M.Y.T.H. Inc in Action Read online

  “I see,” the troll sez thoughtfully. “Well, what do you think, little sister? You’re the only one here who was along the last time Skeeve stopped this particular army.”

  “Not quite. You’re forgetting that Gleep was there . . . and, of course, Big Julie.”

  She winks at that notable who responds with a gracious half bow. Gleep, the Boss’s dragon, raises his head and looks around at the mention of his name, then sighs and goes back to sleep.

  “’Course, I was on the other side last time,” Big Julie sez, “but it occurs to me that you got your work cut out for you this time around.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, last time we was the invaders, you know? The locals didn’t like us, even though they didn’t take much of a hand in the resistance Skeeve organized. This time, though, the army is the home team, and folks in the kingdom are pretty much behind ‘em all the way.”

  “You mean the kingdomers are in favor of the queen’s new expansion moves?” Tananda frowns.

  “That’s right,” Big Julie nods, “and when you think about it, it stands to reason. The bigger the kingdom gets, the more people there are to share the cost, so the taxes get smaller. With their taxes goin’ down with each new conquest, the citizens are positively ecstatic about the way things are going. If that weren’t enough, unemployment is at an all time low what with so many goin’ into the army, so pay scales are sky high.”

  “So Hemlock’s running a popular war, eh?” Tananda sez, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s the route for us to go. What do you think, big brother?”

  This last she directs at Chumley, who just shrugs.

  “I suppose it’s as good a place as any to start. Something about that analysis of the tax structure bothers me, though.”

  I tended to agree with Chumley, but Tananda is on a roll.

  “Save it for the financial heavyweights,” she waves. “For the time being, let’s focus on doing what we’re good at.”

  “And just what do you figure that is?” Massha interrupts. “Excuse me, but could you two run that by again slowly for the benefit of those of us who aren’t used to your brother/sister shorthand?”

  “Well, the way I see it, our best bet is to work on making Hemlock’s expansion program unpopular. I mean, there’s not much the five of us can do about stopping the army by ourselves, but if we can get the populace worked up maybe the queen will have to reconsider ... or at least slow down.”

  “We could try to kill her,” Massha sez pointedly. “True,” Tananda acknowledges, “and don’t think I haven’t given that option some serious thought. I think it’s a little more drastic than Skeeve had in mind when he sent us on this mission, though. Anyway, I think I’d like to hold that option in reserve for now, or at least until Skeeve catches up with us and we have a chance to clear it with him.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind, there’s another possibility I’d like to try.”

  “What’s that, Massha?”

  “Tell me, Big Julie, is General Badaxe still running the army?”

  “Hugh? Sure is. He’s a fast learner, that one. Remembers mostly everything I’ve taught him about runnin’ an army.”

  “Well,” Massha sez, heaving herself to her feet, “I think I’ll just wander off and try to find his headquarters. He had quite a thing for me the last time I was through. Maybe if I look him up again, I can get his mind off running the army for a while, or at least distract him enough that they won’t be quite so efficient.”

  “I say, that’s a good idea, Massha,” Chumley sez. “Speaking of the army, Guide, do you think you and Nunzio can manage to sign up for a hitch? Remembering how you stirred things up at the Acme magik factory by getting the workers to unionize, you’re the logical choice for demoralizing the troops, and that’s best done from the inside.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I sez with a shrug. “Why not?”

  “Are you okay, Guido?” Tananda asks, peering at me sudden-like. “You and Nunzio have been awfully quiet since we started out on this venture.”

  “We’re all right,” Nunzio puts in quick. “We’re just a little worried about the Boss . . . like Massha. Joinin’ the army is fine by us, if you think it will help things. Right, Guido?”

  “I said it was okay, didn’t I?” I snaps back at him.

  “So what are you and Chumley going to be doin’ while we’re playing solider?” Nunzio sez. It is obvious to me that he is out to divert the attention of the meetin’ away from the two of us, but no one else seems to notice . . . except maybe Big Julie who gives me the hairy eyeball for a minute before turnin’ his attention back to the conversation.

