“Works for me,” said Randall.
“I love everyone,” said Bug.
Chapter 17
The Seventeenth Chapter
RANDALL AND Jack walked over the main drawbridge, as Bug flew behind them. It was still nighttime, but the air was magically lit.
“It was nice of the king to give us these first-place ribbons,” said Randall. “I mean, he didn't have to do that.”
“Big whoop-de-loop-de-doo. Heck, Roderick would have gotten this great feast, and all he had to do was not kill anybody.”
“I was lying about the feast, Jack.”
“Really? Well, now I don't feel so bad about the ribbon.”
“What are we going to do next?” asked Bug.
“I need to get the reagents for the resurrection spell,” said Randall. “I might have a lead on the Necklace of Power, but I'd have to go back to the forest for that anyway, so I'm going to hold off. In the meantime, I need breath from a sleeping maiden, the toenail of Jenstina the Ogre, and the legendary berserker Shreddriff himself.”
“I guess we should start with the easiest one,” said Jack. “I wonder where Shreddriff lives?”
“Look, guy and it, I welcome your help. But the quest may be dangerous, so I don't want you to feel like you have to come with me.”
“Okay, bye,” said Jack, walking off, never to be seen again, until he turned around and came back. “Changed my mind.”
“I'm with you,” said Bug. “You're my best friend.”
“Then we're off,” Randall announced. They walked around the kingdom walls, until they came to the broken drawbridge.
“Looks like some moron tried to walk across that thing,” Jack noted.
“I wonder what that is?” Bug flew over to the gap in the bridge, where a piece of paper was floating. It picked it up with its back legs, then flew over to Randall and dropped it in his hand.
Randall unfolded the paper. “Dearest Pooky Moocher Lovey Frumps—oh, yeah, it's the note that I took from this lady named Scar. You'd probably like her, Bug. I forgot I'd put it in my shoe several chapters, er, a couple days ago.”
“Well, let's hear it,” said Jack.
“Dearest P.M.L.F., I love you so much it hurts. Ow ow ow! That's the sound of my love for you. Do you love me just as much? (circle one) Yes, No. I think you're swell. Best regards, Grysh.” Randall looked up from the note. “What the...?”
“Heck?” prompted Jack, helpfully.
“Yeah, what the heck is going on here? Why would Scar have a love letter from Grysh? Unless ... she stole it from Romeoo! Which means she knows where he is! Which means we might be able to find him! Which means I'll be spared another seduction attempt!” He put the letter in his pocket. “That's definitely something to check out later.”
“Hey!” a guard's voice screamed. “Where's my pony?”
“Run!” Randall shouted.
* * * *
TWO HOURS later, their journey took them to a small town. A sign read “Welcome to Manget Town. Population: 37 nice people, 4 jerks, 2 major jerks, 6 people ugly enough to melt mirrors, and one guy who sits around all day counting his arms to be sure they're both there.”
“How nice,” said Bug. “They welcomed us.”
They proceeded down the main/only street, which contained a few small houses. But the primary attraction, taking up more space than all of the houses combined, was Madame Taylor's Hall of Supreme Exotic Dancers. A sign out front read “All private! All nekkid! All right!”
“I don't think the maidens run fast and free in these parts,” said Jack.
“Nor do I,” agreed Randall. “I guess we should ask around, though.” He gestured to a pug-nosed, middle-aged man seated on a rocking chair up on his front porch. “Let me do the talking so we don't accidentally start Armageddon.”
They crossed over to the house. Randall stepped up onto the first of two stairs.
“That stair ain't for walking on,” said the man.
“Oh, sorry.” Randall stepped down.
“That ground ain't, either.”
“Look,” said Randall, “we are two men and one bug questing for a virtuous woman to worship. Who in this town might serve our purpose?”
“Oh, that's easy. Try Yvonne over at the dance hall.”
“No, no, obviously your standards of virtue are demented. What we're looking for is—”
“Her name is Yvonne the Pure,” said the man. “She's just the hostess. She's less than brilliant, if you're into that kind of thing.”
“Is she working now?” Randall asked.
“For another half hour. Then she'll go to bed, so she can fall asleep and breathe deeply.”
“Convenient. Thanks for your help.”
“I love you,” Bug told the man.
“Yeah, well, that and two thousand dvorkins will get me a rushed nose job.”
They began walking towards the brothel. “Bug, I think you'd better wait outside,” said Randall. “I have a feeling this place may take your ‘I love everyone’ philosophy in a whole new direction.”
“Okay, I'll go bring happiness to somebody who's feeling a touch of sorrow,” said Bug, flying away.
“That is one upbeat insect,” said Jack.
They approached the front door. “Have you ever been in a place like this?” Randall asked.
“No. What about you?”
“Never. But, I mean, it's not like we're going in to watch the dancing. We have a very serious mission here. It's a matter of life or death. It's not our fault there's going to be nakedness, is it?”
“It certainly isn't,” Jack agreed.
“We'll just have a nice conversation with Yvonne the Pure, and ... uh ... I guess see if she'll let us come into her room while she's asleep and fill a small jar with her breath.”
“Do we have a jar?”
“No. Guess I should've saved the one Bug was in. But they'll have jars in an exotic dance hall, won't they?”
“I don't know. What would they store in them?”
“Let's not think about it.”
Randall opened the door, and they both stepped into the hall. The walls of the waiting room were covered with clown faces, and brightly-colored balloons and ribbons dangled from the ceiling. There were several striped couches upon which sat potential audience members, all wearing party hats.
“Welcome!” said a young woman in an extremely enthusiastic voice, walking toward them with a hat in each hand. She was in her late twenties, with curly black hair and a sequined white dress.
“Uh, thanks,” said Randall. “Is it always like this?”
“Of course it is! Because this is the happiest place in town!” She placed a hat on each of their heads. “Would you gentlemen care to see a dance menu?”
“Actually, no,” said Randall. “To be completely honest, I find this place degrading to women. It sends the message to society that the female of the species is nothing more than a slab of meat.”
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” said the woman.
A voice called out: “Number fifty-seven, your dancer is ready. Number fifty-seven, your dancer is ready.” A party of four got up and walked through a curtained doorway together.
“If you're not going to place an order, I want the hats back,” said the woman. Jack clung to his protectively.
“We're looking for somebody,” said Randall. “Are you Yvonne?”
The woman shook her head.
“Do you know where we could find her?”
“Her? Oh, you said Yvonne. I thought you said Ferdinand. Yes, that's me.”
“Ferdinand?”
“No, Yvonne.”
“Is there somewhere we could talk? This is very important.”
“Yeah, okay, but your friend will have to cover for me.” She pointed to a dresser against the wall. “The hats, menus, fireworks, and kazoos are in there. Seat the customers, and offer them a glass of wine. It tastes like whoever stomped on the grapes had Athlete's Foot, but it's complimentary. If a customer has any questions, give them one of the Madame Taylor's Q&A pamphlets from the dresser, or just make something up. Oh, yeah, one more thing.” She removed the If I don't greet you with a smile, your visit is free button from her dress and pinned it on Jack. “You're all set.”