To Defy Doom

To Defy Doom: Act 1: The Dominoes are Stacked

By Peragrine Wanderthistle. August 2016. (I'll get an exact date when it says so on the Boards.)

Prologue:

| | | | | | | | | | | | | |

Booted feet marching awake Peragrine enough to open his eyes. He hears the metal doors opening and closing thunderously, and quite soon they pass by Peragrine's alcove. He sees all of the armored guards roughly escorting a nervous prisoner in fine apparel, who was apparently trying to negotiate a deal, as they half carried- half dragged him along. He had peppery gray hair, and was pathetically thin compared to the minifigures around him. He seemed too refined for his surroundings. Before Perry could find anything else interesting about him, he was out of sight, past the archway. He drifted back to sleep to the fading sounds of the heavy metal doors clanging open and shut...

| | | | | | | | | | | | | |

Chapter One: Transition.

***Moments ago***

In a cell not too distant from Peragrine's cell, in terms of feet, though in all other respects, it could just as well been in space for all the steel and stone set between them, sat a older gentleman.

This older gentleman had the luxury of not being bound to a table. Alas, he was not aware of his blessings, as compared to others. He was, in fact, cursing his bad luck as he sat on a cot, with a few blankets stacked upon it.

He was fully dressed in filthy finery fit for a fancy dinner. His hair, though dirty, still shined in places where silver-gray strands stuck out. His facial hair, also black and white, was slightly untrimmed, and had some red furrows on the skin underneath where he had apparently itched and scratched it... This man was un-used to his beard. His hands, thin and frail, were gripping the side of the cot.

"What I would not give for a simple slab of butter and bread!" he muttered to himself. "How hard is it to avoid the generic porridge they serve here? I will simply shrivel away if they do not come by with something other than that watery goop!" The old man lifted his knobby knees to his pointed chin, and curled up, as he stared accusingly at the wooden bowl and cup on the floor, which contained a half-eaten portion of poor porridge, and plain, clear water.

"And they still haven't gotten me a decent drink!" He thought irritably. "Honestly, you'd think by now, they'd know I won't tolerate this sort of treatment!"

As he began to formulate a flowery speech to impress the guards when they came back, to get himself a more respectable drink, some distant thumping of heavy boots interrupted his thoughts.

He had been in these dungeons long enough to know the noises certain groups made. This was a large group, so they were probably escorting someone. He hoped it wasn't an escort for him...

Had they really broken the others?

Would they really try to torture HIM??

What would he do???

Would it hurt????

The door to this segment of the hallway opened to reveal a dozen or so armored guards as they filed in, and stopped outside his cell. They looked at him with a strong purpose...

The last one of them, dressed no different than the rest, came through the doorway, into his section of the main hall, and began unlocking the cell door with a bundle of keys. He spoke without making eye contact with the prisoner Gentleman.

"Sir Jean-Claude Silverstine. You are summoned to meet the Grand 1st Warden Maleisus. "

Chapter 2: The Big Deal

Jean-Claude was roughly shoved to his knees by his escort. He was on the verge of panic. What was to happen next, he did not want to know. So he stayed where he was. Frozen, staring at the floor. The cold, stone-gray floor. But his other senses told him more than he wanted to know. There was the smell of sweat, and of something burnt. The air tasted thick and stuffy. He could hear soft footsteps coming closer, and a low humming. Then he saw a shadow come over him. Lastly, a voice spoke.

"Hoist him up on the table." The voice said in a sibilant accent that the well-read Jean-Claude recognized as Eastern.

"No! Please! Please, revered Warden!" pleaded Jean-Claude, as he was forced to move. He looked up, and indirectly into the face of the Warden.

The Warden was indeed Oriental. He had those tilted 'cats eyes'. They were a brown so dark that, with a bit of runaway imagination, Jean thought those eyes were all black. His black Mustache drooped just below his chin, while his hair was long for a man's and went just shy of his shoulders. He seemed to be hiding a smirk.

"I'll-- I'll do anything!" the prisoner stammered, as the guards began strapping him onto the tilted table.

The Warden raised a dubious eyebrow.

The Guards pinned Jean's arms to his chest, secured the strap. He felt he couldn't breath.

"Anything at all!" he yelled, as he helplessly flailed his unsecured waist and legs. The guards began silently wrestling the second of the three straps around his middle.

The Warden's smirk fully revealed itself, but he simply stared at Jean-Claude.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!?" wailed Jean, with what he was sure his last breath, as a guard began tightening the first strap around his chest.

The Warden blinked lazily. Like a cat. He had read this coward already. He just had to wait.

"I'LL TELL YOU AN-"

"Aw Shut'tap!" barked the guard, yanking a few extra inches more on the chest strap, in hopes of making Jean do just that.

Suddenly, the guard was propelled out of Jean's sight by Violet arcs of lighting shot out of the Warden's gloves, launching the vociferous guard against the back wall with a terrible crash of armor.

As The Interrogator moved forward swiftly, the other guards filed out silently and efficiently, leaving their comrade smoking and unconscious against the far wall.

Jean Claude eyed the bulky gloves, their high whine from being used, dying down to it's usual hum. A decidedly deceptive white noise, thought Jean. But he did not have any more time to observe that, for in the next moment, his entire vision was encompassed by the face of his interrogator!

Jean Claude's terror knew no limits as the Interrogator loomed over him.

"Please, my Leige! I'll- I'll tell you anything!!! ANYTHING AT ALL!!!

"I am NOT your liege." Barked the Warden.

"Pardon! A thousand apologies, Master Warden! I only assu-"

"We are all merely humble servants of King thedude. As am I. As are you. As is everyone on Morcia. And beyond." Instructed the Warden. 

