Magorian

Because I've got nothing better to do...

Ch. 13: Motm's Return

Magorian approached the tip of the lonely sandbar, stretching his arms out to enjoy the fine salty air. Everything was perfect. The noonday sun shined happily from its unassailable position in the cloudless sky, and its reflection raced sketchily across the water like a flying fish. The breeze whooshed by at just the right speed to negate the heat of the summer without being too troublesome to breathe against.

He ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes, listening to the serene ocean as it made its presence known. His favorite were the foghorns. He hated the seagulls. He would often pull out his bow and arrow and shoot them down on the spot. But this was his vacation, and he didn't want to think about those bad-tasting miscreant birds. How they pecked their hateful little pecks... and their hideous caws... so grating...

Shaking his head in frustration, he tried to go back to visualizing the nice, tranquil foghorn, now accompanied with a soothing lighthouse beacon in his mind. Ah, how nice it was to be at sea... He again imagined the limitless horizon and the wavering image of the sun in its clear blue expanse. The delightful cadence of the waves before him... so beautiful... so enthralling...

It almost made him forget about everything else, as if he were in the midst of transcending to a higher state of mentality (in his case, sanity. He was often more depraved then the evil voices in his head, taking their suggestions to a level higher than even they would condone).

Which was exactly when the seagulls popped into his head again.

"Arrgh!" thought Magorian aloud, tired of having to continually escape the specter of his perpetual avian nemeses. The only way to quit thinking of their filthy, rotten beaks and their obnoxious, curmudgeonly caws, he hastily concluded, was to stare into the sun and hope his melting eyejuice would retract into his skull, burning away whatever nerve was in charge of irrational seagull hatred.

But before he could carry that out, he was interrupted by a voice coming from behind him.

"Yar!"

Magorian circled around and searched for the source of the sound.

"Down 'ere!"

The centaur looked down and gasped.

He was a short, stocky man whose complexion rivaled those of the most seasoned warriors and adventurers. His aura was unmistakably raw and virile, and his gait was almost incomprehensibly manly. Overall, though his stature was lacking, his awesome demeanor made the most prideful men want to bow down and adulate this god among paupers.

He also happened to have no head and pegs for legs.

"Yar!" he repeated, "me name's Nohead Peglegs, the finest damn pirate in the seven seas!"

"Aren't there more than seven seas?"

"Not on this map there ain't!" replied the saucy sailor, unraveling said map and pointing at the various bodies of water on it. "See, this here's the Third Sea, and this one over here is the Seventh Sea... and this one is the Fifth and Sixth one, yeh've gotta squint a bit to see it..."

"Huh," said Magorian, squinting at the map. "So there actually are only seven seas."

"That's what I tol' ya, innit, lad?"

"More importantly, how are you talking?"

"Why, through me BLOWHOLE o' course!" A beam of water punctured a hole through the back of his shirt. The pirate spun around, his hydraulic jet acting as a sort of propeller blade to send him spiraling into the air.

"So looooong, matey!" he called out, vanishing into the horizon.

~-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

Magorian woke up from his nap, eyes squinting at the trickles of light coming down from the forest canopy.

That last dream was rather inspired, thought Magorian sleepily. I've always wondered, if experienced pirates all wear eye-patches and have pegs for legs, what would eventually happen to REALLY old ones? He quickly scanned the dream again for any symbolism, found none, and moved his stream of consciousness to different topics, whistling for Ganglia to get up.

They continued to journey into the heart of the forest, having each taken a refreshing early-morning doze, to where his poultry barrack were located. Now that the Battle of Duirop Swamp was over, and he was home in the officially-renamed Styjikuhler Forest, he had to check how many chickens were left after the catastrophe. Not many, he ventured to guess.

I hate damage control, thought Magorian miserably. At least he had Ganglia by his side, but the bear was, if possible, less optimistic. By eight o'clock, they could make out an arrow-sign that read "Magorian's Coop" with the "Australia" hastily crossed out. It was pointing downwards to a patch of grassless soil now, the sole area of the woods without any shrubbery or moss to speak of.

"There's the symbolism," Magorian realized wryly.

It was as expected, and Ganglia hung its head in disappointment. The Coop was disheveled and abandoned, with holes all along its five walls in the shapes of frantic chickens. It looked like each and every one of Magorian's chickens had died in the great fight, and there were none left for Magorian to breed any new ones. The Scion knew Hagrid wouldn't give him anymore...

"C'mon, Ganglia, let's get out of here. It's no good staying. I'm sure they wouldn't have wanted us to mourn their passing." Then Mago added under his breath, "seeing as how they were chickens." Ganglia sobbed.

Magorian ushered the bear out of the depressing clearing. He was planning to reassure the bear with a heartfelt condolence that the massacre was not its fault, but they only thing he managed to say next was "Gah!" or some derivative thereof.

"Gah!" yelped Magorian, or some derivative thereof.

Towering before them was a menacing Acromantula, its fangs dripping with venom. Along its head and thorax were red, loping streaks, and its impressively robust abdomen sported three sets of spinnerets. The top half of its eyes were blind, as was a symbol of old age for their kind; the other four were in tiptop shape, however, and were roving the forest floor malevolently. It spotted the centaur's movements and quickly pinpointed its location. Arching up, it bellowed a complex sort of roar, like that of an animal that doesn't usually roar (like Dr. Phil, or an accordion).

Its roar sounded like the stirring of a million hyalapterous wings, controlled and chaotic at the same time. It was swarm and phalanx at once, and it made Magorian's pelt stand on end. Not even the knowledge of the Acromantulas' unspoken agreement not to kill the centaurs could've consoled him in that moment of downright unspeakable horror.

Magorian braced for impact, trusty spear in hand. Ganglia growled in warning, but none of it fazed the gigantic spider. Luckily, it began to talk before it lunged, nearly knocking down two trees as it made an intensely intricate web between them amazingly fast and situated itself at its silky center. Every word it made preceded a quick clicking sound as it opened and closed it mandibles to speak. (The creatures had an extremely hard time making 'th','d' or 'sh' sounds, so they simply omitted them.)

"Hikt-hikt, a centaur? Hikt, In hhis part of heh forest?" It climbed further up the web, Magorian hearing many more hikthikts and some disgusting slurping sounds before it started speaking again. In his 87 years as centaur chieftain, he had never dared to hold counsel with the spider-lords of the deeper, darker sections of the land he reigned. If he had, the Acromatulas would've always gotten their way in all negotiations anyhow, and it would've only served to remind his tribe of their inferiority, which, of course, centaurs do not enjoy. Even the finest-crafted and most magically-fortified centaru arrows couldn't dent an Acromantula's hide, and the hairy beasts in this section of the hemisphere were, if anything, among the deadliest in the world.

"Hikt-hikt, fahter would not approve killing a *hikt-hikt* centaur." Every soft 'e' sound the spider made was long and drawn out. Magorian was starting to take heart before it added, in its creepy almost musical spider-tone,

"Sssss. Perfect!"

"I am Gogara," the spider introduced itself to its prey as is normal talking mythic-monster fashion. "My fahter has exilet me, and now I can to as I please, incluting eating a centaur." It slurped up its venom; if any dropped onto its web it would dissolve and he'd have to make another.

"Why has your father exiled you?" screamed up Magorian.

"My iteas were too 'unortotox,' too 'far-fetcht,' said he. "I, *hikthikt* I, *hikt*, IIIIIIIIIIII was once his favorite son! His heir!"

Gogara salivated its poisonous secretion and pounced, but abruptly halted when its keen oculae spotted Magorian taking out what looked like a notepad, fake glasses, and a calligraphy pen.

"Why can't we have an irrigason ditch made in a tract tru the forest? Or install the sundial at our forum? Why not try out for 'Who Wants to be a Millionaire' or do my own dry cleaning! WHY?" It slammed the forest floor in frustration, shaking the dense canopy. Normally this would have released a mini-diaspora of frightened birds, but the birds around the Coop happened to be mildly retarded, and froze instead, thereby saving the author from another painful cliché associated with loud noises in heavily wooded areas.

It hikthikted again, eye and mouth movements random now- a common symptom of Acromantulic rage.

"I will sow him who's boss! Centaurs are not to eat, so eat them I sall!"

"And is 'Gogara' your real name?" asked Magorian, now putting down his spear and writing in the notepad. The centaur knew that one often had to psychoanalyze dangerous monsters before running like hell.

Gogara looked taken aback. "Hikt, no, I changet hhis morning to symbolize the severing of ties witt my fahter."

Eager to disobey Aragog's word of law, again it tried attacking, but it seemed too mad now or too drunk to do anything but lumber and swerve. Magorian was too swift for the monster, and he proceeded to pelt it with a series of searing psychoanalytical questions.

"What was your mother like?

How does that make you feel?

How does that make your feelers feel?

What's the first thing that comes to mind when I say 'lollapalooza?'

Read any good book lungs lately?

Tell me about your family.

Stream of consciousness, that's it, keep talking...

Aren't you glad you're getting this all off your exoskeletal plexus?

Which would you rather have, a tuning fork or a Caesar salad?

The truth, please. What do you mean what importance could that question possibly have?

Who's your role model?

I thought so.

Relay to me your deepest fears.

Negative integers, eh? That's original.

Tell me, does this inkblot look like the finest damn pirate in the seven seas?

Give me a mental picture of your childhood. If you had to paint a picture of what your early years were like, what would it depict?

Holy tarnation, that appalls. But keep talking. We're making good progress."

"Enough!" roared Gogara, his psyche smarting from all of Magorian's hurtful verbal accusations. "Get out of my heaht!"

"One last question," said Magorian, tilting his glasses under his eyes and putting away his notepad, which he had been using to draw Nohead Peglegs. "Are you aware that the name you've given yourself this morning in order to disconnect with your troubling past is your father's name backwards?"

Gogara seemed stricken. He gaped at them in disbelief, and Ganglia stopped growling.

"I think you may need some alone time," condescended Magorian, and the Acromantula skittered away in shock. "Well, Ganglia, time to run in the opposite direction! Hop on my back!"

