Vicious Magick (14 page)

“Hey, bartender, we need to get into that
temple up on the mountain. How do we go about doing that?”

“Don’t know why you’d want to go in there.
Those Nasonic monks are all a bunch of nutters. Anyway, about ten
years ago they stocked up on enough rice and beer to last an entire
century and shut themselves up in there for good, to await the
return of some prophet or something. Nobody goes in or out.”

“So, if nobody can get in or out, how’s their
messiah supposed to get in?”

“Well, the way I understand it, that’s the
point; he was kind of a bastard. Killed thousands in the name of
some god or another. When he was finally being lowered into the
volcano, he swore he’d come back. So those guys, those Nasonic
monks built a fortress and they hide in it in case he makes good on
his promise.”

“That’s a shame,” Novanostrum said, “we
really need to speak to a Nasonic monk.”

“Would an ex-monk do? I hear there’s one at
the Mayor’s mansion right now.”

The Grand Pontiflex

The Grand Pontiflex is the head of the
Crucifist Church. The position itself is an office filled by the
person elected by the Grand Crucifist Council composed of every
Priester and Plus-Priester in Upper Kleighton. A new Grand
Pontiflex is chosen upon the death of the former. In theory, any
member of the Crucifist church is eligible to become a
candidate.

In practice, candidates always have a rank of
Regional Plus-Priester or higher.

The butler leads them into Slotterhaus’
office, where a red-faced Madra is protesting about something.

“I refuse to be your concubine,” she says,
“I’m a QUEEN. With a few words, I could have this little backwater
burgh burned to ashes.”

“Hey, Madra,” Zanther mumbles.

Sitting behind his desk, Slotterhaus regards
his new guests’ tattered clothes briefly, and focuses his attention
back on Madra.

“I don’t see any soldiers around here, girl.
Aside from my own, I mean.”

Novanostrum chooses this moment to interject,
“Mister Slotterhaus, yeah? We’re looking for an ex-monk we were
told might be around here. Also, just for the record, she
is
a queen, albeit a really bitchy one.”

“Well, beggar, how about this. You convince
her to stay here, and I’ll tell you where you can find this
monk.”

“Novanostrum!” Madra shouts, “Burn this place
to the ground!”

Zanther, still drunk and confused, says,
“Shouldn’t we get out of it first? Yeah?”

Slotterhaus nods at the butler, and a few
soldiers appear in the doorway. Novanostrum looks at them, then at
Slotterhaus.

“Listen, buddy. I’ve had one hell of a bad
day so far. First it was these lizard people trying to eat me, then
it was this temple full of lunatics, and add to that the fact that
I’ve got a hormonal whore-queen screaming at me. Now there’s this
bald little pimple of a man,
you
, threatening me with your
toy soldiers. I feel a headache coming on. You know what happens
when a wizard gets a headache?”

As he says this, the drapes catch fire and
the walls start shaking. Slotterhaus reevaluates the situation.

“You know, I think we got off on the wrong
foot there, all of us. I’ll open a tab for you at the pub, I’ll
send the monk out to meet you, and you can all stay here as my
guests tonight. I’m sure you’ll want to be on your way tomorrow,
yes?”

“Absolutely,” Zanther says.

The Dodecker

Upper Kleighton’s preferred unit of currency
is the dodecker. It’s a small golden coin, denominated to be worth
one-twelfth of a goat. Since it’s inconvenient for most Upper
Kleightonians to walk around with a herd of goats, wealth is
measured in dodeckers.

Once, an aspiring economist studying at the
Universitorium went on a goat-killing rampage to prove a theory
that his money would be worth more if there were fewer goats. His
theory proved correct, resulting in massive deflation and hard
economic times for over a dodecade.

He was expaled for his efforts, and many
scholasts dropped out of the Universitorium to take up
goat-herding.