  “We’re going to see what we can do about stirring up the citizens,” Tananda shrugs. “Tax reductions are nice, but there are bound to be some irritating things about life under Hemlock’s new programs. All we have to do is root them out and be sure that folks see them as irritating.”

  “Do you blokes want Gleep, or shall we take him?” Chumley asked.

  “Gleep?” sez the dragon, raisin’ his head again.

  “Aahh . . . why don’t you and Tananda take him,” Nunzio sez quick-like. “Truth to tell, he made me a little nervous the last time we was workin’ together.”

  “Who? Gleep?” Tananda sez, reaching over to pet the dragon. “There’s nothing to be nervous about with him. He’s just a big sweetie and a snugglebug . . . aren’t you, fellow?”

  “Gleep!” the dragon sez again innocently while leanin’ against Tananda.

  “Good. Then you won’t mind havin’ him with you,” Nunzio smiles. “That’s settled.”

  “I suppose,” Chumley sez absently, studyin’ the dragon as he talks. “Well, I guess we might as well get started. Big Julie, do you mind if we relay messages to each other through you? Otherwise we’re going to have trouble keeping track of things.”

  “No problem,” the retired general shrugged. “To tell the truth, I figure you’re all going to have enough on your hands, so you shouldn’t be worrying about communications. I’ll be here.”

  After sayin’ our goodbyes to the others, Nunzio and I head off to try to find a recruiter for the army.

  For a long time, neither of us sez anything. Finally, Nunzio clears his throat.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think we got big trouble comin’ our way,” I sez, tight-lipped, “and I don’t mean with communications or even with Queen Hemlock.”

  “I know what you mean,” Nunzio sighs, not lookin’ around as he trudges along. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not just yet. I want a little more time to think things through. In the meantime ...” I aims a playful punch at him which, bein’ Nunzio, he takes without so much as blinkin’. “. . . let’s occupy ourselves with somethin’ easy . . . like disruptin’ an army.”

  Chapter Two

  “We want to make you feel at home!”

  L. Borgia

  “AH’D LIKE TO welcome you all to this man’s army! The first thing you should know is that we’re on a first name basis here . . . and my first name is sergeant . . . Do I make myself clear?”

  At dis, the individual so addressin’ our group pauses and glares at us. Naturally, there’s no answer, as no one is particularly eager to call attention to themselves under dese circumstantials. It seems, however, dis was not the response the sergeant had in mind.

  “Ah asked you a question!! Do you think Ah’m up here running my mouth ‘cause Ah like the sound of mah own voice?”

  It is clear that dis is a ploy to induce us new recruits into makin’ a mistake which will further anger the sergeant, as at this point he has asked not one, but two questions callin’ for opposite answers, and whatever answer is given is bound to be wrong. The other unfortunates in line with Nunzio and me seem to be unaware of this and blunder headlong into the trap.

  “YES, SERGEANT!” they bleat eagerly.

  “WHAT??!! Are ya’ll tryin’ to be funny?”

  The sergeant, w
ho I am glad I never had to compete against for a part in my old drama troupe, gives every impression of bein’ on the verge of foamin’ at the mouth and becomin’ violent to the point of injurin’ himself and anyone else in the near vicinity. Almost unnoticed, he has also asked a third question, placin’ the odds of comin’ up with an acceptable response well out of reach of the intellects in line with us.

  “No . . . Ahh” . . . “Yes, Sergeant” . . . “Ahh . . . No?”

  The attempt to shout an answer dissolves in a babble of confusion as the new recruits glance at each other tryin’ to sort out what they’re supposed to be sayin’.

  “YOU!”

  The sergeant’s voice silences the group’s efforts as he homes in on one unfortunate in the front row.

  “What are you lookin at him for? Do you think he’s cute??”

  “No!”

  “What?”

  “Ahh ... No, Sergeant?”

  “Ah can’t hear you!”

  “No, Sergeant!”

  “Louder! Sound off like you got a pair!”

  ‘NO, SERGEANT!!”

  “That’s better!”

  The sergeant nods curtly, then turns his attention to the rest of the formation again.