The next thing he was going to say was along the lines of, "You know, I can't help but notice this fic still hasn't mentioned any pigeons, pheasants, peacocks, kiwis, rheas, cassowaries, lovebirds, turkeys, swifts, herons, pelicans, swallows, jays, quetzals, penguins, bobbies, kites, storks, hornbills, ibises, geese, swans, spoonbills, frigates, petrels, albatrosses, shearwaters, grebes, emus, guinea fowls, grouses, hoatzins, cranes, gallinules, coots, rails, limpkins, bitterns, lapwings, stilts, puffins, sandpipers, avocets, plovers, snipes, phalaropes, auks, terns, jaegers, skimmers, doves, keas, macaws, cocks-of-the-rock, parakeets, lorikeets, roadrunners, cuckoos, nightjars, frogmouths, hummingbirds, hoopoes, kingfishers, wrynecks, barbets, woodpeckers, toucans, jacamars, wrens, flycatchers, birds-of-paradise, finches, or orioles yet. "

Instead what issued out of his mouth was more along the lines of "Eep!"

Towering behind them was a gigantic tree-monster. Its arms were extremely long boughs elbow-jointed at the middle, and its hands were sets of four twigs that branched out of their ends. It had no discernable legs- just an unintelligible tangle of roots that the shadowy sentry had to shuffle to move. At its top was also an amazing mass of oaken stems, except much less haphazard; a multitude of the branches, in fact, seemed connected to each other by a complicated network of miniscule wooden capillaries. Every "head-branch" came to a point at the very top, where a single, very large and deeply venous leaf could be found. Its face was located in the middle of its trunk: a petrified rectangular slab bas-reliefed with an animated stone face. At a flick of the sentry's arm, a multitude of roots sprang forward, detached from his body and trapped Gogara in a briary cage, which then rolled away. It didn't want any intrusions on its fun with the centaur that had for so long beguiled him, after all.

The centaur felt a massive set of branches wrap around his body like fingers. Ganglia jumped off his back and ran away as he was lifted into the air to the tree-monster's face, its stony features radiating anger. It took a split-second for Magorian to realize it was his old mentor, Motm's, face. He would've been surprised if it weren't for the chapter title. He just wanted to know how Motm resurrected, and it looked as if Motm could read it in the chieftain's expression, because the first words that issued from his limestone lips were how it was he came to be alive again.

"Remember when I told you, in my last dying breaths, to bury me under the yew tree down yonder, Grasshopper?" he said, squeezing the centaur in his hand a little bit too hard and not in the mood to waste any time prolonging sweet revenge. "I didn't ask for sentimental reasons! That yew tree was my familiar! I planted it to ensure a safe passage to eternal life that I discovered in my, er, more enlightened moments. All I had to do was die naturally beneath its roots. I expected to die of old age, and to be able to sense its approach.

"But then you came- you interfered!" He crushed his helpless enemy in his palm a bit more, and Magorian started to labor in his breathing. "And it was too late! All I could do was to wait as eons rolled by, my spirit clinging desperately on this realm of being. Months passed in real-time as my corpse and my fading familiar inched closer and closer together, each of us desperate to remain fragments of reality. I remembered the planar portal to the afterlife gradually diminishing; every second I refused to choose an afterlife, hoping stupidly that there had to be a way to come back to life again, my hatred for the one who did this to me grew malignantly. I endured countless eras of my soul being strapped to my body as gradually the films of virtue and vice were stripped from my mind, not wanting to choose an afterlife before I could wrap around my tree-spirit and fuse with it. I am now simply an entity, neither living nor fully dead, neither corporeal nor truly spectral. I am the between, the nothingness that exists outside two objects."

"And how does that make you feel?" asked Magorian, again feeling like he had to play the part of the understanding yet harsh psychiatric mediator.

"Like crap! Which is why I'm exacting my vengeance on you right now!" He tightened his grip on Magorian effortlessly, like he was a vise and the puny centaur a matchstick. There goes one kidney... thought Magorian.

"The sting of unity runs deep, Grashopper, and I'm about to give you that pain tenfold!"

"But why are you so evil all of a sudden?" Magorian squirmed. Then he remembered. Yew wood was a symbol of evil, so, when he fused with his familiar, he must've absorbed profane amounts of hatred and regret. He voiced his thoughts.

"No, you idiot, it had nothing to do with that! Not all villains need backstories, dammit!" The stone shifted as his face's emotions changed. "It's fun being evil, and I don't need a reason to kick the lights out of everyone who pisses me off!"

The sculpture on the slab smiled. "I'm not just any evil entity, though. I'm not going to sadistically prolong your demise, like so many evildoers do nowadays. That would give you much too much time to escape, or for something miraculous to happen in your favor. Instead, I'm going to crush you immediately. You might ask, 'Why would any villain not stupidly want to wait to kill his/her archnemesis?' I'm not just any villain. I am Laurelm, the Seventeenth Scourge!"

Laurelm let up his vicegrip a bit and took a deep breath that seemed not to take in any air. (The only reason for him to breathe was that he could only talk on the exhale.)

"My xylem and phloem harbor the strength of a thousand cedars. My roots dig deep and my boughs touch the clouds..."

Three hours later...

"...I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a bat! The rings of my trunk outnumber the years of the Earth! My ankles reach the canopy and my sneeze can destroy continents... Say, is it just me or do you smell Zoloft? No? It must be my imagination. It's been so long. Anyway... My sneeze can destroy continents and my arms can lift a million..."

I hate damage control, thought Magorian, trying desperately to keep the yawn inside his mouth.

Three hours later...

"I am bigger than the universe! Planets dissolve in my corrosive gaze! Time trembles and imaginable measure is dwarfed! I know ALL!"

Styjikuhler's sage startled. The end of the speech had come at last, just when he had found a comfortable place in Motm's grip.

"So you see," Laurelm continued, "I'm much too brilliant to succumb to common supervillain weaknesses such as endlessly drawling on and on when the hero is on a platter. It's time for you to die!"

Magorian stopped trying to shave with his mind and braced again for certain death, closing his eyes. He thought he could see an intense, radiant light... was that the tunnel? No, it was coming from inside his saddlebag...

"Diffindo!" shouted a familiar voice, and Laurelm got diced into little bitty pieces poetically easily. (Motm needed to be joined together to his familiar to cling to existence, and without that direct spiritual contact he and the tree-spirit simply ceased to be, neither becoming a ghost nor being able to explore the unknown afterlife. It was rather sad. All he had really wanted to do was to raid all the pharmacies he could find and steal every prescription drug in the world. He couldn't wait to try out that Vicodin/Claritin/Lipitor/Prilosec trail mix he'd been spending all eternity thinking of.)

The hand holding him suddenly cut into papery smithereens, Sinistra had to create a trampoline with her wand to keep Magorian from falling to his death. (Which was excellent, because everyone loves trampolines!) She had even made it his favorite color, ejacutrops. The Astronomy teacher waited for Magorian to tire of bouncing up and down.

Three hours later...

Sinistra Vanished the trampoline impatiently and made a mattress to break his fall. Then she forgot her irritation and came running jovially into her favorite centaur's arms.

"Hey babe, how's it going?" asked Magorian, hugging her.

"I'm just glad to see you! Where were you? They hardly ever showed scenes with you on that show you were on," she said, pushing him playfully. "Since I'm not an Order member, and what happened yesterday with the Dark Lord was strictly confidential, I'm totally out of the loop."

Magorian explained what happened. Since the tale was already so unbelievable, his embellishments went unnoticed. After a while, even he was starting to believe that Charlie Rose had come down in a cloud from the sky to commentate, that three eclipses had happened in rapid succession during the battle, and that the Great Refrigerator had been accompanied by a giant floating zeppelin called the Cheesegrater of Doom.

The centaur momentarily forgot his desire to go on a sea voyage, but his mind returned to it before long.

"How's Firenze doing?" he small-talked.

"Good, good, the first-years have started to accept him," she smiled as they winded their way back to Hogw-stra.

"Do you happen to have a boat?" Magorian hated small talk.

"It's funny you should ask. I was ceded a yacht by the headmaster at the annual Stuff Dumbledore Doesn't Need raffle. Why?"

"I think this is the literary reinforcement of a beautiful friendship," replied Magorian.

"I'm just glad I didn't get any of the lame stuff, like the defective Invisibility Cloak Professor McGonagall won that only worked if no one was looking. And that locket Flitwick won looked really gay on him."

"Really?" Now don't get him wrong-- Magorian had enjoyed Dodaru's company. But Sinistra was infinitely more sociable and didn't glare at you with the hatred of a thousand suns if you said anything she deemed to be "stupid."

"Oh yeah! Don't get me started on the little bugger's fashion sense. One day he's sporting a safari jacket in the Teacher's Lounge, the next he's wearing a limited edition black Megadeth tee. But Snape was by far the worst. You should've his face when-- Er, Magorian? Should we be at all alarmed that there's a giant deadly-looking spider a few decameters away?"

She pointed to where Gogara was futilely struggling against its thick spherical prison. Its movements were even more erratic than before.

"Hey Gogara, why don't you just bust out?" Magorian cupped his hands over his mouth.

"Hikthikthikthikthikthikthikthikthikthikt! Can't sssssssss get out!" It bellowed again, and again the force of the sound was enough to keep nearby wildlife immobile, either because the animal was too scared to move or its eardrums had fatally imploded.

Whoever heard of a claustrophobic spider? Magorian guessed he should've found out when he analyzed Gogara's dream about fear and enclosed spaces. He also supposed he should've realized it upon hearing the Acromantula openly tell him that it had claustrophobia. Cautiously, the dynamic duo (Mago and Sinistra, not Batman and Robin) approached the panic-mad arachnid. It was no use, however- not even screaming at the top of their lungs could drown out the spider's fierce thrashing and psychotic wailing.

Then an arrow whizzed past Mago's head.

"Magorian son of Deigorian, exiled are you from this forest. Leave or perish!"