 "Well, what shall I call you then, if not Leige, or Master?" Jean-Claude asked tremulously.

"You," the Warden regarded Jean, "You may call me by my name. Maleisus."

 "Very well, Maleisus. I am glad we can be... Civil." Jean said, with more hope than certainty.

"Indeed. Your relations were much more... difficult."

"Stubborn?"

"To the last."

"Even young Peter?"

"Even the boy."

"Ah. That's a shame. He was a good lad."

"Oh, he didn't smash." clarified the Warden. "He simply lost his mind. He's somewhere around here, constantly muttering 'Nothing, nothing, nothing,' "  he recalled, tossing his hands in the air, repeatedly, mimicking.

 Not knowing how to respond to such callousness, Jean-Claude simply blinked, shuffled his unsecured right foot, and replied, "Ah."

"But as for you," remarked the Warden, turning back to Jean. "You do not need to share their fate."

"Indeed not! I am very interested in keeping my head, in every sense of the phrase!"

" Very good." Purred Maleisus. "Now, divulge!"

"Well, what do you want to know first?" asked Jean-Claude, beginning to feel more in control. Bargaining was something he was familiar with.

"Oh, anything.  A family genealogy, a history, a location of some rebel base... It doesn't matter much. Just something to show you're genuine." Suggested Maleisus. He too, was finding this refreshing, compared to his usual trading of barbed remarks and pulling of teeth.

 Jean-Claude thought fast.  What would they find interesting in the Mountains?

"The Secret tunnels!  There are secret tunnels all throughout the mountains! Some say they were dug by dwarves, but we-"

"Oh, we know about the tunnels."

"Yes, yes, I know you do. Your Barney-Bots followed me in there, but I bet you don't have a MAP!"

"We do.  Our Bots mapped it all. With Sonar. Even the secret rooms.  The completed diagram makes for a pleasing 2D and 3D design. I intend to have it embroidered into a tapestry."

"Oh."  Jean-Claude didn't know what Sonar was, but the way Maleisus said it, he obviously needed a new  bargaining chip.

"The Silverstine Vault! That is where all our greatest secrets are!  I can tell you the key, and - "

"There was a key? How amusing. We already cracked it open. With Lasers."

Jean-Claude didn't know what Lasers were either, but he did not doubt the power of thedude, or his minions.

"Did us little good, though," continued Maleisus, "All of the information was written in a most bizarre dialect.  Our best scholars, computers, and translation matrixes couldn't make heads or tails of it. It defied all of thedude's vast resources." He stroked his drooping moustache, remembering the frustratingly futile nights spent trying to decipher the parchments.

"What?  That- That's PREPOSTEROUS! Why, I wrote all that myself! In the venerable Olde Speech!!!" barked an outraged Jean-Claude. "How dare someone doodle gibberish all over my life's work?! Why I-"

Maleisus snapped his head around, "Old 'Peach'? What is this you speak of?"

"'Olde Speech' my friend! Tis a beauteous and nigh forgotten language, known only to a few echelons of Men..."

"What in the name of..." Maleisus was speechless. His prisoner was now monolouging in some alien dialect.

"...For VERILY, the boon of Olde Speech is surely not a natural bestowment unto Men. We must peradventure to learn it!  But alas, and forsooth! These learn'ed men hath not retained their honor; Yea, they hath not taught the next generation of this beauteous Speech and it's many fantastical ways.  Myself included.  Lo! It doth bringeth us to this sad state of affairs, wherein ye stareth at me, as unto a loon. . . "

Maleisus was indeed staring, with all abandonment of civility.

"...Tis Unbecoming," Finished Jean-Claude.

Maleisus now glared perceptively at Jean, who was smiling, having shown off his 'learn'edness'.

". . . You said you wrote all of the Vaults contents in this... 'Olde Speech'?" asked the Warden, a plan formulating.

"Of course! I was the bookkeeper!"

"Do you believe yourself capable of translating it into modern English?"

"Well... Yes, I suppose..." Jean said, feeling yet again unsure...

"Or I could just leave you here to rot for a few y-"

"OF COURSE I CAN! I'D LOVE TO TRANSLATE ALL OF MY FAMILY SECRETS FROM OLDE SPEECH INTO ENGLISH FOR YOU! JUST GET ME OUT OF THIS FORSAKEN PLACE!!!!!!!"

Maleisus smiled maliciously.   The Knights of the Olde Speech would no longer have any privacy. His Lord thedude would now have a personal translator... And a fluent and servile one at that!

Chapter 3: The Facade of Freedom

*Many Years Later*

Jean-Claude awoke to the sounds of birdsong.  Rising up out of his 4 post bed, he set his feet into soft fuzzy sheepskin slippers.  Standing up, he nipped into his houserobe, for it was rather chilly this morning. Autumn would be short at Mount Thunderclap this year.  Which was rather ridiculous, since Mount Thunderclap was a active Volcano....  Nevertheless, it was cold, and Jean wrapped the robe tightly around his pajamas. Then he turned to his nightstand, and addressed the two songbirds in their birdcage that sat upon it.  

"Good Morning my friends! Homer, Lucy. Rather brisk, isn't it?" 

The birds twittered pleasantly in reply.

"Let me see to your breakfast!"

Jean opened the drawer to the stand. Inside there was a bin of birdseed and a scoop, among other things.  Jean used the scoop to pick up some seed, and filled Homer and Lucy's tin bowl full of seed.  The happy bird couple grew silent as they gathered around their repast.  

