www.chat_world.com/the

Part I: Enter The_Midlands

Chap. 1

A candle…

A single candle…

A single candle burning bright…

A single candle burning bright in a darkened room. The sounds hushed. The breath moved like a whisper through the ether of the blackness. The exhalation migrated around the flame, settled into the corners of thought. Then the inhalation pulled back about the room, twisted through the fusion of the flicker and ebony.

I stirred from where I sat. I had been there a long time trying to clear my mind, free it from the trap of consciousness. It hadn't worked, and, frankly, my kiester was sore.

I walked to the window and saw a figure collapse on the sidewalk.

I surmised that it was time for me to go to work.

*****

The name is Moonlight, Al_B._Moonlight. This is Chat_World, that place you hear about on the other side of the modem where every malcontent, middle aged soccer mom stuffed like a sausage in leather, and pud puller go these days to kick back, blow off a little steam, and get their hormones straightened.

It is where the dames are all gorgeous, the joes are all dangerous, and the kids will pick your pocket faster than you can your nose. If you have a dream you'll find it in here. Of course, if you have a nightmare it will probably also pop up like my Uncle Elmo in his nightshirt at the girlie show.

Unless you attend one of those technical institutes that they advertise on the tube these days or are fond of keeping the pens in your pocket in a white plastic liner, I supposed you are about as confused as my bookkeeping system. Maybe I should back up like the sink in my kitchen and fill you in a little on the background before rambling on like a bowling ball down a warped alley.

This old world is changing faster than a drag queen at the fifty percent off rack. One of the developments is the ever-emerging computer technologies, that are usually obsolete before they hit the market. Maybe I should have invested a little instead of blowing all of my spare change on the ponies.

Anyway, during this revolution the Internet has exploded like the face of a fourteen-year-old after a trip to the ice cream shop. You can surf the Web, shop the Cyber Malls, and get a lube job over at a porn site. If you can't find it online then you probably don't need it.

Another thing that was taken off on the Internet is the chat rooms. They seem to have proliferated faster than a case of the mange on my dog Arfles. These rooms are where every anti-social Nethanderal with an I.Q. that matches the angle of the slope of his forehead and who can log in and type with at least two fingers goes looking for a good time, a little conversation, and an evening with a dame that wouldn't like at him twice in real life.

Chat is a rather unique place where one can be attempt to be whatever he/she/it wants to be in any type of environment possible. However, the emphasis is on attempt. Despite the fact that the chatters are a rather anonymous lot, and what the rooms are is only limited by the imagination, there are couple of hard fast rules. Who you are when you come in is who you are when you leave, and what you pick up in chat leaves with you.

That may seem as obvious as the moles on my Aunt Millie's face, but you'd be surprised how many try to dodge those facts like I do the collection agency on payday.

So that brings us back to where I was when I started babbling like a brook downstream from the sewage plant, Chat_World, a rather low rent techno-excuse for a good time. The place is about as appealing as my family reunion, but it's where I hang my hat.

One odd thing happened when they made the place. Thoughts and emotions started to flake off the chatters like dandruff off a paraplegic cat. These energies adhered like toothpaste on the bottom of an old sneaker. The result was cyber-beings that became known as "flakes". I'm one of those flakes.

The techs tried to erase us but gave up. The flakes were as hard to eradicate as my Uncle Elmo's ear hair. We also added a little local color to the system, as well as a new underclass to exploit and to blame for the techno-ills that plagued the place.

I used to play piano over in the GenChat Central District in a backwater chat dive called The Tahiti Lounge and ran a detective agency on the side. Then my life changed like the blue plate special at the local beanery. I got entangled with a joe that went by the handle of The_Apothacary.

Actually, it was more than entangled. Apoth and I seemed to have had some sort of connection, a shared directory or life or whatever. I'm not sure. I usually don't read more than the funny papers or the handicaps on the sports page. I just know that whatever I do he seems to have been there first and done it, with his own little twist, of course.

Apoth finally split this crummy little cyburg for somewhere beyond either side of the modem, and I took his place on GenChat's EastEnd. Some joe named Shelley replaced me at the Tahiti. It was supposed to nice and tidy with me moving on someday and Shelley pulling my shoes over his socks. But like my Uncle Elmo always said if there's not a fly in the ointment, someone will drop in a hand grenade.

I took over Apoth's old shop where I taught self-defense, sold herbal remedies, and ran a mah jong game in the backroom. I also was there for those who sought aid. In GenChat it is said that when one needs help, go to the EastEnd and ask for Moonlight. Not terribly original, but did you expect? Mickey Spillane?

As I moved from the window to the door, I speculated that the figure laying outside my establishment either fit that category or had been sipping a little too much at the grog bowl.

I would soon find out.

*****

When I got outside the street was as deserted as my morals on payday. All that remained was the prone shape lying on the sidewalk.

And what a shape it was. She was about my height and built like a platinum crapper. Her long dark hair emphasized the pleasing architecture. She had more curves than a knuckleball pitcher in a hailstorm. I knelt to see if she was okay.

As I helped her sit up, my spine felt the elevator of recognition leap to my brain, open the door, and say all out on the ground floor. I knew the dame. We had worked together before.

"Hello, Raven," I said as I searched my pocket for a coffin nail that wasn't there, "how's tricks?"

"Mr. Moonlight," she replied as she rubbed the back of her head in a manner with which I wished that she was rubbing one of mine. "I had heard you'd moved here."

"Yeah, I had to get out of the high rent district. Say, you don't have an extra smoke do you? I've been trying to quit, and the yellow fingered shakes have got me by the rancheros."

She flipped me a pack, and I greedily tore one out. I searched my pockets desperately for a match.

She continued, "So the fates have brought me once again in your direction. The first time I had my doubts. It seemed that not only were you cowardly, but that during evolution your ancestors were the control group. Still, you did prove to be a valuable ally."

While I attempted to create a flame by rubbing my hands together, I replied, "Thanks, I think. So what brings you to this sorry side town? Slumming it? And where's that boyfriend of yours? I thought you were both locked up in a hell folder."

She let out a sigh that left my eyes riveted to her chest and answered, "There was a bug in the folder, Mr. Moonlight. It left the back door open. I was unable to prevent Electrato from escaping, so I followed to try to stop him from harming anyone."

"So you need help corralling him again?"

"No, I am afraid that this time it is Electrato who needs our help. He has been taken prisoner."

I leaned back against the wall. I waited for her to continue and hoped that she would at least offer me a match.

Chap. 2

A candle…

Another single candle…

Another single candle burning bright…

Another single candle burning bright in a darkened room. The sounds hushed. His breath moved like a harsh whisper through the ether of the blackness. The flame pierced his closed eyelids, stabbed deep into his throbbing brain. The only reason he didn't scream was that the thirst that consumed him like a fiery pyre was even stronger.

How long since he had fed? He no longer knew. His dry tongue licked at his cracked lips in a vain attempt to moisten them. His arms once more struggled against the shackles that held him to wall. Then he went limp. It was of no use. The chains were too strong.

He heard a door open and the sounds of footsteps enter the room. He opened his eyes and attempted to focus on the figures. This, too, was to no avail. Silhouetted in the shadows he could only discern the shapes, not the faces.

A soft voice spoke, tore into where his soul would have been if he had one, and reminded him of his all consuming desire to feed, "I see that you are awake, my friend. I am sorry for any inconvenience this may cause you, but I am afraid that this is the way things must be."

He struggled against his bonds and croaked out a whisper, "Who are you? How dare you imprison Electrato!"

"For now, it does not matter who I am. All that should concern you is that you are aware that you are my prisoner."

Electrato groaned, strained hard in a futile attempt to break his bonds, and whispered harshly, "You will pay dearly for this insult!"