He turned around slowly and stared his archnemesis in the face, fuming. Why hadn't he heard the sounds of their hooves? Why had the centaurs he once faithfully presided over come back in tandem to murder him, and what was up with that neat futuristic armor they were wearing? It was so shiny and pointy. Shiny and pointy things always distracted Magor--Hey, this font is Times New Roman. Ever notice how Arial and Helvetica are exactly the same? Wonder how the new pope's doing. Man, I could go for a good wheel of sausage right about now. A Mystery Science Theater 3000 marathon would be top-notch at the moment, now that I think about it. Blasted lack of cable. Oh well. There's still Family Guy. Wouldn't it be cool if there was a rock band called the Bifocal Aardvarks? Admit it, it's catchy. Fargo--

Whoops. Gotta take me Ritalin!

"We, the Tribe of Bane, hereby warn Pariah to exit our territory or suffer our wrath," was the imperial decree of Ambassador Ronan. (Pariah is one of the more insulting and derogatory centaru sayings, reserved for those banished from the herd. Ronan spat the word out in conditioned disgust.)

"Hey Bane, I thought you were going to seek an audience with Voldie," Magorian said in an offhand attempt to stall. He knew well Bane would have his men try to kill him even if he did try to bolt out of there. Gogara couldn't help: for one, he was stuck inside a spherical cage of thorns that reeked of Motm's old-man scent, and secondly, its frenzy had degenerated even worse after having heard Ronan say the word "exiled" again.

"The Dark Lord did hear our plea to establish an alliance with him, but in the end he chose a different tribe. So we asked Hagrid to help us with the 'refurbishment money' allotted him, telling him all about what you did to his chickens. He agreed you needed to be taught a lesson and immediately played the part of blacksmith, retrofitting us with this super-armor. He never intended for you to get killed; just "roughed up a bit". Hagrid, it turns out, is an awesome welder-- he even forged some armor for Grawp. Nothing you do is going to hurt us. It even muffles our hooves." Bane stomped the ground thrice to prove his point. At that point a wild-looking centaur leapt in front of Bane and zealously yelled his head off, his lower half that of a zebra.

"Lo, Pariah, you hath sinnethed and noweth you musteth payeth the priceth!" screamed Nantos, one of Bane's most fanatical followers and devoted lackey. "You will be purged from this land like blight on a rainy day!"

"You'll have to excuse Nantos," said Bane apologetically, trying to fence the lunatic off with his spear. "He's nuts."

"Purged! Like a rainy day!" Nantos reminded everyone, a vein popping in his left eye.

"Blight is caused by disease, not by a lack of water," said Ronan.

"But a lack of rain can cause disease," countered a centaur behind him. "Once, the patch of grass I tend to was so dry, it became an orangish yellow col--"

"RAINY DAY!" Nantos shrieked, kicking up his front legs and foaming at the mouth. The veins in his left eye ruptured and the spears being used to restrain him spontaneously combusted.

Holy mother of cod, that is nuts, noted Sinistra.

"Ugh," expressed Bane as he whipped out his built-in tazer and shocked Nantos unconscious. "I HATE damage control." The tazer efficiently whipped back into its gauntlet, and he clenched his armored fist, focusing again on his opponents: Mago, a witch, and a caged spider.

But Nantos would not stay down. He revived, shook off the electricity like a shaggy dog, and bounded into a portal that opened before him.

"My God, he's just jumped to a conclusion!" said a voice.

"Street magician David Blaine? What are you doing here?" said Magorian.

"I heard there were free Wafers."

"He must have been hired by The Savant to boost this fic's popularity in order to compete against the recent release of Half-Blood Prince," observed Sinistra.

"No, I just want Wafers."

"Enough!" bellowed Bane, turning again to Magorian. "As you can probably see, Magorian, we've had to make a few exceptions in our rules in order to gain enough firepower to kill you. Technology is now limitedly acceptable in dire straits, or when the enemy is known to carry advanced weaponry. Such as you."

"Poth tre, umna!" said a blonde centaur behind Bane who could only speak centaru, toting Magorian's saddlebag at the tip of his spear. "I've got it, sir!"

"Mewafth!" praised Bane. "Good!"

Magorian cursed his luck. One of them had snuck up on him and stolen his saddlebag. He could see that another one had taken his quiver. The centaur was stuck with a useless bow and the spear in his clenched fist. Sinistra dared not attack any of them with magic just yet, but would Stun them should they try to relieve her of the wand she was holding at the ready. For now, she was looking with apprehension at the big spider in the wireframe orb of thorny tanglewood.

"Sesteret aratelid?" queried blondy, eyeing the noisy struggling Acromantula.

"What of the spider, Graros? It cannot come out of the cage. It poses no threat. Defeating Pariah will not be difficult."

Bane was rummaging through our protagonist's saddlebag. "Let's see what the mighty Magorian keeps in his personal inventory!" The centaurs cheered, and Magorian looked on in dread.

"Hmmm... a pair of pants? Magorian, don't tell me your collecting keepsakes of nasty human stuff!" Bane taunted, taking the leotards out of the spatially-enhanced saddlebag. "If I had known you liked garbage, I would've given you Firenze." All the centaurs laughed.

"Hikthikthikthikthikthikt!"

Sinistra had to bite her tongue to keep back a particularly scathing comeback, having to rely on the withering glare of her eye to convey her emotion. Firenze was the only other person in the castle that actually knew anything about astrology. They would often converse about what destiny the stars had written into the sky into the wee hours of the morning. If only she could thump all those smug rotten bastard centaurs who exiled him and Magorian... But she could only watch as they rummaged and rolled in laughter.

"Graros, reggef cif scoror. Ece nun tillas sum Nantos."

Graros took the pants away to burn, making sure to forget about Nantos now (whose disappearance had clearly shaken him). Magorian could only watch as one of the fatter, older centaurs used the flamethrower equipped on his gauntlet to try to scorch through his beloved leotards. Sinistra was very close to snapping and casting a spell on them, until she saw that the flames were not eating away at the fabric. Instead, they turned white and flared upwards in a beam of heat, charring fatty's face really badly.

"Raaargh!" screamed Banha, crumpling to the floor in pain.

His friend Ogeta kneeled to his side. "Are you alright?!"

"Hikthikthikthikthitkhikthikt!"

Banha quit screaming, bearing the pain with centaru dignity. He opened his eyes. They were blank.

"I- I'm blind! I can see nothing!"

"What!?" cried Ogeta.

"What is the meaning of this!?" demanded Bane.

Mago honestly didn't know. Not even his famed Leotards of Deflection could cause a rebound that severe. Then he noticed a soft glow coming from the bag Bane was holding. He, of course, noticed it too, and quickly rummaged through the bag for whatever was shining, intending to use it against Magorian. Instead, he took out one of his patented rubber ducky grenades, which was good enough. Bane stretched his arm back, ready to throw the RDG at Pariah.

"Wait! His eyes- they're returning to normal!"

Bane ignored Ogeta, all too ready to use one of Magorian's own weapons against him, as had been the original plan. The bomb flew through the air, not in slow-motion, but in fast-motion, because it was funnier and less cliché to imagine it that way.

"HikthiktihikthikthikthiktHIKT!"

Whatever was glowing in the saddlebag became brighter, and the adorable projectile changed its trajectory towards Gogara's cage. It exploded in midair, and while the blast didn't do anything to break the spider's prison, it did quiet Gogara down. Even the supposedly unshakable centaurs of Bane's tribe audibly sighed, relieved that the incessant shrieking and wailing was over.

The silence, however, was again interrupted, this time by a soft, whirring noise. A shimmering stone eye slowly rose from out of the saddlebag, stopping at Bane's eyelevel and rotating. The eye's pupil was a largish, elegantly complex circular array, and along the eye's surface, radiating from its iridescent iris, were lengthy strands of hieroglyphics. It shone a dazzlingly pure white light that seemed to steal away the color from its surroundings. Everything became black and white.

"It's the Eye of Scrutiny! Fate's Blessing! How did you acquire such a thing!?" Bane yelled, shocked.

Magorian just raised his eyebrows. He had no idea that the Eye of Scrutiny had been in his saddlebag. Sinistra, however, stepped forward.

"He has gained Fate's Favor! He is now extremely well-protected, and he is on friendly terms with the nature spirits you claim to revere! In other words, he's untouchable, especially by you!"

"No." Bane shook his head. "No!" He turned to his Tribe. They all looked extremely worried; they obviously had not expected so many complications in their mission to kill Pariah. "They must be tricking us! Pariah cannot have gained Fate's Favor, she is Gaea's sister, our patron! Charge, my brethren, and may all doubt leave you!"

But the Eye had something else to say about it. A white beam shot down from the sky and it was absorbed through the array-pupil, which began to spin rapidly. It fell to the floor and exploded at the charging tribe's feet. They backed away and tried charging again. It exploded again. Then they tried charging again. Another pure white beam shot into the Eye, resulting in an even bigger fiery blast.

"Retreat! Retreat!" Bane told the other centaurs with an inexplicable grin. The centaurs gratefully did as they were told, galloping away from the scene into the trees, some glancing back at the stationary stone Eye as they ran as if afraid it would chase after them.

"Wheeeee!" said David Blaine, running after them.

Bane had a crazed look on his face. "I've waited too long for this moment, Magorian, tried too hard. I will have my rightful place as ruler of the Forbidden Forest, and there will be nothing you can do about it!"

Magorian thought of telling him it was no longer called the Forbidden Forest, but decided not to. Bane rummaged frantically in Magorian's saddlebag for anything he could find to get rid of the Eye rotating on the forest floor. Eventually he found a flute. Having seen it in Dumbledore's office once, he knew instantly what it must be, and his eyes betrayed thoughts of imminent victory.

"The Flute of the Call of the Wild! So Dumbledore gave this to you, did he? Well, I'm glad he did, because now I get to use it against you!