"Now to see about my own breakfast!" he said, stepping off towards the kitchenette of his small apartment, to make some tea.  However, he was detoured by the sound of the doorbell.

The door began to open as a man dressed in aide's uniform backed in, pulling a large and unwieldy service cart through with him.  Jean went to help, and held it open. 

"Good morning, Mr. Silverstine. I have your breakfast here." The man intoned, as he wheeled the cart in. He had unremarkable brown-blonde hair, and marsh green eyes.  "

"Carson! It's food, er, good to see you!" Jean said jovially.

"You see me every day, sir." said Carson. 

"And I'd miss you if I didn't!" declared Jean. 

"That's rather sad, sir." Muttered Carson, as he moved the cart into the kitchenette, alongside the dinner table. 

"Do you have any paperwork for me today, Carson?" asked Jean-Claude, somehow hovering over both Carson and the food cart simultaneously.

"No, not today, "replied Carson, beginning to transfer silver platters to the table. "Did you finish that let- er, that Paperwork from yesterday?"

"Yes... But it was rather strange. There was no signature." Jean recalled.  "There's always a signature. Olde Speech writers always leave a signature. It's part of the whole... nuance."

"Sounds ridiculous."

"actually, I think it has to do with honor, or something like that. You know, owning up to your words. 'Your word is your bond!' and all that nonsense." Said Jean, imitating a pompous knight.

"Well, maybe he got lazy." Suggested Carson, paying attention to the breakfast setup. 

"Lazy people text." 

"Then maybe he was rushed."

"He?" asked Jean-Claude, catching on to new information.

"Um, Well, I assume it's a he," stammered Carson, unable to hide his rapid mental backpedaling. 

"Carson, why did you give me a copy, instead of the original letter? Why can't I know whom it's from? What's so impo-

Carson's face contorted into a thousand angry lines, as he heavily set a tray back down on the Cart. Without looking at Jean, he growled:

"Mr. Silverstine.  There are some things that are best left unknown, OK? You have that luxury. along with aaaaalll these other luxuries you've accumulated over the years.  Keep it. Keep them."

There was a heavy silence between the two.

Then, as there were no further questions coming from Jean, Carson practically tossed the final platter onto the table. 

" I've got other meals to deliver. Enjoy," he muttered, as he carted his way out.

Jean-Claude didn't feel like breakfast anymore.

(=|=)

Interlude I

Peragrine awoke to the sound of the iron doors opening and closing, becoming louder as whomever it was came closer and closer to his section of the corridor.   Curious, he listened for footsteps, but couldn't hear any...

"So it's not soldiers" he reasoned quietly, "They make an awful racket with their steel boots." He was so worn that he couldn't even think aloud, as he always did.

As the noise increased, so did his curiosity, to the point where he decided it would be worth the effort to look around.

So he opened his eyes. 

His vision was bleary.  There were strands hanging from the ceiling, and the light was unbearable, making him tear up something awful. 

"I just want to SEE!" he thought, with as much force as he could muster.

In reaction to this strong thought, there was a tugging sensation inside of him, and he felt very empty. However, his vision cleared significantly, and he was able to recognize the strands in front of him as ... Hair.

Apparently, Peragrine had grown bangs. With a detached sense, he wondered HOW LONG had he been here.... To grow BANGS? 

This was very interesting, but his attention was diverted by a minifigure entering his alcove.  

It was Menaya Kull, and she clutched a clear white gem in her hand, brilliant, and nicely cut.

"What are you doing?" asked Perargine, but it remained only a thought.

She wasted no time in passing right by the prisoner, going behind him. He heard her tinkering with something behind him, and then it stopped, and he heard her say something like "Very good."  Then she walked back into his field of view. Her left hand was in her pocket, which had a green luminescence leaking out of the fabric. She exited the cell, and left back up the corridor the way she had come.  Once again, the iron doors signaled their opening and shutting, opening and shutting, opening and shutting....

She had never once looked at him.

Suddenly, there was a twinge in Peragrine's back, and a unstoppable tidal wave of fatigue assaulted him.  He was washed back to the land of dreams.

Chapter 4: Ignorance is Bliss

After the debacle with Carson that morning, Jean-Claude didn't feel up to doing anything. So he didn't.  He just sat in his armchair, bundled tight in his robe and a throw against the cool fall air.

But that only made him feel worse, because sitting around doing nothing made him think.  And all he could think about was what Carson had said, which Jean decided could be summarized as, "Ignorance is Bliss." 

Jean-Claude didn't like his ignorance. It sure didn't feel like bliss! He slouched in the armchair and shuddered as his ankles were exposed to the chilly morning air.

"And yet, he calls ignorance a luxury!" he thought with a huff, adjusting the throw over his legs. 

Jean looked around all his 'other luxuries' Carson had mentioned.  He certainly had acquired a few over the years. As perhaps the only Olde Speech translator in the service of thedude he considered himself due a new luxury or distraction every once in a while. A decent 4 post bed with a cushy mattress had been the first of many.  Lucy and Homer the birds were another, in place of some hideous invention called a digital alarm clock. . ..

Of course, there were other, more useful 'luxuries' too. Ones that helped in his translation work, to better serve his benefactors. Like books, encyclopedias, and other such reference tools.  Eventually, he had needed a better place to store them, like a bookshelf or two, so they had gotten a carpenter to come up and build that, along with anything else Jean wanted in the bargain.  That was how he had acquired a lot of the wood furniture, like the dinner table, or his beautiful workdesk, on which he had carved a large quantity of the designs himself. Though the hired carpenter had done the messy finishing details... 