"Perhaps I will, but I doubt it," the shadowy figure replied. "I would like to apologize. You are obviously in need of nourishment; however, at present I am afraid that we cannot allow you to feed."

"Who are you?" Electrato managed to scream.

The figure answered coldly, "You do not want to know the answer. Believe me, you do not want to know."

All emotion had long been burnt and purged from the mind of Electrato. The constant feeding, the ceaseless hunting, the wash of the minds of countless chatters thundering through his body had desensitized him. Until now…

For now he felt fear.

*****

Maybe I need to fill you in on the skinny of the lowdown. Otherwise you'll be as confused as my Uncle Elmo looking for moonshine at the church ice cream social.

There is a corollary to the flake story. Somebody dumped a virus into Chat_World. Whether that individual was a disgruntled employee, a jilted lover, or some pud puller trying to find a new way to get his rancheros off, no one knows and is not really important.

What is important is that any flakes that came in contact with the virus were changed into flake vampires. They feed on the thoughts and emotions of chatters. The virus did not affect chatters, and flake vampires cannot feed on other flakes.

The vampires have their own honor code. They tend to prey only on those who request their services and the lone tech that no one would give a rat's hinny about disappearing. However, occasionally one of the vampires will go rogue and stalk any chatter they desire.

Raven13 was a flake vampire. She lived within their code of honor, but her boyfriend, Electrato, had gone rogue. To make matters worse he was the King of the Flake Vampires. It was only with a little luck and help from some of my friends that we were able to stop him and pull the fat of our backsides out of the fire and back into the frying pan.

Now someone had captured him. Whoever they were, if they could lasso a lug like Electrato then we had about as much chance as a nun shaving ice at a biker's convention. Things did not good for the home team.

*****

We returned to my shop before she continued her story. The nico-dts had me by the rancheros and were doing a pretty good imitation of a vice in the foundry. I was about ready to chew on a chopstick.

Raven lit a coffin nail, inhaled slowly, and continued, "After he escaped I followed him on a hell chase through Chat_World. Every time I came close to finding him he disappeared into the thick of the night.

"Finally, I managed to track him down. He was tired, had not yet fed for the evening. Perhaps that was why he fell prey to them…"

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and managed to squeak out, "Say, you wouldn't have another match would you? I used my last one to light a candle, and it blew out when I opened the door."

She shook her head no and proceeded with her story, "I had recently fed and was able to stop him. Then out of nowhere a pack of shadowy forms appeared. We struggled against them, but with Electrato in a weakened condition it was to no avail.

"Electrato managed to break free for an instant. He raised one of them over his head and threw him into the wall of our adversaries. I slipped out and ran with several of them in pursuit.

"I looked back once to see Electrato kneeling before a figure. I couldn't make out the face, but the body seemed to be floating on a cloud of smoke.

"They pursued me for what seemed like hours, but I managed to allude them. I ran until I collapsed here from exhaustion and exposure to the dawn. "

I paced around the room, attempting to ignore the tingle of my nerves and the sweat that poured from me like a sponge in a bucket, as I said, "Yeah, it is getting light. Do you need to hole up and get some shuteye?"

She shook her head no and answered, "I can survive for a day, perhaps two, if I stay to the shadows. I will be fine for now. Thank you for asking."

I had kept rubbing my hands together and had managed to produce a smolder in my palms. I reached the coffin nail down and was able to get the tip of it to catch fire. I greedily started to suck in the smoke. The first taste reached the center of my mouth.

Suddenly, I saw a wizened hand reach out and grasp mine. A searing pain shot up my arm. As I fell to my knees the agony ran through my body and centered right behind my eyeballs. I felt like a mule in heat had kicked my head.

Through tear filled eyes I spied the one who grabbed me. He was small, about as big as the hopes of a frat boy during finals week. His skin was so wrinkled that he made a prune look smooth. He had long white hair that made mine look clean and well groomed.

I knew him. He was my teacher, The_Really_Old_Guy.

"Al_B._Moonlight," he hissed, "I am…sorely disappointed…in you…"

"Not as sore as I am, pops," I winced. "Could you let go for the love of a marine boot camp drill instructor? I think you've made your point."

"You must learn that you have taken a vow…no smoking…and no women…and I am NOT…your pops…I am your teacher…"

"Okay, okay! Look I admit I did try to sneak the smoke, but the dame's not here to get lubed on my rack. She needs help…ouch!"

"Needs help…"

"Needs help, master. Now will you let go?"

He released his hold, and I fell to floor like a set of arches carrying a load of bricks. I shook my arm but the pain didn't go away. I could tell that I was going to feel this one for a long time.

The_Really_Old_Guy bowed to Raven and said quietly, "I apologize…for my

conduct but he must learn…Often I feel…that if he were any more stupid…he would lose a debate to a rock...”

Raven smiled and replied, "No offense taken. I have dealt with Mr. Moonlight before. If one does stand close enough to him you can hear the operator say ‘Sorry, wrong number’, but he has proven himself useful."

He nodded and said, "Yes…that is so…but cannot even the dog who fetches the paper…tell you the sidewalk is rough…Now tell me, young lady…why do you seek aid…"

While Raven filled him in I went into the bedroom to change. She had just finished when I came out tying my tie.

The_Really_Old_Guy eyed me darkly and said, "Al_B._Moonlight, why do you wear…this? What of the outfit…The_Apothacary left you…"

"Sorry, pops, uh, master," I replied as I slipped on my gray suit coat, "but if I'm going on a case I need my working clothes. Besides, the trousers on that outfit made my boxers ride up."

He sighed and answered, "I see…truly I believe…that when you drank from the fountain of knowledge…you merely dribbled down the front of your shirt…"

"Uh, yeah, whatever. Well, shall we get this puppy rolling down the sidewalk?"

"Where do you suggest…that we start…"

"We some need dope on the scoop. So that means going to my sources, and that means a little trip to the Tahiti Lounge."

He nodded and walked to the door. I let him leave first in respect to his position as my mentor. He would also make a good shield for a bullet. Then I let Raven go ahead of me.

I always liked to walk behind a fine looking dame and watch.

You can't change the spots on an old dog.

Chap. 3

I could never figure out if The_Really_Old_Guy walked everywhere for the exercise or because he was too cheap to spring for trolley fare. Either way my dogs were as sore as a Boy Scout after the troop had played a round of Deliverance.

On top of that it was colder than the brass balls on a well digger’s monkey, and my suit coat was rather threadbare. At least the onset of the flu would make me forget about the coffin nail delirium that shook me like a jitter-bugger that needed a trip to the facilities.

When we opened the door to the Tahiti I was braced for the chat to cover me like a bad bet on the filly in the third race. Instead, the place was as quiet as the backside of a doorknob. I was as surprised as Aunt Millie when she caught Uncle Elmo tweezing his nose hair.

I followed Raven and The_Really_Old_Guy into the room. Frankly, I’d seen livelier morgues on Bingo Night. There were only a few people at the bar. My replacement as lounge pianist, Kid_Shelley, was sitting idly at the keyboard, plunking out Louie Louie with his right hand. In the back of the room, at my old table, I spied a familiar shape. She arose and walked in our direction.

As the figure grew closer I noticed she had more curves than a remedial English teacher’s grade sheet. The form also moved with a sway that leant a new definition to Newton’s 3rd Law of Thermodynamics.

When she appeared in the light I noticed that she had cut her dark hair to collar length. She was wearing her trademark white satin blouse and black leather mini-skirt. The lips, as red as a cherry in the discount bin at the supermarket, was twisted into a grim smile, but the eyes flashed like a Don’t Walk sign.

The dame was Daybreak12. She used to be my boss when I worked here. We had a history that read like some Imperial Roman soap opera. I had also learned there was a lot more to her than met the eye or the tout sheet, and what met the eye was the carriage of one fine looking dame.