And he began playing. Magorian dashed for his leotards, but Bane gleefully ordered a few groups of bowtruckles to obstruct his way. Sinistra started jinxing them off of him while Bane resumed focusing on the Eye. If he didn't get it out of the way, he'd never be able to kill Magorian. Just as all the bowtruckles were repelled by some deft spellwork on Sinistra's part, he had successfully completed a tune that commanded a bunch of earthworms to take the Eye underground with them.

Wiping his brow of blood, the centaur who had been beset by spiky tree guardians let out a sigh of relief, only to witness a giant silver pike coming at him at top speed. Magorian had only a split-second to react. Unfortunately, he used the split-second to reflect on how delightfully shiny it was.

Seconds passed like minutes. Minutes passed like seconds. Bane charged with wanton abandon at Magorian, as if impaling him on the gleaming shaft would set right all wrongs. All Magorian could do was watch as sharp, pointy death approached.

The tip of the lance was mere inches away when he saw six spidery legs wrap around and restrain Bane, pulling him to the ground.

"The spider came out of its cage!" marveled Sinistra.

"It wassss easy!" remarked Gogara, struggling to keep Bane in a half-nelson . "All I hat to to was believe in my self, and I found the strength to break the--"

"That's great, Gogara," interrupted Magorian. "What should we do with him?"

"Accio Saddlebag." It came into her hands. "Accio... what did you call them?"

"Leotards of Reflection."

"Right, Accio those." She flicked her wand.

The only thing Bane could see under the massive weight of the spider was the pants flying into Sinistra's hands.

"Here you go."

Magorian thanked her and clinked the saddlebag back into place, stuffing the leotards in them. "Let's just leave him there."

"No, let's finish him off." Sinistra was eager for vengeance.

"No one's finishing me off!" yelled Bane. "Especially not with this armor!"

He had managed to wrestle free from the spider deadlock and pin it down with one of his hooves. Then he lifted his pike and had almost skewered it when Gogara rolled over again. They again commenced pitting their strength against one another; they seemed equally matched.

"Accio spear!" cried Sinistra, scared. Centaurs were not supposed to be able to keep Acromantulas at bay.

The spell simply deflected off of his impregnable armor. In fact, Bane was almost going to win until something jumped out from the distance and made the earth shake.

It was Grawp, likewise plated with futuristic armor. At its helm was Ganglia. The bear used its paws to direct the giant's head, as if telling it where to attack. Grawp's eyes landed on the centaur crumpled at its feet (which was thankfully Bane, for Magorian had also fallen). Curiously he used its thumb and forefinger to lift it up. Then realizing it was one of the many centaurs that had attacked it the previous summer, it opened its mouth wide and lifted the pleading centaur directly over its gaping maw, as if to drop it in.

"Grawpy! Bad boy, who do yeh think yeh are, eatin' summat without me permission? Bad Grawpy!" admonished the voice of the Hogw-stra gamekeeper. Grawp placed the centaur on the floor disappointedly. Hagrid turned his attention to Magorian.

"I'm very sorry about this, Magorian, I heard from the other centaurs what happened. I never wanted them to kill yeh, see, I jus' wanted them to teach yeh--"

"Teach me a lesson, yeah, I know. Let's just call it even, okay?"

Hagrid nodded and proceeded to press a button in one of many pockets. All the armor fell off of all the centaurs and Grawp. "Don' worry, Magorian, I'll handle this one, you go on and meet all the other centaurs."

Magorian and Sinistra did so. They all remarked about how Bane was too bossy, and a bit of a control freak. They were all glad they to be rid of him.

"So you're all willing to join me again?"

"Sure," said one of them.

"What about him?" Magorian pointed to David Blaine, who was on all fours nibbling at some Pez he'd found on the floor.

"Yeah, we wanna keep him as a pet."

"Cool. I elect Nantos to be second in command whenever I'm gone. Bye!"

The duo left.

"Hey, babe, what's your first name?"

"Paige," replied Sinistra, blushing.

"Pretty."

Soon they arrived on the grounds, and nearly died laughing when they saw that Hagrid had made Bane the doorman to his hut using the Flute of the Call of the Wild.

"Don' worry, Professor Sinistra, I'll let 'im go after a bit. Jus' need him to see that he ain't always the boss."

"What happened to Gogara?" asked Magorian.

"Yeh mean the poor Acromantula this idiot was stepping on?" Bane narrowed his eyes in hate, but Hagrid made him do eighty laps around the grounds for it. "He's gone back to the forest. Who knows if we'll ever see 'im again?"

"Hey Sinistra, show me your boat," said Magorian, for he had been thinking of dolphins while Hagrid spoke, which reminded him of beach balls, which reminded him of Cheerios, which reminded him of Mikhail Gorbachev, which reminded him of Christmas, which reminded him of hearing aids, which reminded him of cocker spaniels, which reminded him of France, which reminded him of dirt, which reminded him of Virginia Slims, which reminded him of boats.

"Okay!" said Sinistra, setting the scene for the next chapter. "Wow, this chapter's come full circle, hasn't it?"

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"Next!"

Lucius sighed and rolled his eyes.

"What's the matter, Lucius? I said 'Next!'"

Lucius held up the sign that read NEXT.

"Splendid." With the push of button, Voldemort ejected the latest batch of mercenaries auditioning to be in his inner circle. Fortunately for him, the same button opened the cockpit, allowing several more scantily-clad "counselors" to rush to his side and "console" him. In fact, noted Bellatrix heatedly, he seemed to be refusing to employ many qualified people just so that more hot waitresses could rush to his throne.

"Excuse me, sir, but that demon had three heads, and seemed more than willing to work for you for free. Are you sure it was wise--excuse me, I'm speaking!" Bellatrix angrily shoved away a brunette that was dangerously close to nudging his nose in her "medical examination."

"Next," said Voldemort.

"Sir, there's not even any new applicants here yet..." he explained.

"NEXT!"

Lucius bit his lip and help up the sign. His arms were starting to get tired.

"Excellent." Voldemort pressed the button again, and more women ran to his side.

"Sir..." wheezed Avery pathetically. "Sir... It's getting very uncomfortable..."

"No more questions about why you have to greet the next applicants in a pillory!" decreed the Dark Lord standing up from his marble throne. "This is my jet, and those are my rules! So there." He tipped a glass of grape juice into his mouth and sat down again. "No no, Crabbe, Goyle, no need to stop playing pattycake on my account. I'm very sorry, I've just been so irritable since I lost those Eskimos... By the way, why aren't--not now Linda--why aren't the latest applicants here yet?"

"Apparently there's a pileup on the line. Seems some huge bloke is blocking the way. I can only barely see it from here," said Avery, who was next to a pair of large rectangular doors. "Actually, sir, I'd appreciate it you had someone move a bit further away from the doors; every time they open I get hit in the head, see, and they're very hard and heavy..."

"Jugson," said Voldemort, "make sure Avery is closer to the doors. And tell me what's going on out there!"

"Dolohov is pushing the bloke through now."

They could all hear a thick Spanish accent arguing and Dolohov's subsequent redoubled efforts to get whoever was obstructing the hallway into their compartment.

"Stop trying to push him," said the accent, "he can get through by himself! This is ridiculous..."

Then they all heard a clicking sound, and a large thud.

"Good... now, make a way for yourself, Dolc."

They didn't need to hear what happened next; they could see it clearly from Voldemort's room- the hinges around the entrance doors cracked and fell apart, and a huge fist tore clean through the metal, cleaving the doors open. The force used to open the door (which was sufficient enough to break Avery's stocks) was nothing compared to the hulking figure that now emerged from the debris-filled hallway.

The giant's most striking feature was its skin- so pale it almost lightened the room, it stood in stark contrast with the pitch black wrestling leotards he (it?) wore. His eyes were round as red saucers and just as large, with jagged black streaks under them that were barely noticeable due to the luchadore mask covering his mouth and scalp. Dolc easily stood more than twelve feet tall, and the magnitude of his musculature even surpassed that of his stature; muscles were bulging intensely in places that Voldemort never even knew existed. He and his attendants stood transfixed at the sight of him.

"Hello," said a familiar voice from below. The Dark Lord & company shook their head and looked down from Dolc's face in unison. The Spanish man wore a narrow black sombrero and a small little grin that exuded more confidence than the three black tattoo stripes on each of his cheeks. He was everything his partner was not- lithe, smooth, and relaxed, it was clear that he was a powerful and confident fighter with the magical skills to match. He looked quite the snappy dresser as well, sporting a loose, opal shirt with cufflinks, a gentleman's black vest, formal-looking black slacks and dress shoes. Only after a few seconds did Voldemort realize that he had castanets on his hands as well.

"My name is Zefir, and this," he said, striking a pose on the floor and pointing his outstretched arm towards the ceiling, "is my friend (or should I say accomplice?), Dolc. We are here to interview with the Sixteenth Scourge, The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Voldemort himself!" He struck a few more poses.

Everyone gasped at the name, even Voldemort. ("What?" he would later explain. "My name is creepy.")

"What? This is the place, no?" Zefir squinted at the throne all the way on the other end of the aisle, where, Bellatrix, her master, and his airport staff "hunnies" were currently open-mouthed in shock.

"If you're here for the application, stand over there on the trap door," Lucius drawled, pointing with his sign-hand. "And try not to destroy expensive state property while you're at it this time."

"Ah, could not be helped, mi amigo. As you can see, my friend here is muy grande. He has a tough time getting into the most spacious locales. In fact, he might not even fit with me on the trap door."

"Then just let him stay over there by the wreckage," spoke up Voldie at last. "Stand on the trap door and state why you should be my assassins-for-hire."

"Stand?" queried Zefir, as with a pirouette and an impressive triple lux he landed gracefully on the words "TRAP DOOR" etched on the floor. "No, my friends, I'd rather entertain you all than bore you all to death by standing. Allow me to dance, and show you my worth on your team!" With a click of one of his castanets, vibrant salsa music started playing in the background and darkness enveloped the extensive throne room except for a cone of light fixated on him that functioned as a spotlight. He danced the night away, amazing his makeshift audience by ceaselessly outperforming each of his previous dazzling dance moves, totally in synch with the music beating around him. Everyone watching was so mesmerized that they heard nothing of the speech he had prepared to win them over, and pretty soon the applause of the rather small audience became deafening.