Why, the apartment itself was a luxury! Jean remembered the dealings he and Maleisus had gone back and forth on to land this agreement. Looking around his apartment, this space he had made his very own... he liked it very much

"But it's still a prison." Muttered a dark voice in his mind, as his eyes alit on the unused coat-rack next to the door he could never open. 

"True, but it's pointless to consider the alternatives," reasoned Jean-Claude to himself.

" Disassembly, like your brother? Or worse, insanity like your nephew?" 

The unbidden memory of Peter's tormented screams echoed in his mind.

"AAAAAAAAHHHH!!! NOTHING! NO-THING!"

Jean-Claude shivered uncontrollably.  Suddenly, he leaped out of his seat, eyes wide. 

"I know what this place needs!"  he exclaimed.

"CARPET!"

Bounding over to his workstation, he began scanning the bookshelves that lined all of the 3 walls of the room, save for where a window, his workdesk, or the entrance were.  Jean-Claude was searching for a particular book. A book no self-respecting gentlefig's library would ever be without. No matter how large or small.  Jean-Claude was looking for... 

 The Yellow Pages.

"Aha! Here it is!" he crowed, plucking it from it's place on a lower shelf. Wiping the miniscule amounts of dust that had accumulated since he had  last cleaned, he set the book down on his easeled Writing Desk, and began flipping through the pages. 

"Carpeters.. Carpet... Where would that be?"

It took a few minutes, but he eventually found 'Flooring' under 'Home Improvement'.  Scanning the list, his attention was caught by a particular 'J.C. Merchants.'

"Oh! How quaint! It's my initials! J.C.!" he exclaimed, delighted. "If only they were Suppliers, then it would be my full initials." he mused, tickled pink.

It didn't take much else to convince the minifigure that these were the folks he was looking for.

There was just one last itty-bitty problem.

He needed a phone.

(\\\\}======>

Interlude II

Peragrine awoke to nothing in particular, this time. That was weird.

He opened his eyes and looked around.  He saw the grey stone. Felt the cold chill. Heard the relative silence. "Not even the classic dungeon  drip-drip!" he thought sullenly. Just the stone, and the cold, and the silence. Stone-Cold-Silence, yo" he giggled.

"Hey, that's a saying, isn't it? That's a saying, from... Somewhere. Out there. In existence. . .  Not here. . . "

"Nothing ever happens here..."

"You know, this is like that time on Sav when MisDirection banished me to that pit."

"I wonder... Did I ever figure out who put her up to that? "

"Eh, it must not of been just one fig, or even just herself... It must have been a collection of minifigures that had her do it. She doesn't do anything without some sort of gain...

Oh, MissDirection. She misdirected me... Shame on her for that double-cross.

I wonder, how did I ever escape that pit?

Well, I wasn't pinned to a table, for one...

My nose itches.

...What's a nose?

...Who knows.

Having no other immediate thoughts, Peragrine once again resigned himself to the fatigue. 

      ||||||||||||||||||     

Chapter 5: Telecommunications

"You want a WHAT?" exclaimed Carson as he accepted Jean-Claude's paperwork, which he had forgotten that morning in his abrupt exit.  He slipped it into a slot on the service cart.  

"A phone! To call some folks to install carpet in here, before winter sets in and it gets terribly drafty." Bemoaned Jean, passing the back of his hand along his forehead.  He glanced at Carson. 

He was getting a sardonic look from the man.

Carson sighed. "Well, what if we called them for you, like we did with the carpenter guy for your bookshelves?"

Jean thought about it for a moment.  "I suppose that would work. But I'd very much appreciate it if you called these folks in particular!" he said, running off to get the phone book "They have just the right kind of patterns I'm looking for. Persian!"

Carson groaned. "Why me? Why did I agree to take care of all these high-class prisoners?" he muttered to himself.

After getting Carson to write down the number for J.C, Merchants, and assurance that it'd be resolved with reasonable speed, Jean bid a frazzled Carson adieu, and sat down to Supper. 

(\\\}=====>

After finishing his rounds with the other High-Profile Prisoners, Carson made his way to the Warden's Office.  He had to take care of Mr. Silverstine's carpet nonsense. 

A few hallways and one elevator  later, Carson stood outside a large steel door, with a small screen and red button next to it.  He pressed the button, and as a result, the small TV lit up, showing the Warden from a desktop view.

"Yes, who's there, and state your business." Barked the voice of the Grand Warden, Maleisus. He was focusing on his writing, not the camera.

"Warden, it's me. Someone wants to use the phone." 

The Warden looked away from his paper, and at his end of the video-link. "Carson. Why didn't you just say so? Come in." he pressed a button below the view of the screen, and it went blank. A moment later, a buzz was heard, followed by the sound of heavy weights shifting.  The steel-gray door swung inward slowly, and Carson shoved it along, heavy as it was.

Once he had cleared its radius, the door began to swing back with a faint mechanical hum. As it closed with a light clang, two thick metal bars slid into their places in brackets across the top and bottom of the door.  But Carson did not stay to watch all that. He had seen it before, as well as the rest of this Foyer. There was no furniture, save for a  empty, white, secretarial desk and a waiting-room style chair. On either side of the room behind the desk, there was a door set into an alcove

Carson passed by the desk, and entered the door on the right.

In this inner room, there were no windows, but it was well lit, seeing as how the ceiling was all white fluorescent lights, like the ones you would see at a dentist's office, or a hospital. 