“Al_B._Moonlight, of all the sorry gin joints for you to walk into you had to pick mine,” she sneered as she laid a well-placed spike heel against my right temple.

I went down like a quarterback looking for a lost kicking tee. Normally, the pain would have bothered me a lot more, but the nicotine withdrawal was so bad that the new pain gave me something to do besides want to gnaw my foot off.

I sat up gingerly, rubbed the side of my head, and said, “Hi, doll. How’s tricks?”

She pulled me from the floor by my tie and spit in face, “Number 1: You leave here owing me a bundle on your tab; number 2: not only do you leave owing a bundle you clear out the cash register on your way and leave a note about it being an advance on your last check; number 3: after you leave all of the stemware and most of the stock from the backroom are gone…”

“Is that all, sweetheart?”

“No, mister. Number 4: this sorry kiester of a replacement for you is even more pathetic, undependable, and untalented than you were! Look at this place! This used to be a swinging club! Now it’s about as lively as a debate over Fifth Century church rituals!”

“So the kid’s not working out?”

“Read my lips, Moonlight! Both of you are a few chits short of covering the bet in my book!”

“Why don’t you fire him?”

She sighed, let go of me, and sat down at the nearest table. My eyes were riveted on her legs as she crossed them.

She continued, “You know why, Al. It’s my job to watch over you clowns until you take your kiesters out the door…besides…I kinda like the lug.

“So what brings you back here? I didn’t think your teacher let you out to play anymore.”

Before I could answer, The_Really_Old_Guy pushed in front of me, bowed, and said, “He is not here for frivolity…we are here to help this young lady…on a mission that bodes ill…for all of Chat_World…”

Daybreak’s face lightened as she stood up, took hold of his hands, and said quietly, “The_Really_Old_Guy, I didn’t see you behind that piece of weasel bait. How are you? What brings you here? Have you heard anything from Apoth?”

He bowed slightly and answered, “It is always good…to see you…my dear…I am well as a man…of 830…can be…And as I said we are on a mission…And no sadly…there is no word from The_Apothacary…”

Daybreak sighed and said, “I figured as much. Still I…Raven…didn’t see you were with them…”

Raven stepped forward and replied, “Be at ease, Daybreak. There is a truce between us…for now. Electrato has been taken prisoner.”

“Wow! Then what are you doing here?”

My craw was about full of the family reunion good time society, so I butted in like a clubfooted cop with a broken nightstick, “We need some skinny, so I came looking for the lowdown. Is Cubby here?”

Daybreak pointed to a pudgy figure slumped over the bar next to a rather attractive young skirt and grumbled, “If you can get him out of his stupor you can talk to him.”

“Cubby been slapping the sauce a little hard?” I inquired as I edged slowly away from her.

“Yeah. After you left he couldn’t get a story to beat a pig in the poker game. The Tattler fired him, and he’s taken up residence leaning against the bar. I move him every so often to keep the varnish from wearing off.

“And Al? You’ll be getting a call from my lawyer if you don’t return some stuff and/or ante up what you owe. And to think I was starting to like you…”

“Uh, Day, it’s the phone,” Frank_the_Bartender interrupted like a mouse tripping over a field of landmines.

“Tell them to call back.”

“He says it’s important.”

“Tell him I’m doing laundry!”

“He says he can meet you at Luigi’s_Laundromat.”

“Tell him he doesn’t understand. When I do laundry I go down to the river and beat it out on the rocks!”

While Daybreak tried to avoid the phone call, I walked over the bar. Cub_Reporter was my main source of dirt in GenChat. However, at the moment he looked like about the only thing he knew was that he had no idea where his next drink was coming from.

“How’s it going, Cubby?” I asked as I ordered a mineral water.

“Al!” Cubby beamed like a broken headlight. “When did you come in?”

“Little while ago. How goes the war?”

“Two outs in the bottom of the ninth, third and seventeen, four lengths behind in the fifth race, down by one with nine seconds left and the All-American guard is driving toward me with the ball. The usual. You heard I’ve gone independent?”

“Yeah, Daybreak told me.”

“It sucks like a Hoover, Al. I worked for that paper for years. Now they’ve sent me out to the Back Forty to be shot and put out to pasture.”

“That’s too bad, Cubby. What’s your poison? I’m buying. I also need some inside dope on a case.”

Cubby ordered a whiskey and beer chaser. He downed the whiskey and proceeded to cry in the beer. He nodded for me to continue.

I slipped a cyber-jackson that I had lifted from The_Really_Old_Guy’s pouch into Cubby's shirt pocket and asked, “You heard any skinny about flake vampires or other such ilk?”

Cubby scratched his incredibly greasy hair, wiped his hand on his shirt, and replied, “You know…there have been some strange things happening. Not vampires, but there have been some odd characters running in and out of The_Midlands. You might want to check that out. You used to live there didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but that’s another anthology I don’t feel like looking up in the card catalog right now. Catch you around the rooms, Cubby.”

“Sure, Al. Say, will you keep me in on this one? I need a story bad. I’m so broke I’m about ready to start shagging chatters in the men’s room for quarters.”

I nodded and was ready to walk away when I heard a voice behind me exclaim, “Ohmygawd, like, is that Al_B._Moonlight?”

I turned to see one incredible dame in front of me. She was a little taller than me, but she was wearing a pair of platforms that were so high she could have reached the thirteenth floor without the elevator. I found myself staring eye level at a set that made you forget about the school trip to Mt. Rushmore.

I sipped my mineral water and answered, “Sure, doll, but I don’t think I know you.”

“Duh,” she replied with a voice that a joe would have killed for to have laying in his lap, “of course not, dude. Like, I never have, you know, met you. I just saw you on the underground radio.”

“Oh yeah, the interview with Rosetta_Stone on the Voice of Infernal Chat. You liked that one, sister?”

She had long dark hair, and one of those carriages that made you want to take the pony out to the park for a run. She was wearing a tight black polyester jump suit that made you want to dress like the Disco King and grind with her under the blacklight until you got to the bedroom. Every time she inhaled, I got whiplash.

She sipped her drink and continued, “Oh, I thought, like, you know, that you were so totally cute.”

I cringed while I watched her ruby red lips wrap around the straw and said, “Cute, huh? Never thought of myself as cute. Isn’t cute what you call your kid brother and his science project?”

She smiled and replied, “Well, maybe we’ll, like, have to clean your test tubes some time, totally, you know?”

“Ah, you got, moxie. I like a dame with moxie.”

“Honey, like, I don’t have moxie. I am MOxie.”

“Well, it’s been fun, sweetheart, but I’ve got a case. Maybe we can meet up later.”

“Fer sure. I am totally into retro, and, you know, you are about as retro as it gets.”

“Uh, thanks, I think. Catch you around the rooms, doll.”

“Say, ohmygawd, I have an idea. I am as brilliant as I am self-assured, you know. Why don’t I go along on this case with you. It would be, oh, so totally kewl.”

“I don’t think that would be a good…”

I never finished the sentence. Once again I noticed a searing pain in my right hand that ran up my arm and beat my eyeballs like a cattle prod up the kiester. The_Really_Old_Guy had me again. I either I had to learn how he did that or find a defense against it.

He bowed slightly and said, “You must forgive the impertinence of my young friend…Sometimes he seems to not have…all of his dogs in the same kennel…

“Normally…I would agree with him…but if his chi was not so clouded…by his testosterone…he would see that you would be…most helpful…on this mission…”

“Ohmygawd! You mean I can go? So that is so totally kewl. Let me run to the ATM first!”

As my eyes cleared of the sweat and tears I watched her walk to the door with a sway that made me forget about the pain in my arm and concentrate on the one growing in my pants. She was one fine looking dame.