"So, will you hire me?" He cast a penetrating stare at Bellatrix, which made her blush. He was so charming, so cool...

"You're hired!" said Voldemort enthusiastically.

"Excellent!" said Zefir. "It's your turn to audition, Dolc. Why don't you test your might on that frail-looking hombre next to you?" He clicked his commands with his castanets.

Dolc's bulbous red eyes fixed on poor Avery, taking some time to process the information it'd been given. Then, with almost mechanical reflexes, he picked up Avery, crushed him on his knee, and dealt him a critical karate chop on the base of the spine- all in the space of a split-second!

"That's what you get when you cross a giant with a Gothmage," smiled Zefir. "Extremely powerful, but just as willing to take orders."

"Perfect!" said Voldemort. "You two might even be better than a whole tribe of Eskimos. Your first mission: kill the centaur called Magorian. He's humiliated me one too many times."

"He's only humiliated you once," pointed out Lucius.

"That's one too many times! Your first paycheck will go towards rectifying the fine mess you've made of the entrance hall of my jet. It took a lot of effort to steal it and pimp it out like this, you know!"

"That's okay; I've always wanted to be a Scourge's Assassin! C'mere, Dolc! Let's celebrate!" Dolc had a personality of his (its?) own, and he happily bounded towards where Zefir was, dancing with him on the floor marked TRAP DOOR.

"We're hovering over Magorian's location now, sir!" called Jugson's voice from the other room.

Voldemort smiled. Lucius lifted his sign. Voldemort smiled wider, He pressed his button. The trap door opened, ejecting Zefir and Dolc, and Voldie opened his arms wide to welcome the newest wave of cute waitresses, infuriating Bellatrix again. All in all, another day in his life.

-----------------------------------------------*-------------------------------------------------------------

A portal appeared a short while after in the forest clearing, and Nantos stepped out of it. "What happened?"

"You've been made our second in command."

"Where's the first!?"

"Gone."

Nantos eyed the crowd. "Well? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!? FETCH ME THE CHEESE DOODLES!!!!!"

Ch. 14: The Plot Thickens

It was a really, really hot day. Even Fate was having trouble enduring the sweltering heat of a Hawaiian noon.

When she had decided to take a nice, relaxing nap in the sun, she had not counted on the 100+ degree weather to be such a drag, and had to contort nearby umbrellas with her hands to cast more shade on her towel (fortunately, other beachgoers were frozen in time, unable to do anything about it).

She mulled the martini in her hand as she mulled the predicament in her head, gazing at the waves of the once-roiling ocean she'd ceased unfeelingly. No matter how fervently she assessed the last two days it always came down to the same question in the end: Why had Tempis refused to talk to her yesterday?

Tempis had always been Fate's favorite sister, and vice versa; for as long as she could remember they had been on the best of terms. In fact, it was Tempis who donated her mastery of time to her little sister when she'd grown sage enough to learn how to, a feat the other sisters still haven't learned to do. Tempis taught Fate everything she knew: archery, poetry and music, bartending, even weaving (which she'd incorporated into her profession--the subtle and meticulous tapestry that is destiny).

So she was going to Pele, her second favorite sister, for advice. Pele had always been the partier of the bunch; with a flair for the unexpected and a gift for dancing, she practically existed for the nightlife. Even better, she knew about a hundred million great jokes, a fully-stocked and well-loaded arsenal of clever quips and comebacks, often getting the whole bar or dance club to shoot alcohol out their noses and laugh hysterically for hours. It was from Pele that Fate got her great sense of humor.

Which reminded her...

Fate snapped her fingers and time unfroze. Hapless Hawaiians shook out of their temporal prison, eyes darting wildly for the cause of the mangling of their umbrellas. She savored a cheap laugh and snapped her fingers again, taking another sip of her martini and looking across the ocean.

There it was: Pele's lair. Towering over the calmed waves, it claimed the volcano it was situated on as its own, bonding with the flaming-hot face of the smoldering mountain almost symbiotically. Together they created a living, breathing cauldron of stone and flame- Mauna Loa. Of course, the Muggles couldn't see it, but Fate had come to Pele's hut on dozens of occasions. Most of the time, she came for pleasure. Today it was strictly business.

Fate jetted across the frozen water and, ascending the steep mountainside, reached the entrance to Pele's house and rapped on the wooden chamber door. Usually the large timber hut was scorching hot to the touch, but today it was almost lukewarm compared to the heat outside.

Until, that is, the door suddenly caught on fire.

"What the..." Fate knocked again. A brilliant red eye appeared through the looking glass at the center of the burning wood.

"Leave at once," called out a husky voice from beyond the blazing effigy.

"P-Pele, it's me It's Fate " she said, shocked. "Don't you recognize me? "

The flames redoubled their intensity and the cliff-face rattled as the mighty mountain made its anger known to all, causing Fate to topple to the floor. Fate looked up at the door in disbelief, then in renewed terror as Pele's head emerged from the peephole and looked down at her cowering form.

"Leave at once," said Pele again, the ashy smoke billowing out of her eyes doing nothing to mask the terrifying streaks of anger on her face.

Tempis had rejected her with cold indifference; Pele looked as if she could not stand the very sight of her. Fate, shaken to the very core, departed immediately. What the hell was going on ?

Pele only let the flames subside when she was absolutely sure Fate was gone. She hated having to scare off her favorite little sister, but it was the surest way to keep her out of harm's way. Out of trouble.

Sighing, she stepped back from the looking-glass and attended her Seerswell, giving a quick glance at the miniature contract beside it.

Heh, thought Pele. "Trouble." More like "that bastard."

She had tried bombarding the contract with her hottest beams of lava, sending it to melt at the center of the earth, and even firing it into the sun, but nothing seemed to be able to tarnish it in the slightest. This, of course, frustrated her to no end. There was only one thing left to do.

The Seerswell's waters swelled at her presence, but no image would begin to appear in its dirty depths until she uttered the password.

Pele lowered her sensuous lips to the shallow rectangular pan, almost touching the dun-water roiling within when she whispered "Katmandu."

Apparently content, the dun-water inside the shallow basin undulated, forming an image.

"The Savant Show yourself "

The Savant's head rippled into sight, clearly surprised and not a little drunk.

"Fate?" slurred the head, confused. Di'n' I tell you t' c'mere n' massage my feet an hour ago?

Pele huffed, and the water in the Seerswell threatened to boil and evaporate. "I'm Pele, you idiot "

"Pele " he gushed. "How could I *hic* forget you?"

"Hurry up, author-man " called a voice in the distance. "Vance and Lance brought two more kegs "

The reflection of the head in the divining well turned to look in the voice's direction, yelling "Ish it Canadian beer? "

"Afraid so, but hey, beer is beer Ooo, that sounds lyrical, I ought to make a riddle out of it..."

"Wanna come to this party, Fate..."

"Pele "

"Sorry, Fele. Wanna *hic* come to this party? It's on a... what's this thing *hic* called again Cavekeeper? A sat-ur-ite."

"A satellite?"

"Yesh. We're havin' a splendid time, you should, you should come."

"What, and have you trick me again? Don't you dare even think of commanding me there I just want to know what you did to Tempis "

"What's that, Felempis? You didn't enjoy our little dance?" It seemed that even when he was utterly smashed, The Savant could still be a prick.

Pele bit her lip. How she would like to scorch that stupid grin right off his face... and the rest of his face with it. Even two weeks after the fact she still couldn't get over how easily she'd been duped into signing the contract.

The face of a drunken old codger appeared at The Savant's shoulder. "Who's that?"

"I'll be his worst nightmare if he doesn't tell me where Tempis is "

The Savant reeled and massaged his temple with his free hand as The Cavekeeper handed him a frothy mug of Canada's finest. "Whoa, babe, calm down and say that slowly..."

"Tempis? Isn't she that chick you were braggin' about?" queried The Cavekeeper. "And what's with this doodad you're lookin' through anyway? Why, back in my day, we used to take rebellious young tykes like you by the hair and lash them good, what with their 'spraypaint' and their 'bifocal lenses' and their 'clean water systems' and their 'progress ' The ungrateful little snobs "

"My bragging was nothing compared to hers," countered the author cheerily. "For claiming to be the oldest being on the Earth and having complete control over time, she sure was easily fooled." The Savant took a giant swig. "I got her to sign the contract in no time. I'll be grabbing Gaea by the reins next."

"You won't "

"Don't flatter yourself, honeybuns. There'sh nothing you can do to shtop me."

"How did you get her to sign the measure ?" Cavekeeper, eyeing the fiery glare of the head in the water, had to shout over the din of the sasquatches telling riotous tales of their shenanigans to an adoring audience of party guests. "She's a biter "

"First I 'accidentally' spilled soot all over the floor--you'll remember this was, this was right after Aesopbot blew up--and she stepped in it. She said she was used to ash and slow-danced with me. I got her to sign her name with footsteps."

"And the floor was a giant contract?"

"She was too drunk to notice." The Savant belched. "I shrunk the contract and *hic* gave it to her. Why do you need to know where Tempis ish anyway?"

"Fate's frozen time down here. You must be too high up to notice." In more ways than one, she noted bitterly.

"Oh really? Well, don't worry sweety, we'll fix that right up Oh Racecar "

The author's eternal lapdog, Racecar, was barely visible serving drinks to the guests behind the two heads. "Yes, mastersire?"

"Summon Tempis " The Savant returned his attention to the head in the water. "As you're about to witness, time may last forever, but binding magical contracts are even more forever."

Racecar pulled out of his robe a gigantic trombone and blew into it as loud as he could. Instantly Tempis appeared beside him, kneeling in forced reverence.

"Cavekeeper, adjust the Seerswell. Make sure she can see this."