The walls were covered in papers, corkboards, posters, even two very large screens. Whatever the medium was, it displayed information. Wherever wall was visible, it was whitewashed. In the center, along the back wall, sat Maleisus at his large, but simple oak desk. His flat desktop was not clean. It looked chaotic, with thin stacks of papers, a single tablet, and 2 calculators, one of then spitting receipt paper as he tacked in equations from a scroll he read. However, if one had the chance to observe for a uninterrupted minute, one would notice Maleisus had a place for everything; He just didn't bother to label and organize every aspect of it. There was a profound lack of knick-knacks, pictures, or even snacks. 

Truly, this inner room was either the lair of a workaholic, or the haven of a dutiful servant of thedude. 

"You said someone wanted to use the phone. Who?" inquired Maleisus, not looking up from his calculations.

"Your 'buddy-buddy'," Carson said, making air-quotes. This elicited a warning look from Maleisus, but Carson ignored it. "Mr. Silverstine." He clarified. "He wants some carpet installed. He needs the phone to call a certain company who have the right patterns he wants to look at for the rest of his life."

 "Jean? We have nothing to fear from Jean.  He has no will to escape.  " remarked the Warden. Go ahead and get the tapped line from under the front desk, we'll do this now. This should be most amusing."

Carson shrugged and turned to go and get the phone, when he was stopped mid-step by a strong change in tone from Maleisus. 

"Carson," he said, low and dangerous. "I am 'buddy-buddy' with certain prisoners because it is the most effective way to maintain their usefulness to our master, King thedude. I really couldn't care less for any of them, save for the fact that they have some way to advance my Liege-lord's Kingdom.  Remember, we are all mere servants of his Eminence, garnering his favor by advancing his influence. You would do well to remember this, for if you do, one day you could rise to greatness. Perhaps even greater than I. Prove you are more than the slacker you appear to be, and you will be rewarded.  Power is given to those who take it. "

Carson listened to his superior's words, halted in mid-step. When Maleisus had finished, Carson scoffed, and continued his stride, carrying himself out of the office. 

Maleisus sat back down in his padded 4 legged chair. Perhaps it was time to review Carson's loyalties and productivity.  He was a viable traitor to add to the watchlist. . .

Interlude III

Peragrine had just finished having a lovely dream, about Grandma.

He didn't have a Grandma, that he knew of, but that wasn't the point. The point was that the Grandma had made the most delicious sweets in the whole Fairytale Forest!  And it had been a lovely dream, filled with sweets, and tastes, and cute rabbits, and red-hooded delivery girls, and mysterious wolves and...

Well, it was over now. He was awake.

 He knew this because he saw... inky blackness,   Rather, he had his eyes closed. 

"Oh, but what's the point?" he thought.  "If I open my eyes, it's not like I'll see anything different. Just... Grey, instead of black. Big Whoop. No, better to IMAGINE something else is there..." 

Smiling to himself, he imagined... that leaning against the far wall was a giant cookie... No! Even better! That the wall ITSELF was made out of Cookie Dough! And all he had to do to pass the Crazy Cookie Contest was eat through the wall before the Big Bad Wolf! Yes! But there was one problem. The bakers had announced that there would be no Milk to be had with this cookie dough!  Because Milk was not served in a dunge-  Oh dear.

Peragreine had reminded himself of his reality. He had reminded himself of the Dungeon.

Sighing, he opened his eyes.

But to his surprise, he was NOT in the dungeon!  Instead, he was standing, free of any restraint, and about a yard away was a wall of Cookie Dough, underneath a festively adorned Stone archway!  On either side, some bleachers extended from the towers the arch bridged, and all sorts of creatures and citizens cheered from there! All of this was on a white expanse, that had no end! 

 A turtle stood up on his seat near the top of the left bleachers, and yelled "Go B.B.W!"

"Yeah-ha!" replied a gruff voice next to Peragrine. He looked to his left, and up.

There was the Big Bad Wolf, in a runner's Tank top.  The Wolf gave the turtle a thumbs-up, as he jogged in place. Then he turned and looked down at Perry. 

"Watcha think, Kiddo?"

Peragrine looked up, agape. "I don't believe it!" he replied.

The effect was instantaneous.  

The Big Bad Wolf frowned, and like the snapping of jaws, Peragrine was back on the table. Staring at the Stone. 

Feeling the Cold. 

Hearing.... 

The Silence.

Stone. Cold. Silence.

Chapter 6: Midnight Delivery

Maleisus set the listening device down on his desk. Sitting down himself, he pressed the Speakerphone button, and in response the machine gave a dial tone. He lowered the volume to listen.

"Anytime now. Let the absurdity commence." 

|||||||||

Carson walked down the hall, lugging a small wagon behind him. Passing many numbered doors, he stopped outside one labeled 343. Dropping the wagon handle, he fished out a small set of keys from his pocket, and unlocked the lock on the door. Then, he moved over to the keypad, and entered his personal Caretaker I.D. ,  the time and date, and the room number. Finally, he scanned his hand on the surface next to the keypad. In response, there was a faint chime heard inside.

"Hopefully that woke him up, and I won't be assaulted with a broomstick." He thought. 

Scanning his hand to sound the chime again for good measure, he opened the door and pulled the wagon through with him. 

It was very dark in there, as no lights were on, save for the light coming from the hallway.  As Carson maneuvered the small wagon around the door, he heard some light scuffling and bumbling coming from off to the side. As the door shut, a small lamp was turned on, and Carson saw Jean getting out of bed, confused and wary.

"Hullo? Who's there?" he asked, looking into the darkness of the room.

"Mr. Silverstine, it's me. Carson."

"Carson! Thank heavens it's you. You gave me a bit of a spook!" Jean-Claude said, as he fished for a flashlight in his side table drawer.

"Not intentional. I'm here to drop off your phone for you to use." Explained Carson.