Between Raven and her, the scenery was going to be pleasant, quite pleasant indeed.

Chap. 4

We stared through the open door. As far as you could see the hills rolled in a gentle sway, the grasslands dotted with groves of trees. The expanse was so green that it was almost black and nearly hurt your eyes if you stared at it too long. Just inside stood a worn wooden sign that read Welcome to The_Midlands.

We entered and were immediately assaulted by a wave of heat. The air was as humid as my skivvies after a good workout. The breeze carried the scent of the richness of the soil. I sneezed. Not only did I have the yellow-fingered shakes; my allergies were acting up, too.

Raven turned to me and quietly inquired, “Where, now, Mr. Moonlight?”

I wiped the sweat from my face onto the front of my shirt and replied, “To get around in here, we’ll need a tracker. We might find one near that river over there.”

“You seem to know this place well.”

“I grew up here.”

She nodded, turned, and walked in the direction I pointed. I waited for The_Really_Old_Guy and MOxie to go first. I just wanted to follow her and watch.

When we arrived, I stopped and looked around, buried in a sea of memory. I had played along this bank when I was a child, had camped out here. My first private encounter with a dame had happened at this very spot, several times.

Suddenly, I heard a rustle from the brush. Instinctively, my hand reached in my right pocket and wrapped around the roll of quarters I always carried for playing the slots. I studied martial arts with The_Really_Old_Guy, but at a time like this I was more comfortable with the tried and true methods.

A figure emerged, and my hand relaxed. I knew him, knew him well. He was about my height with a chest like a beer keg and the rest of the physique to match. His long stringy hair wafted in the breeze. When he saw me, his grip relaxed from the hilt of his broad blade, and his eyes, which belayed the fact he was some genetic throwback to a time of skullduggery that his family would rather forget, beamed a smile.

Garth_Ebony strode forward, grasped my arm, and bellowed, “Al_B._Moonlight. It has been too long, far too long, old friend!”

I winced and answered, “Yes, Garth, it has.”

“So who do you bring in this coterie of yours? The females I do not recognize, though I would like to in a Biblical sense, but, say, is that not The_Really_Old_Guy?”

My mentor stepped forward and clasped arms with Garth. I had no idea that they knew each other, but then little that The_Really_Old_Guy did surprised me anymore.

The old man said, “Yes…my friend Garth…it is I…We have come on a mission…of dire consequence…for the very existence…of The_Midlands…and of Chat_World…”

Before he could continue or Garth could reply several large creatures emerged from the brush and attacked us.

Garth brandished his broad blade and hissed, “Sloths!”

*****

When sloths are mentioned most people think of those creatures that hang in trees and eat leaves all day, evidencing about as much energy as a football team hanging out in the dorm the morning after a kegger. However, in The_Midlands it is a different shoe tree holding a different pair of loafers.

When the room was created it was one pretty nice place where you could take the family for a Sunday stroll or out for an ice cream cone. I guess that was too much for the techs. They hate to see people have too much fun.

So they introduced an evil wizard, Blübard. Blübard immediately erected Fier Mountain, a volcano, as his lair. It did nothing to help the property values of the place. His second act, like any good villain, was to seek henchmen.

At first he did the usual thing, placed ads in the local newspaper, advertised on the Internet, etc., but he was not satisfied with the quality of most of the recruits. I wasn’t surprised. There was stiff competition from other gangs, and, frankly, his benefit package sucked like a sour lemon.

So he started kidnapping chatters and flakes. He turned them into the foul creatures that we now faced. In The_Midlands sloths were the size of a gorilla, acted like an orangutan with a bad attitude, and smelled like a junior high locker room.

*****

There were ten of them and five of us. They charged us like an overdrawn credit card. I knew Garth, the old man, and Raven could hold their own. MOxie would just have to show us if she could cut the mustard with the butter.

Garth sidestepped the first one and plunged his broad blade deep into the creature. He let the second roll over his back, smacking its left temple with the hilt of his sword. The_Really_Old_Guy immediately flipped one over his shoulder, taking out its right kidney on the way by. He turned and flattened a second one with a chop to the chest.

Meanwhile, the skirts were holding their own. Raven moved faster than buttermilk through a bout of Montezuma’s revenge. She head butted one and turned to rip the heart from a second. MOxie surprised me with her agility and savage attack, grinding the sloth that dared confront her into pabulum. Watching that platform move was one fine sight.

I turned to face the three that lunged for me. As I wrapped my fingers around the roll of quarters, I ducked under the reach of the first one. I took him out at the kneecaps with a hard punch. As he fell I slammed a well-placed fist into his throat.

I dropped the quarters and grabbed a large tree limb that was lying beside me like a conveniently contrived plot device. I pushed it into the gut of the second one that jumped for me. Then I stood and gave him a Louisville love tap across the face. He went down like the curtain at a bad play.

However, the third one smacked me up side the head before I could turn to face him. As I fell I heard the charge of the beast from behind me. I rolled over, knowing I couldn’t get out of the way.

Suddenly, MOxie came flying in like a businessman on a holiday, and placed her platform heel against the side of its head. The sloth stopped in its tracks. I noticed a sword protruding through its stomach. Garth quickly withdrew his blade. The creature fell like a weight lifter with a bad arches.

I turned in amazement to the smiling MOxie who said, “I’ve, like, been studying Tae Kwon Do for years, you know. Darn, I chipped a nail!”

Garth helped me to my feet as we stared grimly into each other’s eyes.

Through clenched teeth he whispered, “Sloths…”

I continued his sentence, “…which can only mean…”

“Blübard…”

“…is at the bottom of the dog pile…”

“Say, like do you dudes, always finish each other’s sentences?” MOxie butted in, “I think that’s totally rad.”

I ignored her bantering and whispered harshly to Garth, “If he is behind this, we will need help.”

“Should I muster the Rangers?” Garth asked.

“No, not yet. We’ll keep them for the ace in the hole up our sleeves. For now, however, I think we can use a second tracker.”

“Yoiks, man, do you mean?”

“Yes, my friend, I think it’s time I go pay a visit to Uncle Elmo.”

Chap. 5

It was a small house, gray paint peeling from the sideboards, the windows desperately in need of caulking. The yard was scraggly, a lot of junk lying around, holes dug by who or god knows what. The effect was like a DMZ in some Third World condo district. It was good to see the place hadn’t changed.

I stood for a long time staring at the house. This was my childhood home. Uncle Elmo and Aunt Millie had taken my twin brother, Willie, and me from the GenChat Flake Orphanage as our temporary foster parents. We wound up staying until Willie ran off after he robbed the gas station, and I went away to junior college on a pinball scholarship.

The memories flowed over me like tar on a hot tin spatula. I remembered the baseball games, wrestling, and playing cult killer in this yard with my brother. I also recalled giving Uncle Elmo a soapy sponge bath while he wore his smiley face mask. I shuddered. I didn’t want to go there…

I finally screwed up my courage like a metal cap on a cheap bottle of wine and walked to the door. I could hear someone moving inside. The aroma of fried carp, unwashed socks, and the slop bucket in the kitchen wafted through the torn screen. Yes, I could see things hadn’t changed much in these parts.

I knocked on the door and waited. A large bear of a very filthy man with at least four days growth on his face peered out through the screen. He was wearing a greasy pair of bibs over the long johns he changed only on Decoration Day. He had enough eczema to be Frosty the Snowman’s stunt double. He was my Uncle Elmo.

“Land tarnation ’o sakes! Is that ya Alboy?” his voice rumbled like a ‘49 Chevy in need of valve job. “Why didn’t you tell us ya wuz cumin’? We would’a fixed a fresh mess of carp. Come on in!”