  Viewed correctly, dis is a fascinatin’ study in group-type dynamics. By focusin’ on one individual, not only has the sergeant let the rest of the group off the hook of tryin’ to come up with an acceptable response to his questions, he has impressed on them that they really don’t want to ever be singled out by him.

  “My name is Sergeant Smiley, and Ah will be your drill instructor for the next few days. Now, right away Ah want you to know that there are three ways of doing things in this man’s army: the Right Way, the Army way, and My Way . . . we will do things My way! Do I make myself clear?”

  “YES, SERGEANT!!”

  The group is gettin’ into the swing of things now, bellowin’ out their responses like a convention of beat cops goin’ after a jaywalker.

  “AH right now, listen up! When I call out your name, sound off loud and clear so’s I know you’re here and not off wandering around somewhere. Understand?”

  “YES,. SERGEANT!”

  “Bee!’:

  “Here!”

  “HERE WHAT?”

  The kid what has just answered is so skinny it is surprisin’ he can stand without assistance, but he licks his lips nervously and takes a deep breath.

  “HERE, SERGEANT!” he shouts, but his voice cracks in the middle of it, makin’ his declaration less than impressive.

  “That’s better,” the sergeant nods, apparently satisfied with the youngster’s effort. “Flie, Hyram!”

  “Here, Sergeant!”

  “Flie, Shubert!”

  “Here, Sergeant!”

  The sergeant looks up from his roster with a scowl.

  “Bee? Flie? What is this, a freaking Bug Convention?”

  “We’re brothers, Sarge.” one of the two Flies supplies unnecessarily, as the physical similarities between the two broad-shouldered individuals would be obvious even if their names didn’t link them.

  “That’s right,” the other put in. “You can call me Hy for short, and Shubert there would rather be called Shu, ‘cause otherwise . . .”

  “DID I ASK?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “. . . AND DONT CALL ME SIR!!! I ain’t no freakin’ officer! It didn’t take a grant from the crown to make me a gentleman . . . I was born one!! DO VOU UNDERSTAND ME???”

  “YES, SERGEANT!!”

  “Drop down and give me twenty pushups just so you won’t forget!”

  “Umm ... is that ten from each of us, Sarge, or . . .”

  “TWENTY EACH!” Smiley roared. “. . . AND ANOTHER FIVE EACH FOR CALLIN’ ME ‘SARGE’! MY NAME IS SERGEANT SMILEY OR SERGEANT, NOT SARGE OR SIR! YOU GOT THAT, TROOPER??”

  “YES, SERGEANT!!”

  “THEN HIT IT!!”

  The two brothers drop down and start pumpin’ out pushups as the sergeant turns his attention back to his list.

  “Shu Flie and Hy Flie! My aching back! My God! here’s another one! Spyder!”

  “Here . . . Sarge.”

  Smiley’s head comes up with a snap like he has been poked in the ribs . . . which, of course he has. The use of the improper address so soon after it was forbidden might have either been by mistake or from stupidity were it not for the deliberateness with which it was uttered. As it was, however, there was no mistaking it for what it was: A challenge to the sergeant’s authority . . . which is to say, stupidity.

  The challenger is a sight to behold. She probably would have stood out in the line in any case, bein’ the only female-type in our group, though one might have had to look a couple times to notice, as she stood in a habitual slouch. Her hair, however, made her a real showstopper. Cropped to a medium, mane-type length, it was dyed . . . somethin’ I do not normally speculate on regardin’ a skirt until we is on very close acquaintances, after which time I am too much of a gentleman to share such information with anyone who is not. In this circumstantial, however, I feel free to make said assumption, as hair, whether attached to a male or female-type bod, does not naturally come in that color ... or, to be entirely accurate, colors. Stripes of pink, white, blue, and green run across this broad’s head from front to back . . . and not in subtle tones. These colors glow with electric type vibrancy like they are bein’ fueled by her glower, which would be truly intimidatin’ if it were, perhaps, pasted on a homelier mug . . . like, say my own. It has been some time since Nunzio and I hung out on the streets, but it is clear the type of punks they are currently breedin’ is a strain mutated noticeably from our early days when “colorful” referred to our language, not our hair!