"Really? That was fast. But at this time of night? Ah, here it is."

"Yeah. The Warden wanted to get it to you as soon as possible." 

"Ah, Maleisus. You tell him thank you for me, won't you?" requested Jean as he walked over to Carson with the help of the flashlight.

"Yah, sure."

"I truly appreciate that!"

"Mmhmm."

"Close your eyes, Carson, my good fellow! I'm going to turn on the lights. 3...2...1!"

Carson blinked and squinted like a disgruntled owl.  He got a good look at Jean, who was quite cozy in a striped light blue nightgown and cap. 

Jean opened his eyes carefully, and saw Carson, who was in his usual aide's attire, blinking under the sudden light.

"Tsk tsk. Didn't I say to cover your eyes?" he admonished

"I'm fine, thanks." Carson muttered.

Jean shrugged. Then he looked down at the wagon.  It was full of various phones, cords, and hookups.

"Goodness, that's alot of phones."

"Yup. Go ahead and take your pick."

"Honestly, I had no idea there were so many options." He admitted. "What's the best choice? I mean, the Yellow Pages just had this one on the front," he said, picking up a wireless handheld set.

Carson tried to ignore that Jean was holding it upside down.  But he couldn't. He realized he would be here awhile.  

Sighing, he rummaged through the phone-wagon and pulled out an antique rotary phone.  "Here. This is more your style." He said, trading Jean for the wireless handheld.

Curious, Jean poked the dial, and spun it experimentally. It gave a 'briiiing' as it rolled back.

"Oh, how delightful!" he exclaimed! " . . . How does it work?"

(/\/\/\}=========>

20 minutes later saw Carson setting up and educating Jean on his new rotary phone.

"Which is just a waste of my time, since we're going to have to take the phone away once he's done." He thought with no small amount of annoyance.

"...Right. So when you're ready to dial, you'll lift the headset, and you'll hear the dial tone." Carson was explaining.

"The 'Bweoooo' sound, right?" asked Jean.

Carson stared at Jean. "...Right. Sure. The 'Bweoo' sound." He affirmed.

Jean-Claude picked up the handset and put it to his ear. "Bweoooouuuuuuuu..." he imitated.

Faced with this embarrassing behavior, Carson face-palmed. He was sure Maleisus was listening on the other end of the line, guffawing most disrespectfully.

"Oookay. Well, it looks like you're all set up, and you know what to do, so I'm heading out." Said Carson, moving towards the door.

"...ooou- Oh! Well, wouldn't you like to watch me call them?" suggested Jean.

Carson shook his head good-naturedly. "Naw.  Normally, I would, so that I could take the phone after you're done with it, but it's late and I need to get some rest," he said to Jean; But to himself he added sourly, "a rest from all you spoiled, stuck-up aristocrats!"

"Well... Okay." Conceded Jean, hanging up the phone. 

Carson nodded, and walked over to the waiting wagon by the door. 

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Silverstine." He said tiredly. 

"Yes! Farewell, and Goodnight, Carson!" Jean regretted that he could not go hold the door open, as it would be taken the wrong way.

Instead, he just stood next to the phone and watched helplessly as Carson wrestled the wagon through the door, and close it behind him.

Leaving him all alone.

{[=|=]}

Chapter 7: To End the Interludes.

A breeze.  The smell of corn. The sound of bumblebees.

Perry opened his eyes. He was leaning against a cornstalk in the middle of a cornfield.

"Hey! This is the old Farm!" Peragrine realized.

Then he heard a vehicle sputtering and puttering off to his left.

"The old Pickup Truck!" Peragrine took off at a run, dodging the cornstalks. But as he ran, the cornfield did not end...

"I'm sure we had Potatoes around here... Did someone plant more corn???" he inquired of the wind. Needless to say, it didn't answer.  The puttering of the unseen truck got louder, and became a frightening rumble. At the same time, so faint Peragrine was unsure if he really heard it, there was a whispering voice..."What is going ON here? I just want to see Pa! I'll bet he's returning from Toothpike," he thought, remembering the town that was a few miles out from his childhood home. 

As he continued to scamper through the stalks, the ground beneath him began to tremble. That's when he realized that the sound was coming from the ground. It was an earthquake!  The ground was breaking into large chunks! The cracks in between were gaping holes of blackness! Before he could quite react, The ground was entirely disintigrated, and his next step saw him carreening into nothingness. But he felt strangely unafraid. There was a tremor in the air, and suddenly, he felt much more.... Alert. He seemed to be awake, but he was not in his prison cell, even though it seemed to be as dark -indeed it was darker.

 No, wait. He could see many little white shining dots all around him. They were stars... surrounded by the thick blackness of the night sky. But there was no ground, from which to look at the sky. There was only the sky. Was he at space? Then, how was he alive...? This was a very exciting experience!

"Hello there!" a voice coming from behind startled him.

"Hmm? Who's there? Pa?" asked Peragrine, peering into the darkness.  "Where am I?"

"Pa? No, that does not happen to be my name," said a man slowly phasing into existence in the neverending realm of space. He was an old man featuring, long gray hair and beard, a light blue hat upon his head, green robes of three shades and an eyepatch. Despite his age, he looked to be quite energetic and had a kind expresion on his wrinkled face.

"Oh wait! What's that?!" he said taking off his eyepatch. "Sorry, I'm a little rusty on the astral arts!" He tossed the eyepatch into space and it continued moving forever, no forces being there to stop it.

Peragrine looked at the old fellow. Then he looked at himself. He was wearing a light grey gown, and little else. Looking back up at the man, with his kind smile, he asked, "Who are you? Where am I?" 

