaped like a bell that could time travel or travel like a flying saucer. Sully gave me a strange look, then popped open the door, which produced a heavy, tinny sound of protesting metallic groans. We stepped inside the fifty foot in diameter Die Glocke. Inside, the room was considerably smaller than the exterior.
My eyes raked across the dusty office furniture attached to one side of the Nazi Bell and the fine wooden filing cabinet. Both were attached, presumably so that the items could not move around. Kind of like you might nail a box to the kitchen table of a ship, to store your sugar, salt and pepper on a boat.
In addition to an office area, the inside of the Nazi Bell contained three bunk beds soldered to the inner wall of the bell, there were a few small half-moon tables, with connecting benches connected to the wall. There were boxes nailed to each table that contained dusty salt and pepper shakers, sugar jars, and a butcher knife and a few soup spoons or tablespoons.
The furniture looks circa 1940’s. My AIS Special Forces Cryptid Division investigator’s mind filed away the information.
The filing cabinet name plate name, unless I miss my guess, looks like a World War Two Era German office supply company. Next, I perused the mesh pen holder with a couple of pens and pencils and a small plastic pencil sharpener inside. The mesh holder is taller than usual and has a lid that snaps into place and is attached with a hinge to one side. I have never seen one like that, with a lid. In plastic, but not mesh. Was it a special-order item or an after-market modification?
Now the pens say Bic and the pencil brand is Ticonderoga. I recognize those brands from modern Earth, last time I was there. But the desk and filing cabinet they date at late 1930’s. M. Balin, Munich, Mobel- Fabrik, which means furniture maker I believe, is stamped on both the desk and filing cabinet. That’s German.
Author’s note: Bard reminded himself that he could not point out the obvious to Sully without conveying knowledge of Earth. He needed to remind himself that he shouldn’t know about the German furniture maker label and the modern pen and pencil evidence.
Following a pause, I motioned to Sully, then gently tugged at the mesh container. “Seems to be fastened to the desk with a screw or nail, Agent Wong.”
Wong pointed at the Balin, Munich stamp, on the front of the lockable desk drawer, which was unlocked. When he had pulled it out, it had been empty, except for a key which skittered, across the bottom. “That was, Orrie, a high-end furniture company during World War Two Earth, I believe. Note that the filing cabinet, also made of fine wood, and not metal, has the same manufacturer’s stamp.
“But what is wrong with this picture, Orrie Bard, my slightly pointy-eared friend? The yellow pencils have Ticonderoga stamped on them and the pens are Bic! Those are modern United States writing tools.” Sully, wearing plastic exam gloves, opened a baggie and put the pens and pencils inside, then sealed the bag and placed it into one of many pockets of his general issue cargo pants. After a pause, Secret Asian Man removed the baggie from his pocket and placed it neatly on the far end of the desk. Then, rather than stuffing his pockets, any new evidence was placed instead, in an orderly fashion, with the first evidence bag.
I just barely stopped myself from exclaiming, winner-winner-chicken-dinner, and asked instead, “Sum Ting Wong?”
Sully’s slanted eyes widened, as he gave me a look, then mumbled, “You just had to MacGyver that one in, didn’t you?” then continued his explanation. It seemed whoever had used the crashed Nazi Bell, as he pointed at the skeleton in a tattered and disheveled military officers’ uniform, was a time travel between World War Two Germany and the modern United States. Reminds me of one of my favorite Sherlock Holmes sayings, “When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
“I know you are not from Earth, Orrie,” stated Sully, pursing his lips, “but you are well read. Do you know anything about the World War Two Nazi’s?”
I answered, “Some. Patrick Conner introduced me to the work of an American patristics professor and fortean scholar named Joseph P. Farrell. The bishop just sent me a compact disk with several of the scholar’s YouTube interviews from ‘The Giza Death Star: News and Views from the Nefarium,’ ‘Dark Journalist’ and ‘Lost Battlefields.’
“I have several of his books in my library. Dr. Farrell is a gifted contrarian and virtuoso who wears quaint and anachronistic hats. He possesses a most wonderfully dry and dusty sense of humor. Dr. Ferrell’s real forte, however, is his Sherlockian ability to analyze a wide assortment of religious, Delphian and scientific knowledge, then draw insightful conclusions.
“His most recent interview with historian Tino Struckmann, ‘WHAT WENT WRONG WITH THE WORLD?! A CHAT WITH JOSEPH P. FARRELL,’ is a case in point. This podcast contains one of his witty little Farrelisms. Let me tell you, he has some good gems. Farrel has, as Bishop Conner has informed me, pages of them, as good or better than the famous fortean podcaster, Stephen Quayle’s Quaylisms.
This quote, well close paraphrase is more accurate, is quite apropos. ‘There are two things most people tend to forget about the Nazis. They are smart and they are evil.’”
Sully laughed. “Never heard of him. Good quote though. I must say, you are long winded, Orrie. But then as you often say, ‘I am a lore bard.’ Goes with the territory, I suppose.”
I watched as Sully left his examination of the desk and walked over to the dead body.
“Who might this be?” I asked.
Sully, vinyl gloves outstretched, removed a name tag from the desiccated body and removed a name tag from a lanyard, then showed it to me before bagging it. “Dr. Fredrick Hanns Kemmler. That is not the General Hans Kammlar. Name is close, but no Zale stogie.”
Next, Sully lifted the dried husk of flesh and bones, then using a tweezer, picked up the smashed bullet from the floor, and after setting the body back, bagged and tagged the shrapnel evidence.
“I see an officer’s cap on the floor, Sully.”
Sullies slanted eyes widened and his nostrils flared, “An officer all right. Was he a medical doctor or a scientist as well?”
“It looks like whoever shot him, cleaned the place out quite thoroughly, but it is always possible they missed something.”
“Maybe,” offered Sully.
“What’s this?” I pointed to several scraps of paper laying on the floor near the desk. Sully picked up the pieces and walked over to the desk.
I peered over his shoulder as he rearranged the old paper scraps. Following several shiftings, Sully said, “The mystery deepens. Unfortunately, we are missing several fragments, so the message is incomplete. Make yourself useful, Orrie my boy.” Sully Tingerias Wong chuckled, “Help me look, Orrie, for more paper fragments. I have a feeling that when we paste it together, Bard Boy, we will have a powerful clue that will crack this conundrum.”