I tried to breathe through my mouth as I followed him. He offered me a seat on the couch, but one look and I decided to stand. Who knew what it was on the sofa, how long it had been there, or how long ago it had died.

“Ya should’a let us knowed, boy,” he rumbled on. “Yer Aunt Millie ain’t here. She went over to Parsons Droobles fer one’a her Ecumenical sessions. Said she needed to werk on her kneelin’. Ah’ll jest call over now and git her. She’d be pleased as pig pee to see ya.”

I reached for the coffin nail that wasn’t in my pocket and answered, “No time for that, Uncle Elmo. I’m on a case, and well, I need your help.”

He squinted, rubbed his stubbled chin, and replied, “Ya need mah help? Ya, the big junior college gradgit Mr. Know-it-all pianie player?”

“Yes, Uncle Elmo. We need a second tracker. I’ve got Garth, and we all know you’re the best in The_Midlands.”

“Ah don’t werk cheap, boy.”

“Uncle Elmo, this isn’t a normal case.”

“Which ones are with ya involved?”

“Chat_World is in peril.”

“’course would give ya the five purcint family discount.”

“It could be the end of the world as we know it.”

“Eight purcint and that’s mah best offer. Cash up front, ’course.”

I sighed and agreed.

“Ya sure ya can afford it, boy? Ah don’t take no cridit cards or no checks. How ya gonna pay fer it on yer pianie salary?”

“I’ve got a new business, Uncle Elmo. Don’t worry, we’ll cover your spread.”

“Then we’ll be headin’ out. Now where’d Ah put mah rucksack? Last time I recollect yer Aunt Millie wuz usin’ it tah empty the slop buckit…”

I went out and leaned against a pillar on the porch. It was going to be a long day, a very long day.

*****

When we returned to Garth’s camp, we found everyone resting in his or her own particular way. Our host has honing his broad blade in preparation for our journey. Raven reclined against a tree, conserving her energy in the shade. The_Really_Old_Guy levitated three feet off the ground in meditation. MOxie attempted to repair her broken nail.

Garth nodded to me, trained his steely gaze on Uncle Elmo, and said quietly, “Greetings, Elmo. Our paths have not crossed in recent times.”

Uncle Elmo replied in a growl that sounded like a Mastiff digesting three-day-old road kill, “Howdy, Garth. No Ah ain’t been out much lately. Tore up a muscle pokin’ with the constable's wife.

“Tarnation, boy, ain’t ya ever gunna cut that hair? Makes ya look lak sum girlie man. And speakin’ of the girlies, who’er the two skirts over there? Nuff to make a man wanna clean his wick on the brush, ya know.”

I stepped between Uncle Elmo and the dames. I had no idea who would win a knock down drag between them, but now was not the time or place to find out.

“You will have to excuse my uncle,” I said, “his grain hopper might not be filled all the way to the top, but he’s the best tracker in here. If we want to find Electrato, he’s the one who can get the job done.”

Raven stared through slitted eyes and said grimly, “Your uncle, Mr. Moonlight? Now I understand why the brie appears to have slid off your cracker and under someone's shoe. Still, if we need him, then I will tolerate his presence.”

MOxie batted her eyelashes and purred, “Like, you know, I totally don’t mind. I think that older men are, oh, so hot, you know.”

“Really_Old_Guy is that you?” Uncle Elmo thundered like a bad bowel movement. “I ain’t seen yer hide in a coon’s age! Ya got any of that pipe weed with ya?”

“I have my pouch, Elmo. You care for a smoke before we go?” Garth asked, noticeably brightening.

“Do wild bears hump a bag ’o sawdust? ’course, I do, boy! Really_Old_Guy, git yer scrawny lil kiester over here! Al, ya gonna join us?”

“Uncle Elmo, you know I quit that when I gave up the booze,” I replied as the three of them lit up a pipe.

“Ah know, boy. Ya can be real can be a real disappoint to the family tree sometimes. Ah swear yer the girlie man.”

I sighed and wandered away from the camp. I hadn’t been tempted to use the stuff in years, but without my coffin nails I felt as raw the backside of a squirrel on a sheet of sandpaper.

I waited until I figured that they had finished and started back to the campsite. Suddenly, I felt hands grab me from behind. I noticed that the nails were long and red. I was spun around into a mouth who’s tongue moved in directions that I didn’t think was humanly possible.

“Like, you know, this is so totally kewl,” MOxie purred as she unbuttoned my shirt. “I don’t, like, you know, understand it, Al. I know you are, oh, so undependable, uncaring, self-centered, and, you know, really could use a shower, but, like, I can’t leave my hands off of you. Ohmygawd, yes, there!”

I replied by stripping her faster than a beaver with a paintbrush.

At the moment I didn’t care about my vow.

Al_B._Moonlight had needs, too.

Chap. 6

I gave MOxie a few minutes head start and then slunk back into camp like a skunk with its tail between its legs, braced for another nerve pressure point session from The_Really_Old_Guy.

However, I had not reckoned on the tranquilizing effects of the pipeweed on the old coot. Garth, Uncle Elmo, and he were too busy raiding the larder to notice if anyone had come or gone. I quickly pulled my shirttail from my fly and zipped up before they noticed.

“There you are, friend Al,” Garth said with a conspiratorial wink. “Out sharpening the ol’ blade again?”

“Uh, just beating the bushes, Garth,” I stammered hoping The_Really_Old_Guy was still too busy stuffing his gullet to pay attention to our conversation.

“Yea, there is some rather pleasant foliage in these parts. A man could get lost in a valley for hours,” he said while admiring MOxie as she bent over.

“So where do we start?” I asked trying to change the subject like a school marm putting a new noun in front of an old adverb.

“Well, let me get out my map, and we’ll see.”

The others joined us as Garth unrolled his hand drawn map of The_Midlands. Raven and MOxie bent over, studying it intently. Between those two carriages it was hard for me to keep my mind above my belt line.

I turned to ponder Garth’s weather chiseled face. The lines on it told the story of many triumphs, disappointments, adventures, quests, and trips to the inns and brothels along his journey. How long had I known this stalwart figure?

My mind started to drift, like I was going into some well contrived flashback where the author would fill in the reader and pad a few paragraphs in case he was going to get paid by the word…

*****

I had met Garth at the city of Uni. He was a student at The Citadel, the local academy. I was playing piano in a ditch water dive, Stubs Abusement Hall.

I never would forget the first time I saw him. He came into Stubs with a friend. He ordered a side of venison, the leg of an ox, three pounds of jerky, and a barrel of ale. Then he turned to his friend and asked him if he would like anything.

Garth and I quickly became pals, prowling the alleys and gutters of fair Uni in search of adventure and wenches, mostly wenches. I became familiar first hand with Garth’s legendary appetite for both, as my head that pounded many a morning like a bass drum at a wiffle ball game would attest.

Garth left The Citadel and acquired employment at the Iron Works of nearby Lu. Again the stories grew of the prowess of his courage, his strength, and his pursuit of the wenches, mostly the wenches.

Eventually, he joined the Rangers, a plucky band sworn to uphold the law, protect the innocent, and drain every tankard between here and the Lost Mountains. The legends continued to grow of Garth’s pursuit of justice and of the wenches, mainly the wenches.

I lost the gig at Stubs and wandered off onto new journeys of my own. I finally left The_Midlands. We kept in touch, usually just a line and a card on Bastille Day. Still, when ours paths did cross, it usually meant something was rotting in the compost heap under the woodpile, and it was also like we had never been apart.

If you ever found yourself in a tough spot somewhere between the tree without a paddle and up a canoe near a hard place, you couldn’t ask for a better joe to cover your backside than Garth_Ebony.

*****

MOxie broke the silence by asking, “Oh, like, did you draw this yourself? It’s, oh, so totally kewl. I, like, have an AA in interior design, you know.”