"You may call me Steffan Rhyffed, if you like. As for your other question, what do they call it? Is it the Lost Plain? No. The Moorlands? Nah! Oh, it's the Astral Plane, of course!"

Peragrine brightened up upon having a name to adress the strange fellow by. "Well, Mr. Rhyffed, it's a pleasure to meet you!  I've never been to the Astral Plane, but it's quite interesting here! Why just a moment ago, I was walking in a cornfield! and then, the ground broke apart, and... Or was that a dream? Is this a dream? I hope not.

"Well, I'm not sure. I could be dreaming now that you mention it. But in any case, did you, by any chance, bring any corn?"

Peragrine scratched his head. "Gee. No, I don't think so. That's a shame. I really should have thought of that," he admitted dejectedly.  "I really wish I had."

"Well, don't think too harshly of yourself, boy! I'm sure we can find something to eat here! Or is that the Ethereal Plane? I'm not sure. Tell me, have you seen any Ice cream stands around here?

Peragrine's stomach growled.  "No. It's been forever since I ate, I think. Did they have munchies where you came from?"

"Munchies? Are you talking about those winged scaly, skin- 'n'-bones creatures that have two heads with a complete set of razor-sharp teeth? If so, I have one such pet!"

Peragrine blanched at the man's description of the creature, but had the reverse reaction when told he had one as a pet. "Cool!  I'll bet he's a great hunter!  Like a falcon! Only toothier."

"Well, you know he's on the lazy side. He prefers me to be the hunter for him!"

"Hehehe!  That sounds about right. Pets. Gotta love'em." Peragrine said, beginning to relax. "But if that's so, you must know some good places for lunch. Or is it Breakfast? I'd try going back to the Farm I was just at, but it was rather strange. Maybe you know someplace better! After all, you live here, don't you?" Peragrine assumed he did.

"Why that's a huge leap of logic!" exclaimed Steffan Rhyffed. "And that's odd, considering you can't leap with no ground to stand on! I actually have a very respectable home elsewhere!"

"Oh." Peragrine said, chargrined. "Then... Why are we here?" he asked looking up at Mr. Rhyffed.

"Well, it was the only way I could contact you! Can't exactly use a physical form to find you?"

Peragrine gasped. "You brought me here??? But why? What for?  Is this about when I borrowed Sneezy Icewhisker's Staff?

"Sneezy Icewhisker?! I hate that guy!" suddenly Steffan Rhyffed shouted.

"I knew it was about him!" exclaimed Peragrine.  "I'm sorry! I just wanted to fix the snowmen that I acidentally snowplowed in my racecar!"

"Snowmen? My mortal enemies! I was friends with one once, but he stole my girlfriend!"

"I didn't want Melty Puddles to think I was a monster, and I thought  Wizard-Staff-Handling looked easy.  How was I to know that hitting the snowmen would blow them up and turn them into Ice Trolls?!"

"Did you say staff? Yeah, you won't be needing any in the future!"

"You know my future? What does it look like??? Do I ever escape the dungeon?  Do I ever find Stirling?  Does Bethany send me pie?"

"Your future? Nah! I can't make head or tales of that other than what my logic defines. But I've got a friend who's good at that stuff. You know, the future is not so misty to her as to others. So, when she tells you 'Find the green wizard boy! He's going to need your help and you his' you listen to her!"

Peragrine blinked.  It took him a moment to realize what Mr. Rhyffed was saying. "Wait. You're saying...You're saying... You know about my Magical abilities? But I just found out about them! I don't know how to use them yet, though. It's all slippery, and I can FEEL them- er, it.  It's wonderfully fizzy. But I can't always... Grab it. Use it..."

Peragrine lost focus, as he saw the wonderful energy he was talking about, radiating from him.  He began calmly twirling a strand of the delightful lime green energy around his finger and completely lost focus of the man in front of him.

Steffan nodded his head sagely. "Yeah, I can sense your magic very well. You're full of its odour, you know! As for your inability, that's what I'm here for! You see, I am an Enchanter myself!" 

This news grabbed Peragrine entirely. "REALLY!? That's great!!! ... What's an enchanter?"

"Fool of a Wanderthistle! You don't even know what an enchanter is?! How am I supposed to teach such an ignorant boy?"

Then, as if there was someone else talking to Steffan Rhyffed, whom Perry couldn't hear or see, he said, "Yes, yes, you're right! I should just explain him and all will be fine. Don't know why I didn't think about it!"

Peragrine was now very confused, as well as worried. "Uh, yes. I'd very much like an explaination. Which isn't like me, come to think of it, but I guess it'd be smart to take a page from Stirling's book here..." he said with furrowed brow.

Mr. Rhyffed launched into explaination: "Well, enchanters are just the top of the magical scale. There are many kinds of magical practicioners. There are wizards, sorcerers, magicians, warlocks, prophets, necromancers and so on and so on. Enchanters are the most powerful of them all, the ones who can manage the most complex of magics and harness great amounts of magical energy without being fried by it"

Steffan looked at Peragrine, who was who had an excited expression, waiting to hear more and remaining silent. 

"Well, I have summoned you here in order to show you the magical ways! You're going to need this knowledge in the future. Big things are coming along! You should be ready for them!"

Peragrine grinned.  "I know... I'm ready." He said."Teach me, Master Steffan."

"Oh. Master! That has a nice ring to it! Do you promise to do whatever I tell you, however ridiculously crazy or dangerous it may be?" he said with an evil grin.

"Like in Kung Fu Kid? Yes." affirmed the innocent boy.