The Savant walked up to her sister's prostate form. Tempis was the eldest sister, but one wouldn't have been able to tell, for she was the fairest of them all. Besides being clad from neck to toe in form-fitting armor and having two pairs of swords strapped to her back, she had all the appearance and mannerisms of an innocent fourteen-year-old girl. (In fact, she bore an almost uncanny resemblance to Ginny Weasley, only her hair was longer and lighter and she had no freckles.)

"Normalize the--thank you, you can put the trombone down now--normalize the--I said put it down Normalize the flow of--Racecar

"Normalize the flow of time " Racecar blew into the trombone triumphantly. The author shook his head.

"Ugh... what he said."

It was as if an invisible current ran up her arm and made her hand shoot into the air. Unwillingly, almost instantly, her fingers snapped of their own accord. She grimaced.

"There. Everything should be better now."

The image of two sasquatch brothers running around the corridors of the space station filled Pele's tearing eyes for nary a second. They were blissfully unaware of what was going on. Racecar, dismissing Tempis with but a musical note, dropped the trombone and gave chase.

"Just out of curiosity, why didn't you just ask Fate to normalize time?

"Clause DXII: You cannot inform anyone I haven't got to yet of my plans."

"But I've already gotten to Fate."

"What ?"

"Yesh. In fact, she was the first one. Back then I forgot to put in that helpful little clause," The Savant hiccupped, "but I've wised up."

"Uh, author-man? Oh hi Pele," said the face of a sasquatch as it entered her line of vision. "There's this group of aliens, they say they've been meaning to talk to you all night."

"Ah Jeez, don't tell me they're here for..."

"Socks "

"Great, not you again If I told you once, I've told you a hundred times The next shipment's coming tomorrow "

"But you said... Our people are waiting for their fuel " said the extraterrestrial ambassador, flagella flailing wildly.

"I'm sorry, but we just can't churn out socks that quickly I'm very sorry that your economy and transportation depend on it, and that without a readily available supply of socks your entire society collapses. But between you guys and Dumbledore I've been sending massive orders of socks faster than I like to think is possible Listen, I can refer you to this Dark Lord, he's worked wonders for... Ah Jeez, is this thing still on?"

The light of the Seerswell abated, its waters receding to a murky black once more. Time was flowing again, and the volcano had quit shaking. Pele could not help her sisters. She could do nothing to ameliorate the situation in any way. But the Earth was still revolving around the sun, and Hawaii was intact. All she could do was wait... and watch.

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It was a very, very cold night. Even Tekkulat, who had endured the bitter sting of an Arctic waterfall for two weeks and become leader of Nihoth when he was sixteen, was having trouble keeping warm on his throne. Of course, the wintry glow of the ice crystal in his hand would make even the most hardened Eskimo shift uncomfortably. Fortunately for him, he would soon get to move around and exercise his muscles. For in the distance he could make out two figures coming down the barren slope of Motm's Mountain.

"Behold They return bearing a gift for their king " Tekkulat stood up from his icy throne and pointed at several of his subjects commandingly. "You, you, go fetch a pedestal. Dewpo, kindle the cauldron You, you, and you, go assist Imta and Sakkuit in bringing Motm's spoils down the mountain "

Yes, it was good to be king. You got to own all the cool magical artifacts passed down the royal line, to loaf around and have servants feed you in the comfort of your bed, and, best of all, to have a special spot reserved for you in the halls of the Great Walrus God after you die. No one ever questioned your authority and carried out your commands quickly and diligently; for them there was little to no doubt that Tekkulat was ordained by the Great Walrus to rule their sacred mountain range.

And why would they doubt my place on the throne? Tekkulat asked himself, twiddling the amulet in his fingers and narrowing his eyes. I can use magic.

Indeed, it was their ability to use magic that had cemented Tekkulat's family's sense of divine right. None of the other Nihoth tribe Indians had ever displayed such power, though he had discovered that there were indeed others who wielded this power. This is why he chose to ally himself with the strongest wizard of all time.

All to have it explode in my face. Literally. Still clutching the amulet, Tekkulat brought it up to the large gash on his forehead and let loose a full blast of icy wind. The chirurgeons that inhabited Mt. Motm around seven hundred years ago had created a rather peculiar branch of holistics--the patient was to constantly inflict pain unto his wound in order to remind him or herself that it could always be worse. Of course, being a wizard, and a king at that, Tekkulat hardly ever had to treat his own wounds. But the battle had been brutal. In fact, he reminded himself reluctantly, he'd almost died.

The four Eskimos he had sent up Motm's mountain were slowly approaching the snowy hill. Tekkulat was glad for the distraction; if he squinted, he could almost make out what they were lugging. It was big... rectangular... clear...

"Leader "

The contents of a big black kettle sloshed onto the frozen ground.

"Very good, Dewpo. Everything's almost in order."

"Then the ceremony will be held tonight, leader?"

Tekkulat smiled and looked to the sky. "It certainly looks so."

"Shall I alert the others?" whispered Dewpo into his liege's parka, his eyes darting from the tense faces of the people seated cross-legged before the throne to the luminous streaks of light marring the stars.

"No need, no need," assured Tekkulat, waving his hand. "They can see the brilliance of tonight's aurora as well as I. It seems as if Kocha wasn't such an old kook after all. Pity her death was so... violent."

Dewpo winced. He remembered the trauma of his grandmother's prophecy like it was yesterday. Writhing and raving in her deathbed like the Day of Judgment had come... Then again, she must have seen visions that looked an awful lot like doomsday...

"What did she say before she died?" nudged Tekkulat, always with that triumphant smirk about him. "Tell me again."

Dewpo gulped and with considerable effort relived that horrible day. "The tribe of Nihoth will under a dark (and equally stupid) influence suffer a great tragedy, and the great mountain will fall and 'be fouled.' But one night strands of colored light in the sky will appear, unraveling only when the scales of karma are balanced once again. Stars' light will shine on Nihoth, and the mountain will be reclaimed. All wrongs will be set right."

"Well I imagine when she said it was a whole lot more dramatic. But that's okay, you got the gist of it."

"Y-yes, leader."

"Who knew that crazy old hag was a Seer?" Tekkulat asked himself, treating his scar with another searing glacial ray. "The battle--a great tragedy."

Whatever was being hauled over to the gathering was now making an audible scraping sound, alerting everyone to look back at the ruins of Mt. Motm.

"The great mountain will fall and 'be fouled.' Motm is probably gone for good."

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

"Ah, but we shall talk later " Though he was now in a state of excited expectation, Tekkulat still needed to rub his hands together to keep warm, for it was getting colder and colder as the scouts approached... and it did not take long to see why.

"Great Walrus," exclaimed one of the tribesmen, getting up and pointing, "It's a giant block of ice "

"Don't be silly " scoffed Tekkulat from behind the wafting vapors of the cauldron. "We see ice every waking moment, why would they bring such a thing back down from the moun--"

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Thud. The rectangular block of ice cast a sheen so bright it was practically blinding.

"There... there are... there's treasure in there, right?"

"Doesn't look like it, leader," panted Imta. "Just some furry--"

"You mean to tell me that Motm had nothing in his hut--or indeed, his entire mountain--to steal?"

"No, leader, only this," assured another of the scouts, "but if your Highness would just take a moment to--"

"I don't believe this " cut in the irate king. "All these years we've been waiting for that old man to finally drop dead, and you mean to tell me that his entire mountain yielded nothing of any value? Unbelievable "

Tekkulat upturned his cauldron in rage, and its acidy contents spilled on the permafrost, quickly snaking towards the gigantic cube of ice. Tekkulat had been planning to use the potion he'd brewed to transmute some of Motm's belongings. But as the smoke of the newly-collapsed cauldron cleared, he could see that there was something inside the block... something much more valuable than anything Tekkulat could have hoped for.

The creature within rattled and shook as the acid began to eat its way through the centuries-old slab of rime. It was a furry, formidable-looking giant with pure white fur, uncommonly big with a huge mallet tied to its tail and what looked like a slab of beef half-chewed in its mouth. Tekkulat was almost afraid to come face to face with it, but in all likelihood it was close to death anyway.

What happened next, however, dashed Tekkulat's preconceived notions. The block of ice exploded, its former captive unconsciously bounding forward from the broken shards. It quickly commenced to make a show of sloppily eating the outsize slab of meat in its mouth, relishing it heartily as drool dribbled down its jaw and froze within seconds. The villagers around it gasped and fled from the spectacle; it was only then that the creature opened its eyes to survey its new surroundings.

"A yeti?" pondered Tekkulat, his robes billowing as he began to circle the beast, examining it intently. The beast let the steak fall to the floor and turned to gaze at the frantic denizens running quickly and swiftly from the dangerous animal (the Nihoth had learned long ago that screaming and agonizing only informed nearby predators of their whereabouts). Not quite the effect he's desired--nor, come to think of it, the place he'd wanted to do it in...

"Ah yes." Tekkulat's eyes un-narrowed. "A yeti. Of course."

The creature scratched its head, as if struggling to figure out where he was, or, possibly, what he was doing there in the first place.

"Name youself " commanded the stately autocrat abruptly, a wand shooting up his sleeve into his waiting hand.

"Where am I?" demanded the yeti gruffly.

"I said name yourself!"

The spell bounced right off of the yeti's coarse of coat of fur, shooting into the sky. It shrugged the jinx off like it was nothing, its temper flaring to legendary heights.

"WHERE AM I?" The floor shook as the hammer it held aloft with its long slender tail came crashing to the earth.

A quick but potent shield charm saved him. Huge chunks of ice hurtled with deadly speed in every direction.

"No... could it be?" he huffed, pressing his hands against his protective bubble to wipe away the frost. But he had no time to think; a second potentially lethal fusillade came his way, forcing him to duck into the very ice.

"I am Wesktholt " it screeched proudly and repeatedly, leaping into the air and pummeling the ice under which Tekkulat hid with each iteration. "I am Wesktholt "

Tekkulat gasped in amazement--so it was Motm that had sealed Wesktholt away over fifteen hundred years ago? He couldn't have possibly been THAT old!