“Any ideas where we should start?” Raven asked quietly.

“The judges are out totaling up the score of the swimsuit competition on that one, Raven,” I replied.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s up to Garth and Uncle Elmo. They’re the trackers, and they know this area better than the wrinkles on Aunt Millie’s fanny.”

Uncle Elmo thoughtfully scratched the stubble on his chin and asked, “Wall, Garth, what ya think, boy?”

“Well, they could have made for Fier Mountain. It is Blübard’s liar.” Garth answered.

“Yepper. That is a possibility. ’course Ah always said a groundhog weren’t hide all its radishes in the same wombat hole.”

“Which means?”

“Wall, that Blübard’s gots more hidin’ holes in these parts than Parson Droobles gots visits to the pharmiecist fer penercillin. He grabbed that vampire fellah, so he probably don’t want to tote him any ferther than he had to.

“He’s got a few holes dug out fer hisself up ‘tween Silver Mountain and Hak. I say we go look thar furst.”

“Point well taken, Elmo,” Garth said as he rolled up his map and put it back in his rucksack.

“So when do we start?” Raven asked.

“First, we need to restock supplies. The larder seems a little low. Wonder what happened to everything?” Garth answered.

“Oh, yeah,” MOxie chimed in like a bell with its clapper missing. “I, like, could use a diet soda. Where do we go?”

“We have two choices,” Garth replied, “there would be the merchant village of Nodrah or the city of Kuk.”

“Kuk!” Uncle Elmo roared like a bull caught on a barbwire fence, “Ah cin smell those cat houses now!”

“Then Nodrah it is,” I interjected before Uncle Elmo could rope anyone else into his latest round of philandering.

“Ah swear, yer’re jist a wet blanket stuck in the mud, boy. Ya won’t let yer ol’ uncle have any fun.”

“Sorry, Uncle Elmo, but we need to keep moving. Besides, after I paid you I don’t have enough left to bail you out of the slammer.”

“Who sez Ah’m goin’ to the slammer?”

“Uncle Elmo, remember your last trip to Kuk? The bald headed guy, his wife, their donkey, and the pool table? If I remember right the constable said something about the sun never setting or rising or shining on your fat ugly carcass in that town again.”

“Yer’re right as a gully warsher in a mud hole, boy. C’mon. Maybe Ah cin find sumthin’ to oil the privates in Nodrah.”

We broke camp with Garth in the lead. The rest of us fought over who was going to walk behind the dames.

Chap. 7

North of Kuk, nestled along the Plum Tuckered Creek you’ll find the merchant farming village of Nodrah. It’s one of those backwater locales where the residents are barely above marrying their first cousins. You could have held a meeting of the local Rhodes scholars in a telephone booth.

If you look at a map of The_Midlands you’ll notice there are three places that end with “rah”. It is no coincidence. They are the so-called Cities of Rah, overseen by the Rah Priests. Many pilgrims travel to these towns to worship at the Rah Shrines, to be gouged by shady merchants and tour guides, and to have their pockets picked by the local children.

No one knew what the Rah Priests truly were, where they came from, or why they chose The_Midlands. Dressed in olive green ponchos and facemasks, they just appeared one day in the room and set up shop.

The Rah priests claimed to be the teachers of the Another Way. Whatever you did, there was always another way. They taught that every joe puts on his skivvies one leg hole at a time like the next joe and to do unto others while the cops have their backs turned. They asked little of the residents except for fifteen per cent of the local take.

My watch said 8:30 when we walked in the south entrance of Nodrah, which didn’t mean much because it is always 8:30 in Chat_World. It’s just one of those odd unexplained things about the place.

The local constable stopped us and asked for some identification. He was more than satisfied with the cyber-jackson that Garth produced.

Garth looked at me and said, “I can handle getting the supplies. Then I have to stop by the pipeweed shop. I seem to be a little low. Why don’t you go over to the Cheap_But_Quick and order us some grub?”

“Sure thing, Garth,” I replied, “what do you want?”

“Oh, a side of bacon, two 3 inch steaks, a couple of water fowls, three pounds of sausage, and a barrel of ale.”

“Is that all?”

“Yea, I need but a light snack.”

We wandered into the Cheap_But_Quick. The place was about as greasy as a spoon could get. The food was bad, the service was lousy, but it was cheap…and quick…

I placed Garth’s order. Raven asked for a glass of water and a bottle of ketchup, The_Really_Old_Guy chose rice pilaf, Uncle Elmo wanted the blue plate special, and MOxie requested a salad and a diet soda. I got myself a cup of java, black.

While the others ate, I sipped on my coffee, trying not to notice the lipstick stain on the rim of the cup. My eyes wandered the room idly like a hitchhiker looking at a road map in a traffic jam. In the kitchen I caught a glimpse of someone familiar.

“I’ll be back in a minute. I gotta go see a man about a database,” I said, as I stood and walked toward the counter.

In one of my other adventures I had encountered a very strange character that went by the handle of The_Cook. Rumor had it that he once had taken over an estate through his culinary arts. He starved those in his way and fattened up others into docility. In the end his former employers worked for him after he had married their daughter.

However, the man was a glutton. His eating habits made Garth look like a member of the Weight Watchers Society. He lost everything and wound up in the Central District of GenChat.

I had caught him in some shady dealings and had booted him faster than a frozen Pentium. I hadn’t thought about him in a long time.

“Hi, Cookie, how’s tricks?” I asked as I ambled into the kitchen.

He dropped a pan, picked up a butcher knife, and backed slowly away from me with a look of terror that rivaled Bambi’s mother.

“W-what are y-you d-doing here?” he squeaked like a rusty doorknob.

“Put a truss on it, Cookie,” I answered, “I’ve got bigger hush puppies to fry than you. Besides, when I kicked your kiester out of the Central District I told you to get as far away as possible. I think this hell hole qualifies for the endowment check.”

“Then what do you want?” he asked, relaxing slightly but still holding onto the knife.

I picked up a toothpick and replied, “Just looking for some dope on the pinto in the sixth, Cookie. You seen anything odd of late?”

“Here? You ask me if I’ve seen anything odd here?”

“Okay, fair enough. You seen anything out of the ordinary?”

“Well, a few days ago some men came through. They had a large wagon with a locked casket on it. There was scratching and howling from the sarcophagus. The constable questioned them, but he seemed to think that the cyber-jackson they handed him meant their credentials were in order.”

“Anything else?”

“I was curious so I followed them for a little ways. It was dusk and hard to see, but I could have sworn they were joined by a band of sloths.”

“Which way did they head?”

“North, into the Wyldes between here and Hak.”

“Thanks, Cookie, catch your around the rooms,” I said as I fished the change from his tip jar and wandered back to the table.

Garth had joined the others and had just finished eating. He was looking at the desert menu.

“Garth, I just got some skinny on the dope. Seems a wrecking crew came through here the other day with a casket on a wagon.” I said as I fingered a packet of crackers. “They were joined by some sloths and headed off north.”

“Yoiks, Al. I better get the rest to go,” Garth sighed.

We paid the cashier and left a modest tip on the table. Then we headed back to pick up the supplies.

“Al_B._Moonlight!” I heard a voice snarl behind me. “I told you’d be dog meat on white toast if you ever showed your ugly kiester around here again!”

We turned to see a local unruly mob confront us. Most of them held pitchforks and torches, which was odd since it was still daylight.

“Like, are these fans of yours, Al?” MOxie asked.

“Uh, I’ve had a few differences with the locals around here. I thought it was the bath water under the bridge with the baby, but I guess they hold a grudge in these parts longer than a panda holds its gas,” I answered as I wrapped my hand around the roll of quarters in my pocket.

