A BP&G adventure - Pockets; Heretic

[joegoda]

What a good day! Heard from loved ones, got my airconditioner fixed, chatted with chums, ate biscuits and cookies, drank Guinness. I need more days like this one. Oh! and wrote a bit, too!

Peter's eyes fluttered, rotoscoping light and blurry images to his brain. He heard a feminine voice say "I think he's starting to come around." Flicker an image of a concerned woman's face, hazel eyes wide and searching, face framed in long brown hair.

A male voice said, "I hope so." Flicker a man, tall and lanky. "I'd like to find out what's going on here."

Peter started to rise, but felt gentle hands press him back. "Not yet, Peter. Capi and Thom are seeing to your other men, but Bags and I wanted find out what happened."

Memories started to flood back into Peter's stunned mind. He felt his stomach drop again, but managed to stay conscious. He started to speak, but could only croak out rumbly noise. He opened his eyes and brown hair floated into his vision.

Grizelda had her head turned and was talking to Bags. "Hon, could you get some water?"

Peter let his eyes follow the man, Bags, and saw him go into the wagon. Through the door, he saw their living space, which oddly appeared much larger than the wagon should have held.

"Bags?" He croaked.

Grizelda turned back to Peter and nodded. "Yes. That's Bags. My husband. And I'm Grizelda."

"Grizelda?" Another croak.

"Hold on bud." Bags said, returning and carrying a camelback of water. "Drink this first, then maybe you can tell me what the heck is going on." He lifted the nipple of the bag to Peter's lips.

The water flowed over his tongue, loosening it. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"Bags. The name is Bags."

"Yes." Peter said, trying to stand. "Dear lady, I do believe I am able to stand now." He got his four legs under him with Grizelda's help and pushed himself upright. Brushing off his jacket, he continued without looking at either Bags or Grizelda. "Yes," he repeated. "You see, that is 'what the heck is going on'. The fact that your name is Bags." He lifted his eyes to look into Bags'. "And that your name is Grizelda."

"Our names caused you all to go wonky?" Bags asked, his bushy eyebrows going up.

"If by 'wonky' you mean to lose consciousness, then yes." Peter coughed. "At least for my part. I do apologize for that."

"I think it's going to take a bit more of an explanation than that." Bags said.

"Bags," Grizelda cautioned. "He's still recovering from fainting. Go easy on him, okay?"

Peter looked at Grizelda and smiled. "Thank you, dear lady, but I assure you, I am fine. And yes, this does take a bit more explanation."

Grizelda looked at the little centaur. He was holding himself very stiff and he was still sweating profusely. "Have a bit more water, Peter. I suspect that out here in the heat, in those uniforms, you are probably going to be suffering from dehydration soon." She took the camelback from Bags and handed to Peter. "Here. I suspect you would feel better if we didn't treat you like a patient, especially in front of your men."

Clearing his throat, Peter nodded. "Yes, that's very kind of you, dear lady." He took the bag and drank a large swallow from it. "And very true. As the Mayor of Overhill, I'm supposed to keep a certain... image."

Capitani, followed by Thom, came up at that point and said, "Is there any more water? The rest of the centaurs are just dying of the heat out here."

"There's plenty in the wagon, Capitani," Grizelda said. "Help yourself."

Bags turned to the wagon and called out, "Pockets! Haul your butt out here. I gotta question."

A balding and bearded head popped out of the doorway. "What's up, Bags? I'm tweaking some calibrations in here to keep our space from nudging over into Tears space."

"Is there anyway to get a bit of shade out here? It's hotter'n the blazes and there's about... umm." Bags turned to Peter. "How many of you are there?"

"About thirty, I would say. Some of the men had to stay behind and help with the harvest."

Turning back to the wagon, Bags said, "There's about thirty dried out, thirsty, three feet tall centaurs out here, and I'd like to keep them all alive so I can find out what the hell is going on."

Pockets scratched the top of his shiny head. "Yeah, I can see that." He thought a bit. "Well, we could open the canopy on this thing, but that would only get about ten or so of them under it." He thought a bit more. "I guess you could bring 'em in here, and out to the back yard. It's cooler there."

"Back yard?" Peter asked.

Bags shook his head. "No good. Would be too hard to explain to 'em. Try again."

"Well, damn." Pockets looked up at the sky, licked one of his fingers and tested the wind. "I guess I could call up a snowstorm."

"Snowstorm?" Peter asked.

"NO!" this from Grizelda. "That's what got us here in the first place."

"Huh." Pockets pondered ponderously. "A few clouds, then? I might be able to do that."

"Absolutely not." Grizelda menaced, arms crossed. "No monkeying with the weather at all period ever. Try again."

"Ponder, ponder." Pockets thought and thought. Finally, "I guess the only reasonable answer is to go to their place. Other than that, I got nothing." He shrugged and turned back to his calibrationous tweakings.

Grizelda shrugged back at nobody, turned to Peter and said, "How about it, Peter? Willing to take us to where you live?"

Trying to absorb the staggering and rapid-fire discussion that took place, Peter shook his head to get it back in place on his neck. "Um. Er. What? Oh, yes! I'm sorry. Of course, that would be the perfect solution. Why don't we all assemble in Overhill?"

He turned to face his men, who was being ministered to by Capitani and Thom. "Gentlemen!" he called out. "We are going to fall out and proceed to Overhill. These fine people will be our guests." He cleared his throat. "I want to caution each and every one of you to not reveal their names to anyone you meet in town." A bit of grumbles came from the men. Peter raised his hands, placating. "Their names need to remain secret until we confirm their identities. We don't want to cause the same sort of incident that happened here, do we? It just will not do to have people fainting all over the place, will it?"