"I AM WESKTHOLT "

The king rolled away just in time. He had to do something fast; his spell was fading and he didn't look forward to the prospect of becoming stuck underground for eternity.

"I am Wesktholt Greatest of Plunderers Worst of Despots Future ruler of your pathetic world I am the FOURTH SCOURGE "

Cracks ran further down the sheet of ice above him; as Tekkulat narrowly avoided a burst of falling debris, he decided he had no choice but to sink back up to the surface.

"I know who you are, Wesktholt, and I can tell you where you are "

Wesktholt looked back at him, mallet brandished threateningly.

"This is Nihoth, the land of my people For centuries we have lived in these mountains, successfully protecting our sacred homeland from every intruder under the providence of the Great Walrus "

The mighty albino turned to faced him. "I've never heard of Nihoth. I thought I'd destroyed all of the mountain civilizations "

"In the Himalayas, maybe, but you're not in Babylon anymore."

"How did you...?"

"I know everything about you, big man," said Tekkulat, and Wesktholt was forced to move his head lower and lower to meet the Eskimo's eyes. "Well, everything you can learn from a book anyway. Actually, come to think of it, I'd like to get to know you personally--don't worry, big man, I'll get it. Accio "

Wesktholt's steak shot into Tekkulat's grip. It had become hard as steel.

"I was terrorizing a town square in Constantinople, chewing that steak real scary-like--I'd skeletonized someone's cow beforehand, if I recall correctly--and all of a sudden this old guy behind me gets real pissed. Next thing I know..." Wesktholt scratched his head. "I'm here."

"That must've been Motm... perhaps someone had rejected him? Well anyway, you should know that you've been frozen for what looks like the better part of two millennia, and your hopes of world conquest are basically totally obliterated."

"What The whole world knows and fears me I destroyed single-handedly six of the seven Wonders of the World I conquered, subdued and razed to the ground every society that dared oppose me "

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, big man," he sympathized, "but you're forgotten. History's covered up your exploits, explaining away the carnage you wreaked with lie after lie." Tekkulat stirred up an evil little glint in his eyes. "Your name no longer commands any fear. But I can change that "

"How?"

"There is something you and I both want," he replied, conjuring a rope as he spoke and magically binding it around the hole of the steak. "Or rather, different things that will come of the same means. You want destruction and glory. I simply want to do what's best for my people. Here."

Wesktholt took up the rope and swung it a few times; he rather liked the idea of his new weapon.

Tekkulat's toothy grin mirrored that of the yeti. "If you accept my proposal, then we will attain what we need."

"I haven't heard your proposal yet."

"Ah, already so eager to achieve your former glory? Then let's not waste time babbling on and on." Tekkulat looked up to the sky, the wavering streaks of color that had so tenaciously hung onto it all but dissipating that very moment. "Kill the centaur named Magorian. Afterwards bring his corpse to me."

"And what do I get in return?" asked Wesktholt greedily. "Sorry, but I'll be needing some material goods to... er... motivate me."

"Tell you what. Take this."

Tekkulat placed his amulet of ice into the giant monkey's hand.

"With it you'll be able to instantly freeze things. Think of it as a little advance payment."

Wesktholt gripped the talisman hard and gave him a shifty look. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Dear me, accusations already I was willing to kill a nice old lady that exhibited just a trace of magical power in order to ensure my place on the throne; surely you can relate to that?"

The barbarian seemed appeased by this statement. "And should I get bored on the way there?"

Tekkulat flicked his wand and a cordless radio spun into existence, a warbling female voice issuing from it immediately.

"We're partial to Cher around these parts," said Tekkulat unabashedly. The radio was made to revolve around the yeti's head.

"Ooo, nice to see how much magic's evolved since I've been gone " echoed the big ape cheerily. "Well, time to fly "

"Wait, I didn't tell you where he... oh great."

Wesktholt had already leapt into the horizon and out of sight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ah, isn't this nice?"

"Mmm," said a slightly sleepy Sinistra, gazing at the beautiful sunrise on the back of her favorite centaur. She was surprised at how quickly Magorian had broken in his sea legs.

Overall, the forecast for the weekend was excellent. It was perfectly cloudless, the waves were stable, and Ganglia was fixing them a nice breakfast. (Magorian had assured her beforehand that the bear could make a mean Greek omelet.)

"No seagulls in sight " exulted Magorian triumphantly. "I knew I picked the right place "

"Yeah, who knew the Third Sea was so... serene?" Sinistra yawned. "I mean, I've never even heard of the Third Sea..."

"Nohead Peglegs told me all about it You see, there are sev--"

"Who?"

"Nohead Peglegs Greatest pirate of the seven seas?"

"Not ringing any bells."

Just then, a bell rang.

"Ah, breakfast is ready Come on, let's go get a bite "

"OkaaaaaAAAAAAY " Paige held on for dear life as her steed galloped with all speed and crashed through the kitchen door without warning. Fortunately, this only gave poor Ganglia eight simultaneous heart attacks (as opposed to the normal fifty), for just then a thunderous crash rocked the boat, canceling out a load of other cardiac arrests.

Eggs, bacon and milk sprayed all over the cabin of Dumbledore's ship.

"I. Hate. Damage control " screamed Magorian, galloping back out of the kitchen to survey the damage and damage the damage even more. Sinistra followed him, wand at the ready.

"Are you bien, mi amigo?" A man with a flamenco suit and a vibrant orange-and-black sombrero helped his huge luchador friend up with a spell as snazzy as his tuxedo. "Lucky this boat was here, really."

Dolc murmured its assent, climbing swiftly back on its enormous feet.

"What's this?" said Magorian, smiling broadly. "My adventure senses are tingling "

"Que?" said Zefir, unaware they were being watched. "Oh, look, it is a centaur "

"Centaur, centaur."

"What do you think, Dolc? Should we ask it for directions?"

"I'll be happy to point you in the right direction, boys " replied Magorian with all the eagerness of a local psychologist after a devastating and traumatizing plane crash. "Just as soon as you fix the huge dent you made in our ship, that is."

"Reparo Totalus. Really, Dolc, that's the second vehicle you've partially destroyed in under fifteen minutes "

"That's an interesting friend you've got there," said the centaur, examining Dolc's hulking form.

"I don't suppose you know any centaurs named 'Magorian,' do you?" asked Zefir.

"You're speaking to him," said Sinistra.

"Oh, is that so? Well in that case we shall have to kill you," said the Spaniard debonairly, not missing a beat. "Dolc "

"Dolc pockmark feeble centaur with imprints of fist " he bellowed, charging at the Magorian with all the force of someone who was really forceful. The half-giant was uncommonly articulate, in part due to the fact that he was also half-Gothmage.

"Protego!" The giant's blow was blocked just in time by Sinistra; the Leotards of Deflection were still badly burnt and in need of mending.

"Whoa, guys, surely we can settle this peacefully?" said Magorian, protected by her momentary force field.

Every motion Zefir made to disable the charm was blocked in kind by Sinistra.

"Dolc send centaur to see maker Dolc want test laws of entropy on face " The giant continued to bang on the shield.

"I'll get you yet, pretty The beautiful complexion of your skin will soon be matted with blood "

"Are you trying to kill me or to flirt with me ?"

"A little of both," taunted Zefir, expertly dodging one of her jinxes with his prodigious agility and rebounding yet another with a carefully-timed counterspell. "This is horseplay, my dear; perhaps, if you hand over the centaur, we can call off this silly squabble and perhaps enjoy a moonlit stroll on the beach together?"

"Why do you want him anyway?" she asked, jumping back to avoid a heat ray and nearly toppling over the rail of the boat into the sea.

"Not me, chica--the boss."

"Assassins " she yelled derisively. "Who would want Magorian's head, and why?" Even in the heat of battle Sinistra couldn't help but pause to analyze the situation.

"What are you talking about ?" snorted the centaur, rolling his eyes. "Who wouldn't want my head? It's so ruggedly handsome and manly. It would make a great addition to any home. Put it on the mantelpiece. Stick it on a Christmas Tree. Hang it by the oven." Magorian ran his hand through his hair and let out what he thought was a sexy neigh. "I've an absolutely irresistible head."

"Dolc want reconstruct your body with knuckles " The shield showed no signs of strain under Dolc's heavy wailing. "Dolc need mop floor with spine "

"You've good taste, my friend. My gentle yet sturdy backbone can double as a fixture to hang coats on "

Zefir had no trouble pirouetting to avoid another of Sinistra's attacks. "I could do this all day, you know."

"As can I " Sinistra gesticulated fiercely with her wand and sent the ship's steering wheel spinning in a graceful arc towards Zefir's neck.

"I don't think so, dama. Oh Dolc " The mariachi mage clicked his castanets and gave his liege a new order. "Be so kind as to show this little lady the door."

He did as he was told, having tired of fruitlessly bashing the force field. Instantly he lunged forward, intending to smash Sinistra's head against the door of the cabin. Ganglia jumped in the way just in time, latching onto the lumbering giant's hand like something that latches onto things really well. It was a little known fact that in Ganglia's slobber dwelled a particularly hostile strain of flesh-eating bacteria, (perhaps because the author had never disclosed it before).

"Oh, and that was such an expertly articulated hand too," mourned Magorian as his Dolc's hand fell off in chunks. "Exquisite detail, beautiful craftsmanship Would have fetched at least eighty Galleons in the Knockturn underground "

"Do not get so cocky yet, friend " Zefir whipped the sombrero off his head and a dozen swinging blades appeared at its rim. The steering wheel coming directly at him didn't stand a chance.

Dolc's hand had regenerated fully. Magorian, as unfazed as he was by the giant's uncanny ability to instantly heal as he was by the visible crack forming on his shield, put two fingers to his lips and whistled loudly.

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks.

"Good," said the chieftain, contented. "Now let's all try to settle this like adults."

Magorian paused. No one raised an objection.

"Excellent Now, see that spire out there in the middle of the ocean?"