“How many do you think there are, Garth?” I asked.

“I count twenty,” he said as he drew his broad blade.

“What do you think?”

“I would say it was even odds.”

Chap. 8

I had no idea why the mob was on us like ugly on a junkyard hog. I had burnt a few too many bridges before I had crossed them in these parts. Maybe it had to do with some farmer’s daughter, maybe it had to do with the funds missing from the local treasury, or maybe any of a number of other things. All that mattered was that some Bubba the size of a hay bailer was swinging a garden hoe at me.

I ducked under his swing and came up with my right fist postulating a knuckle corollary on his jaw. He went down like a bad debate at lunch. I snaked out my left foot and tripped a second one. As he fell I slammed my open left palm up under his chin. These lugs were big, but they were about as fast as frozen spit on a stick and tended to have jaws like a glass outhouse.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Garth. Three had jumped him and were trying to pin him down like a district attorney grills a character witness. They looked pretty smug until they realized that none of them had their feet on the ground. Garth flung them against a wall like they were yesterday’s leftovers. I noticed that he had put away his broad blade. He didn’t have the heart to run the simple yeoman through, no matter how inbred they were.

Uncle Elmo waded into the throng like a rummie possessed with getting to the front of the lottery line. I had never met a stronger man or a dirtier fighter. After he finished with those who dared attack him, they either needed a visit to the optometrist or could hit E over High C.

The mob relaxed as they approached The_Really_Old_Guy, which was a big mistake. He may have been small but the joe was meaner than a consumptive badger. He laid them out like a stacked deck of cards.

And speaking of stacked, MOxie was again laying waste to those who dared attack her. The combination of her lethal heels and pepper spray left many a local crying in his spilled soup. Watching that form of hers in action was one fine sight.

However, Raven was having a hard time. She had not fed and had spent too much time in the daylight. It was all she could do to grind two of them into pork brisket. Her attackers soon engulfed her.

I slammed the one between Raven and me with a well-timed kidney punch. He went down like a duck after a golf ball. Raven pushed two in my direction. As they turned I hit one of them with the roundhouse kick The_Really_Old_Guy had been demonstrating of late on my face. I Sunday punched the other with my right hand wrapped around the roll of quarters.

Raven managed to crawl through the rest of them with some well-placed rakes of her nails. The local plastic surgeon was going to be booked solid for weeks to come.

The mob may have been a group who couldn’t swallow and breathe at the same time, but even they could see where the odds were stacked in this ruckus. They turned and ran like a bricklayer trying to find the urinal.

I knelt by Raven, brushed the hair from her face, and asked quietly, “You okay, sister?”

She replied, “No, I am not…Al. It has been too long since I fed. You must complete the mission without me.”

“I don’t think so, Raven. Hold on to your jockeys. I’ll be right back.”

I stepped through the pile of bodies looking for the one I spied during the fight. I found Whort_Horston trying to hide under a couple of his unconscious buds. I smiled grimly as I grabbed him by the hair. A memory flashed in my mind like a set of headlights before you hit the brick wall.

I had grown up with Whort. He was the son of a chatter who had moved to Nodrah. Whort terrorized everyone smaller than him. He left Willie and me alone because of Uncle Elmo and because of the knives we always carried, but it had always stuck in my craw what he did to the little kids. Al_B._Moonlight never had any use for bullies.

I heard that after he grew up Whort continued with his vile ways. The only thing that kept him from being a true threat was that he would have needed a ton of TNT to blow his nose. He would have been in the slammer along time ago, but he his father kept the constable’s palm as greased as a pound of butter on two pounds of bacon.

I dropped Whort in front of Raven and asked, “Do you want to eat this here, or do you want it to go?”

*****

As we walked out of the north entrance of Nodrah, The_Really_Old_Guy looked at me quizzically and said, “Al_B._Moonlight…some day you must tell me more…of your seeming lack of popularity…I admit…ever since I saw you in your family tree…I have wanted to cut it down and use the wood to make toilet paper…”

“Uh yeah,” I replied, “well what can you say about a bunch of joes who would take an hour to cook minute steak?”

“I see now… if you ever tax your brain… the charge will not be more than a eighty-three cents…”

I put my hands in my pockets and hurried to catch up with Garth. The old man was on a tear, and, frankly, his breath smelled like garlic and old hemp. I wanted as much distance between us as possible.

“Ah, friend Al,” Garth said, “we seem to have survived that altercation. I see that you haven’t lost your touch in these parts. Don't you realize that there are enough people to hate in the world already without you working so hard to give us another?”

I sighed and answered, “I know Garth. There’s more garbage in my past than in a New York City dumpster. I keep trying to clear away the wreckage, but when you’ve broken as many hearts and walked out on as many chits as I have, it takes time.”

“You acquit yourself in such a way as no jury ever would, my friend.”

I was about fed up to the top of the feedbag with the admiration society, so I changed the subject, “So how long before we start looking trouble down both barrels?”

“With you in tow sooner than I would like. You seem to attract trouble like a magnet does horse flies.”

“Garth, I think you’ve made your point.”

“So be it. Well, after we cross Plum Tuckered Creek, we will be in the Wyldes. Once there they could be anywhere.”

“Good, then I better see how the others are doing…say…isn’t that Silver Mountain on our left?”

Garth got a far away look in his eye and replied, “Yea, it is, Al. Too bad we will not have time to stop. It is harvest season, and, as we know, Jon_Romulus grows the best pipeweed in The_Midlands.”

“Oh, yes, that would help us out a lot. Maybe then we could sneak up on the sloths while you’re taking a nap or raiding your rucksack.”

“You seem a little testy, my friend.”

“Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Perhaps you need pipeweed?”

“Oh yeah, that would help even more. Garth, occasionally, not often, but occasionally, you act like you’ve got blonde roots in your id. You remember the last time I smoked pipeweed?”

“Hmm… the young lady…and the Girl Scout uniform…and her husband, the constable of Dez…and you woke up naked in the Tijuana Room…

“I see your point. Sorry I asked.”

“Don’t ride your boxers up over it, now if we just…”

I never finished the sentence. There was a sudden flash of light before everything went black.

Chap. 9

The light was so bright that my eyes felt like I was getting a facial at a paparazzo convention. I doubted if I would need to visit the tanning salon for a few weeks.

When my vision cleared I saw a silver maned and bearded figure in a black robe step from the illumination. He was holding a lacquered staff of oak. It looked heavy enough that it would take three normal joes to truck it around the hills in their moving van.

Garth took his hand off the hilt of his broad blade and shouted, “Jon_Romulus! I did not expect to see you so far from Silver Mountain during harvest season. Say, you didn’t bring any pipeweed with you, did you?”

Jon flipped Garth a bag and moved to stand in front of me. He was about my height but built like a bull on steroids. Electricity crackled and sparked from his hair and robe. I wondered if he had considered changing fabric softener.

He eyed me darkly and said quietly, “Al_B._Moonlight, I did not expect to see you again in these parts. I assume that you were not well received in Nodrah, and there is, of course, always the matter with StarLynn…”

“Well, I see you’re still Mary’s Little Sunshine, Jon. How’s tricks?” I answered.

“Tricks…be fine, friend Al. The harvest goes well. I should not have left my minions alone in the fields, but there have been strange happenings in the area. When I heard reports of another party passing near Silver Mountain, I deemed need to investigate.”

“Got any skinny on anyone else traveling by?”

“The report I received was of a party of men and sloths, heading into the Wyldes. They seemed to be carrying something on a wagon. Sadly, that is all I know.”

“Well, Jon, it lets us at least know we’re not barking up the wrong tree that we’re sharpening our claws on.”

“I perceive that ambiguity is still a synonym for your name.”

“Uh, thanks, I think. So how long ago did they pass by?”