  “Well, well,” the sergeant sez, lickin’ his chops a bit,” what have we here? It seems we are to be a part of the army’s experimental program which is specifically testing the truth in the saying that the only thing meaner than a fighting man of Possilturn is a woman! Now I want all you men to watch your language during training. We have a laaaadyyyy in our midst.”

  From the way the skirt bristles, it is clear she is not used to bein’ referred to as a lady . . . and doesn’t care much for the idea. Smiley isn’t through with her, however.

  “Tell me, little lady, what is that you’ve got on your head? If it’s something that crawled up there and died, I hope you’ve had your shots ‘cause it doesn’t look like it was any too healthy!”

  “It’s called ‘hair,’ Sarge! What do you have on your head?”

  “It isn’t what I’ve got on my head that’s important, ‘emit,” the sergeant smiles, “it’s what’s on my sleeve!”

  He taps the stripes that mark his rank.

  “Three up, three down. You know what that means?”

  “That you’re a Master Sergeant, Sarge.”

  “Close, but no cigar. It means you owe me fifteen pushups, ‘emit, five for each time you’ve called me ‘Sarge.’ Hit it!”

  I expect the skirt to give him an argument at this, but instead she just drops down and starts pumpin’ out pushups like it’s what she has been after all along . . . and maybe it was. I don’t know what kind of breakfast-type cereal this broad patronizes, but she is doin’ a notably better job of rackin’ up her pushups than the Flie brothers.

  “One . . . Two . . . Three . . .”

  Smiley watches her for a few moments, then turns his attention to the other figures on the ground.

  “YOU TWO! I said give me twenty-five!”

  This last was, of course, directed to the Flie brothers.

  “We’re . . . trying . . . sergeant!”

  “WELL I CAN’T HEAR YOU! COUNT ‘EM OFF!.’”

  “Seventeen . . . eighteen ...”

  “YOU DON’T START COUNTING AT SEVENTEEN!! YOU START COUNTING AT ONE!!! DO YOU THINK I’M DUMB?!!”

  “No . . . sergeant! . . . One . . . two . . .”

  “Now listen up ‘
cause I’m only gonna say this once!” the sergeant barks, turnin’ his attention back to the rest of us. “When I’m talking, your ears are open and your mouths are shut! You don’t say nothin’ ‘less I ask you a question, whereupon you answer it briefly then shut up! When I want questions from you, I’ll say ‘Any questions?’! Do I make myself clear!”

  “YES, SERGEANT!

  “All right then.” He started to look at his roster again, then glanced at the struggling figures on the ground. “That’s enough, you three. Get back in line. Now then, where was I? Guido!”

  “Here, Sergeant!” I sez, ‘cause I was.

  “That’s it? Just ‘Guido?’ No nickname like Cricket or anything?”

  “No, Sergeant!”

  He waited for a few seconds to see if I was gonna add anything, but I didn’t, as I’ve always been a fast study. Finally he gives a little nod and moves on.

  “Juney!”

  “Here, Sergeant! ... but folks call me ‘Junebug.’”

  Some people, on the other hands, never seem to learn.

  “Twenty!” the sergeant sez without even lookin’ up from the roster.

  And so it went. By the time the sergeant is through checkin’ off the list of names, over half of our group has been called upon to demonstrate their physical prowess, or lack thereof, by performin’ a number of pushups, the exact count of which varies dependin’ upon the sergeant’s mood and their ability to remember to count out loud whilst performin’ this exercise. This raises some serious questions in my mind as to the average IQ of the individuals who have chosen to enlist in the army, a rather disquietin’ thought realizin’ that I am one of said individuals. In an effort to maintain a positive-type frame of mind, I reassure myself that my enlistin’ was a matter of followin’ orders rather than any idea of my own.

  “All right, LISTEN UP!” the sergeant bellows, havin’ finished with his roll call. “In about half an hour. Corporal Whittle will take you across camp and get your hair cut to conform with army standards.”