They all looked in the direction Magorian indicated, Ganglia running up to the edge of the boat to get a better view.

"Kinda looks like an iceberg, only made of rock?"

"I see it," said Zefir.

"It's a pretty spire, isn't it?"

"Yes........" contributed Sinistra, not sure where he was going with this.

There was another long pause.

"Well, anyway," said Magorian finally, "let's eat. I'm starving."

Even the bear groaned--its master couldn't maintain a train of thought for more than four seconds.

"How about this? Me and Dolc against you and the lady. A two-on-two fight to the death..." Zefir removed his castanets and humbly set his sombrero on the floor. "...Without weapons."

"On one condition. I get to use Ganglia instead of Sinistra."

"What ?"

"Somebody needs to steer the ship."

"Why me?"

"Because Ganglia doesn't have any thumbs. Besides, he's a better at fighting in close quarters than any mage."

Sinistra huffed and spirited towards the front of the boat, fashioning a new steering wheel where the first one was. "I'll steer us towards the spire. You can fight there "

"Have I seen that spire before?" Zefir asked himself, squinting at the peculiar formation of rock jutting out of the surface of the sea. But before he knew it, he was already assuming a defensive stance on the "landberg;" after all, centaurs had a distinct advantage on higher ground.

"Ready..."

Dolc beat its chest, prepping its enormous body for combat.

"Set..."

Sinistra wiped the sweat off her face and clutched the megaphone to her again, safe on the hull of the yacht.

"Go "

A monstrous serpent burst out of the water and coiled up its spire, spraying the intruders with a violently purple electric mist.

"What the...?" Zefir deflected the spray with a baton that he'd hidden under his sleeve. Magorian took the brunt of the fog with no ill effect; his central nervous system had developed an immunity to every kind of disturbance, so he shrugged it off like nothing. The flesh torn off by the lightning regenerated quickly in Dolc, and Ganglia was agile enough to evade the 40,000-volt fog altogether and land on the boat with Sinistra.

"What is that thing?" she yelled.

"Halt " boomed a voice louder than hers from just over the horizon. "Cease at once, Falenanguilla "

The serpent, whose name was apparently "Falenanguilla," ducked back into the ocean reluctantly, and the strange mist disappeared. A flying Hummer swerved to a stop above them, and a man in a white lab coat popped out the sunroof.

"What do you think you're doing on Falenanguilla's nest? Come to steal some o' his eggs, ya stinkin' poachers? I'll show you lot what's what, you--"

But another, more familiar voice was fighting for the megaphone, yanking it from under the lab technician and speaking into it from inside the car.

"Do not be alarmed, citizens Dr. Kicker is a bit out of it today, but rest assured there were no eggs to snatch and that the spire is not private property "

"What are you talkin' about, you little..."

"They're visitors. Quit scaring off potential investors "

"They're gonna steal Falen's eggs "

"It hasn't laid any yet, you old coot "

Magorian and company simply stared in bewilderment as the fight between the scientist and whatever was in the car escalated beyond words.

"I'll have you know that it laid two just yesterday "

"You liar, you were up watching that Golden Girls marathon all day "

"It's an hilarious show I can't help loving those girls and the antics they get up to "

At this the voice in the Hummer levitated out of the sunroof to accost the scientist eye-to-eye. It was the most bizarre thing the chieftain had ever seen in his life: a floating brain with an anchor tied to its medulla.

Zefir gasped in astonishment. Everything finally clicked into place. "No... it can't be "

"What is it?" asked Magorian, trotting down and patting him on the shoulder.

"Is this... the Third Sea?"

"The one and only."

"Dolc We're following those two to the museum " If this meant anything deeper to Dolc, he sure didn't show it.

"Wait, what going on? What's this about a museum?"

"Nothing that concerns you, centaur. This target is much more valuable than the prize on your head."

The argument between the scientist and the floating brain-anchor had since subsided, and Dr. Kicker was examining one of the trespassers from his Hummer. "Mac, haven't we seen that thing before? The one over there... it looks like a cross between a Gothmage and a giant "

"Do you recall ever splicing the two?" replied Mac, the megaphone hooked to its anchor.

"Vaguely."

"Then fly down there and find out "

"I wouldn't wanna intrude..."

"You hypocrite," huffed the brain exasperatedly, "weren't you just screaming your head off about 'intruders?'"

"That ain't hypocrisy That's reaffirmin' my dislike of bleedin' intruders!"

"Whatever, just park the car on the frickin' boat and get your inquisitive ass over to that stupid spire "

Sinistra's yacht rocked as the Hummer thudded onto the ship. Magorian, Zefir and Dolc each climbed back onto the boat in an unspecified way that you shouldn't really worry about right now.

"Excuse me, sir, but who the hell are you?"

"My card."

"Eh?" Sinistra felt a business card form in her hands.

D.R. Kicker

Curator of Fab Lab # 11

Head Mageneticist of International Waters

[Sanctioned by the Ministry of Magic. No, really.]

"Mageneticist?"

"Magic geneticists. They use a combination of magic and science to mesh multiple organisms into living creatures of their own design. This is where I must have stolen Dolc all those years ago... I was only twelve years old, so I don't remember much about the break-in. Back then my raids were mostly a rush," said Zefir to no one in particular.

"I thought I'd seen that thing before " said Dr. Kicker, slamming his car door behind him from which Mac had only just slipped through without getting fatally crushed.

"So Dolc came from your laboratory?" said Magorian.

"Uh..." D.R. suddenly stopped, his haste to reach his old specimen having seemingly evaporated. "There is no laboratory. It's just a museum. The most boring museum in the world. The only exhibits are of goldfish. Really boring goldfish."

"Shut up, Kicker, you're not fooling anyone," said Mac, gazing at Magorian from behind the technician's shoulder.

"How can I possibly not be fooling them? Why would they wanna know where the laboratory was if they already knew everything about it?"

"No one's going to invest in a museum of 'really boring goldfish,' Kicker, we've been over this a thousand times "

"But I need to disguise the true identity of the laboratory, or else everyone will know I'm a phony "

Magorian and the rest were again forced to stare back and forth as Kicker and "Mac" spouted off biting remarks increasingly loudly.

"Uh, guys, not for nothing, but shouldn't we do, like, something?" aired Magorian.

"What do you mean?" said Sinistra.

"Well, I don't know if you noticed, but that giant serpent-things's back." The centaur pointed over the quarreling pair and, sure enough, there it was, poised to strike. "And also, the boat is sinking." Magorian trotted in place, and a thin of film of water spritzed to the beat of his hooves.

"The Hummer must be weighing down that side of the boat " said Sinistra, pulling out her well-worn wand. "I'll have to levitate it into the water "

"This hybrid must be another experiment " shouted Zefir. "Yes, I can see it clearly, it's a cross between a moth and an eel Worry not, there is a method to kill such beasts "

Kicker stopped screaming about how Golden Girls was indeed a legitimate documentary replete with allegory and social commentary, leaving the floating brain to moan on and on about the debt they were accumulating to thin air. For if there was thing that could make the cussing old scientist leave mid-argument, it was the threat of a grumpy sea serpent mangling his car and getting the leather seats all wet and salty.

The monster recoiled as a barrage of Conjuctivis Curses flared in its eyes. The serpent's mouth opened to unleash another jet of ionic fog when...

"STOP "

Everyone ceased what they were doing immediately. Even Ganglia and Dolc stopped playing cards on the deck of the boat.

"Listen, I think if we all just settled down and talked things through, we come to some sort of conceivable compromise here. I'll take my hummer off the boat if you promise not to inquire any further about the laboratory. I mean museum. Of goldfish. In fact, it'd be just swell if you lot just left and never came back. Deal?"

Then everyone laughed, piled into his Hummer, and careened off, zooming happily.

"What just happened?"

"I believe they all just piled into you Hummer and drove off," said Mac. "Zooming happily away. I didn't even get a chance to tell him who I was!"

"Well, they'll obviously find out in the next chapter. Man the steering wheel, Mac... we're going after them "

"But how, the car's too fast--"

D.R. gave a resounding whistle, and the serpent coiled around the boat in obeisance, heaving it along with its massive body.

"That's how," he smirked. The seabreeze lifted D.R.'s shaggy hair from his eyes, and he could see his base of operations drifting amidst the rolling waves.

I should get out more often, he surmised, enjoying the feel of the boat as it rocked back and forth..

--------------------*---------------------

"Uh... what just happened?" asked Sinistra tentatively.

"It looks as if we all spontaneously decided to swipe the car at the same time," replied Zefir, who was cramped even in the magically-enhanced interior of the SUV due to his companion's massive bulk. "Where are we-no, Dolc, we can't play blackjack right now-where are we go-yes, even if the bear taught you how to shuffle. And how did he even manage it so fast? The entire thing was mentioned in about eight words... yes, we can play later. Now, where are you taking us?"

"I'm taking you guys to that freaky scientist's lab," said Magorian, (who was overjoyed to be able to drive, since the interior of the Hummer allowed his horse-half some wiggle room). "It's where you want to go, isn't it?"

"You'd do that for us? We tried to kill you."

""I'm sure you had your reasons," he shrugged. "Besides, I want to see what it's like in there. Bet it's more interesting than goldfish."

"There it is " Sinitra pointed to her left, and everyone turned to regard the window.

"What, the cloud?" said Magorian, confused.

"No, not the cloud, look down "

"What, the cloud underneath it?"

"Look at the tower "

"Under the cloud?"

"Yes, under the cloud."

"But there's only a cloud under the cloud."

"No Underneath the cloud that's under the first cloud It's a giant freaking tower, how can you miss it? Big sign that reads 'Fab Lab 11?'"

"Oh, that tower. Why didn't you say so the first time?"

Sinistra clapped her hand to her face and shook her head. Magorian took that as his cue to shift gears and descend into an opening at the apex of the building. The centaur had just enough time to consider the strange hue the daytime moon had taken--the same color, in fact, as Racecar's mantle three chapters ago--before the hatch swung eerily shut above them.