“Oh, it must have been a day or two. It’s hard to keep track of such things during harvest. Speaking of harvest, I believe that the ledgers still show that you owe Silver Mountain, Inc., a tidy sum.”

“Uh, yeah, I think the check’s in the mail or else the dog ate it.”

“We will let it pass for the moment. However, remember that my collection agents do have fangs and spit fire.

“Now who are these people? I know Garth, of course, and wish I didn’t know Elmo…Is that The_Really_Old_Guy? Sir, you have not graced the doorway of Silver Mountain in far too long. Is perchance The_Apothacary also in your company?”

My mentor replied, “Sadly…he is not…I am now training Moonlight…”

“You have my sympathies, old friend. Sometimes he is like a habit one would like to kick, with both feet and a crowbar. Now who are the women who accompany you?”

I wandered off to look into the Wyldes while the introductions were handed out like Emmys at a railroad station. I noticed MOxie, who had been playing up to Garth on the trek, was now leaning her endowment in Jon’s direction. I was beginning to think you could use her heels for a shaving mirror.

While they yacked like a team of yoked oxen, my mind drifted back and reviewed my history with one Jon_Romulus.

*****

About as far back as I could remember Jon had always been there. I think we met in grade school. While the other kids were out playing stick ball or torture the cat, he was busy studying magic. The kids used to tease him until he turned a couple of them into toads.

When grown Jon journeyed to The Institute in Hak to study arcane tongues and wizardry. He then traveled for years, in and out of The_Midlands, but he was always drawn back to the land of his birth. No accounting for taste, I guess.

Eventually, he decided to settle there. He cashed in his frequent flyer miles and was able to purchase Silver Mountain where he set up a Ranger station and one of the most lucrative pipeweed estates between the East River and Nalrah.

We had kept in touch, mostly a card and a line on Bastille Day. My relationship with him was the same as mine with Garth. When we did cross paths it was like we had never been apart, and I never doubted the ability of Jon to cover my backside. I didn’t hold much truck for wizards, but in my book Jon_Romulus was one okay joe.

*****

I returned from my flashback like a mosquito greeting a windshield. Smoke hung heavy in the air. I turned to view my bleary eyed comrades. It seemed that Jon had one fine crop this year. I sat down to rest while they raided the larder.

Jon sat beside me as I asked, “Doesn’t look good for the home team, does it, bud?”

“Nay, friend Al, it does not,” he replied, “so I gather you do not have time to visit Silver Mountain.”

“No, we have to track down that party.”

“It is a shame. The land is lovely this time of year, and I have a fresh pot of pipeweed tea brewing.”

“I know, Jon, but we need to get on. Besides, not only does that tea of yours make me loco, I gives me the runs, too.”

“Your friend Raven told me of your quest.”

“She’s not a friend, Jon. She’s a client.”

“She said different. She said that never has she met a more valiant warrior than you, in your own way, of course.”

“Really? Hmmmmm…”

“I will send a minion to restock your larder. It seems frightfully low for some reason. Beyond that, I have my duties at Silver Mountain. I wish that I could accompany you, but sadly I cannot.”

“It’s okay, Jon. No use crying over spilled milk when the rock has gathered no moss. There is one other thing you can do.”

“Unless it is canceling your debt, speak and consider it done.”

“I was going to hold off on this, but we may need them to pull our fat out of the frying pan. I think it is time you muster the Rangers.”

“Is it that grave?”

“Afraid so. If we don’t need them now, we’ll need them soon. I’ve got a feeling crawling up my skivvies that it’s going to get hotter than a fire truck in Hades.”

There was no more to say. We sat together quietly for a few more minutes, watching the amber golden fingers of the sun at it licked over the edges of Silver Mountain. A gentle breeze wafted from that direction, cooling the drops of sweat on my face. The wind felt good.

I just hoped that it wasn’t a harbinger of doom.

Chap. 10

A candle…

A single candle…

A single candle still burning bright…

A single candle still burning bright in a darkened room. The sounds matched the dying of the flicker of the flame. Shadows loomed to mock his agony. He had ceased his struggle against the chains that held him. Not only did he accept that he couldn’t break them, he no longer possessed the strength to try.

He licked his cracked dry lips as his slitted eyes turned to perceive the door open. Figures were silhouetted against the backdrop of the light. He was too tired and too hungry to even wonder who the figures were.

One shape, slender yet emitting great power, stood in front of him. He did not even attempt to discern who his captor was. Even if he could discover the identity it would do him no good at the moment.

But there was always tomorrow when revenge could be served with its side dish of scorn. For now, all he could do was wait. He was good at waiting; he had waited many times.

The shadowy figured nodded and said quietly, “Yes, I believe that he is almost ready. It is almost time.”

*****

Between Silver Mountain and Hak lay the Wyldes, a boggy plain inhabited by trappers, felons, and a few brave farmers. The place was about as scenic as North Dakota was intellectually stimulating. It was not a good place for a family picnic.

We plunged into the jaws of the Wyldes, slogging our way through the mire. MOxie had given up on the platforms and was walking barefoot. I managed to get in line behind her. The view was better than a Sunday drive in the park.

Uncle Elmo and Garth were in the lead, following closely the trail we had picked up and watching for signs of intruders. Now that she had fed, Raven was regaining strength in the gathering gloom. The_Really_Old_Guy teetered along, lost in his own universe. Sometimes I wondered if he was one clay pigeon short of a full skeet shoot.

The evening was getting as chilly as my last blind date’s attitude. A mist hung over the Wyldes, slowing our progress. In the distance I thought that I could hear the baying of some forlorn creature. The only other noise was our labored breathing wed with the slog of our feet through the mire, which sounded like a plumber getting hot in the sack.

Garth raised his hand for us to halt. He squatted to examine something in front of him. I walked up to see what it was.

“Sloth spoor,” he hissed, “and it be fresh.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” I replied as I wiped the side of my shoe on the grass.

“I would say we are closing in on our quarry. The wagon tracks are older than this fresh sign, so I surmise that this group is the rear guard.”

“Wall, Alboy, he knows all ’bout rear guard,” Uncle Elmo butted in like a horse with a hernia, “just ask Parson Droobles, right boy?”

“I don’t want to go there, Uncle Elmo,” I answered. “What do you think of the trail?”

“Wall, Ah think Garth got that one right. I cin smell ’em too. Seems lak they got a couple females in heat.”

“Uncle Elmo, promise you won’t start humping sloths again. We just don’t have time for that.”

“Ah swear, boy, ya jest dun want a man to have no fun no sir whatsoever no way.”

“How far of a lead do they have?”

He scratched his stubbled chin and said slowly, “Wall, Ah gived them ‘bout an hour outside. Wagon’s gone a lot sooner, but we cin still follower it.”

We crept along like cows on potato chips. Soon we could see the glow of a fire in the distance. We started to hear the noises one expected from a campsite. Obviously, they had no idea that they were being tracked.

Hidden in the bushes near a clearing, we were able to study our foes before we charged them like an old car battery. There were eight sloths, three men, and the unfortunate farmer’s daughter that they had kidnapped along the way. While the others studied our adversaries I watched the girl. She had a body that would have put a roller blade queen to shame.

“Wall, ya ’bout ready to show what yer rancheros are made of, boy?” Uncle Elmo growled as he crept up to view the captive. “Hmmm, gotta remember that one. Real good use of a rope thar.”

I sighed and said, “Uncle Elmo, no one should be punished for the accident of birth, but you look too much like a freeway pileup not to be.”

“Uh, yepper, sure, Ah think.”

“Just keep your head on straight, and I don’t mean the one in your pants. Tell Garth and Raven to sneak around to the other side, then wait for my signal.”

“Whuh will that be, boy?”

“You will know when you see it.”