Peter gazed at the assembled army until they all, to the last man, nodded and agreed.

"Well and good, then," he nodded as he turned back to Grizelda. It is just a short jaunt, a few miles eastward of here." He nodded towards the wagon. "Will you be riding in the wagon, or shall you be joining us on foot?"

Grizelda looked at Bags and said, "I think I'd rather ride in the wagon, if there's a choice."

Bags nodded and called to the wagon. "Pockets, do you think this thing will get us a few miles east of here? We've been invited to their place."

Pockets' head popped out of the doorway. "Will there be food?"

Bags looked at Peter, who said "Of course. I imagine there will be a feast of some sort eventually. We don't get many guests, especially of your caliber."

"I'll ask you to explain that in a minute, Pete." Bags said. "Yeah, there'll be food, you goofball."

"Good!" Pockets smiled broadly. "I mean, I like what we have here, but still... different is the adventure, you know! Besides, it means that Griz won't have to cook." His head disappeared, and then popped back. "Oh! The answer is yes. Springs are all wound, tweaks are all tweaked and we're ready to roll when ever you are." He looked out the door towards the front. "Just let me get the thing turned around." He closed the door.

Without barely a sound, just the squeaking of rolling wheels and a gentle twanging, the wagon backed up a bit, turned to the east and stopped. Looking at the back of the wagon, Peter could see that it was most certainly not wide enough to contain all that he seen inside.

"Might I ask you a question about your wagon?" He asked, gently.

"Depends." Bags said. "What's the question?"

"How large is it, on the inside? It looked to be much larger than it could possibly be."

"Um." Bags began, and then thought about the answer. "How much do you know about quantum stuff?"

"Nothing? Why?"

Bags shrugged, "Pretty much what I know about it, too. Tell you what, though, Pete. When we get to your little village, I'll let Pockets explain it. I can't promise that you'll understand it, though."

"Pockets is the one who built it?" Peter asked.

"Yep. He's the guy. I would imagine that if you have heard of Griz and me, that surely you've heard of Pockets, though."

Peter thought briefly, and then said, "I've heard the name, but I admit that it doesn't mean much to me. I believe he's a minor player in the story about you and Grizelda, that I'll explain once we get to Overhill."

"There's a story about us?" Grizelda asked.

"Pockets is a minor player?" from Bags.

"Oh yes!" Peter said, nodding energetically. "A wonderful story of heroics and miracles. You see, you and Bags are something of cult heroes in Overhill. As an example, you, Grizelda, have your own sect of followers."

Grizelda's face registered surprise. "What?" she exclaimed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Followers? Like a... religion?"

"Oh, nearly so." Peter said. "They are dedicated to the tenets of healing and ministering to the needy. It's because of the miracle, you see."

"Miracle?" If her face registered surprise before, now it was showing surprise and confusion. "What miracle?" She turned to Bags. "I don't remember doing any miracles. Did I?"

"Not that I remember, honey." Bags shrugged, looking as confused as Grizelda. "What miracle, Pete?"

"The miracle of raising the dead, of course!" Peter looked at the two of them, curiously. "Are you sure your names are Bags and Grizelda? You did come from the kingdom of Tears, yes?"

"That's us, all right." Grizelda said. "We are... or were, maybe, king and queen of Tears. I prefer the name Tears of Joy... but apparently nobody else does." She shot a look at Bags, who pointedly ignored her. Deciding to not book him on the guilt trip, she turned back to Peter and said, "But I don't think I've raised the dead."

"It's the story..." Peter looked back at his men, who were pawing the ground, restlessly. "It's a story that can wait until we are back in Overhill. There I'll have our storyteller tell you the tale that was told to us years ago. Perhaps that will clear up any misconception and misperceptions we have."

"All right." Grizelda pouted. "I'll wait if I have to. But I really don't remember raising the dead."

"It's okay, dear," Bags said, consoling her. "Maybe it's something we've forgotten because of something that Pockets did. Who knows?" He turned to Peter. "What about me? What's my role?"

"You, Bags, are a warrior." Peter explained. "And you are not just any warrior, but a great and mighty warrior who has the Gods on his side and single-handedly fought an army to overthrow the evil king of Tears, assumed the throne yourself, to rule benevolently and restore justice to your people."

"Um." Bags said. "That's not quite how it went. There was an evil chancellor in there, not an evil king."

"Oh!" Grizelda exclaimed, raising her hands to her mouth. "That raising of the dead!"

"And it wasn't quite single-handed." Bags said. "I had help."

"As I said, it will all be explained once we reach Overhill. There will be plenty of time for discussion later." He began to turn away, only to be stopped by Grizelda.

"Wait, Peter," She said. "You said these were stories you were told."

"That's right."

"Who told them to you?"

"A group of traveling performers who came through here, much as you have. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to join my men." With that, he galloped away.

"Traveling performers?" Grizelda wondered. Turning to Bags, she asked, "You don't suppose..."

"Who else?" He answered. "Queen's Gamboni musta come through here. Come on, before we lose them." He grabbed Grizelda's hand and pulled her to the wagon. "I want to hear the story; I'll bet it's a doozy." Flinging open the door, he called to Pockets. "Let's get this thing rolling, chum. Follow those centaurs!"