"Good good!" he said, actually sounding like Emperor Palpatine from 'Star Walk'. "Now, let us begin! I do not believe I can maintain this connection long enough to teach you the more complex stuff, so I will be showing you just the basics today!"

Peragrine didn't quite understand what he meant about connections, but he agreed anyway. "Okay. Basics."

Master Steffan began. "The basic problem of the magical arts is that raw magical energy and actual real magic are two distinct things. You could say they are cause and result, but that's not exactly. What a magical practicioner wants is to take this energy and channel it in order to create the magic of his will."

"M-hmm. Like Imagination into Electricity." Reasoned Peragrine.

"Perhaps." Mused Master Steffan. He continued.

 "To focus your energy into being, concentration on the desired result and control of this energy are everything. There are many ways to achieve this. Some use words, some movement of their limbs, some use objects like staffs and rings and for some the sheer thought of the desired result is enough.

Every magician has their own style, but the magic we are doing today is simple enough for any respectable magical practicioner to be able to cast on will.

The first thing you need to learn is to manipulate the energy that permeates every part of your body. If you manage perfect control of its, the only things limiting you are your concentration and imagination. And of course the limits of your powers. Everyone has limits to what they can achieve by magic. Hmm, perhaps that was an unfortunate choice of words... But you get the idea!" finished the man.

"So... I need to feel the magic? To use it? or actually, control it?" Perry inquired. "I mean, I feel a fizzly-ness in my gut, but in 'all my body'? Eh, not so much."

Master Steffan forged onward. "Now, what I want you to do is to try to clear your mind and concentrate on your inner being. Can you feel the energy surrounding it, penetrating it, permeating it?"

Peragrine wasn't sure he could, but he knew he could try. He closed his eyes tightly.  He tensed up, focusing. He could feel his energy. It was all in a tight ball. As he focued on it, the fizzlyness intensified... but he couldn't seem to get it to release into all of his frame, like Master Steffan had described.

He sighed. He was not frustrated. He was just slightly confused.

"Having trouble?"

"Kinda. It's there..."

"Girlfriend trouble?"

"I just can't get the lid o- what? No! Why would I have Gi- No."

Peragrine blushed and suddenly found he couldn't look Steffan in the eye.

"I know how it feels to be young, Perry! I can understand, tell me!"

"It was a looooong time ago, really. Not important now..."

"Perry, the troubles of the heart are never unimportant!" then suddenly: "What do you mean I'm getting sidetracked?! The boy's heartbroken!" He was once again talking as if there was a third person "Magic? Right, got to stay focused!"

 "She was trouble," Peragrine was whispering, "And besides, she went for Hargrov. . ."

"Anyway, what were you saying about the lid?" Master Steffan Rhyffed asked.

Peragrine was brought out of his reminising by the steady gaze of his Master.

"Hmm? Oh. Sorry. What were you saying? Lid?  Yeah. I feel my energy, but it's all tied up."

 "Good thing you're a step ahead, boy! I hadn't yet instructed you to try and spread it all over your entity, from your heart to the edges of your fingers and toes. Bad news is... you'll have to do it now!" informed Rhyffed.

"Oh!" Peragrine said, glad that he seemed to be grasping the idea quickly. "Um, but how? How do I spread the energy?"

"Hmm. Let me think... will a fish help you?" he said and conjured a fish out of his robes.

Peragrine accepted the fish from Master Steffan, and not knowing what else to do, slapped himself with it.

"You know what this fish needs? A Stick."

"A stink? You like stinky fish?"

"Hmm. It is odd that it doesn't stink. If it did, all it would be missing is a stick. Then it would be a fantastic weapon." Admitted the boy. "But since it doesn't stink, it still needs a stick. Food is always better on a stick.

"Maybe, we should begin an adventure to find its sti- Wait, I'm getting sidetracked again, aren't I?"

Peragrine considered a moment. "Well, if you are getting sidetracked, then so am I. So it's both out faults." He speculated. "But if it's just us out here, then really there is no other tracks to be sided off to, so I think we're good!"

"But on your problem, when you think of your energy, is there a physical manifestation of it that you can perceive in any way?" questioned the Master, curious to find what the boy would say.

Peragrine did not hesitate. "I moreso feel it like a fizzy soda pop, but when I have been able to use it, it sometimes feels more smooth like a .... Like Yogurt. But as for sight.... Yeah! Just a minute ago, it was sorta a green mist, or transparent um... paint?"

Master Steffan mulled the idea over. "It sometimes helps if you imagine the fizzy soda pop or the green mist to flow through you. Why don't you try that?" he suggested.

"Flow.... Ok."

Peragrine screwed his eyes shut again. He tensed up, his hands together in fists.  He felt the magic inside him imediatly, and it fizzed strongly.

"Flooow." he reminded himself. 

 Relaxing his hands, he moved them down from his chest and out, towards his toes, staying erect.

It worked. He felt the Fizzly feeling rush out, into all his frame, and as the wave reached his extremities, the fizz fades, leaving a smooth, warm and blanketed sensation all around him.

"Do you feel it?" asked Steffan.

Perry sighed contentedly. "Yes."

"Well, now release it outside of yourself!"

Peragrine was suprised. "Well of course!" he thought, "but on what?"  He then looked at Steffan's fine clothes, and a though occurred to him. He released the magic upon himself, and one bright green flash of light later, Peragrine was in his own finery!

"That is very good, Peragrine, but you might want to try something simpler for now!" stated his Master. And indeed he was right, for, after a second, the clothes returned to their original state. "It's a good thing you didn't set yourself on fire, though!"

"Oops." Replied the apprentice, mildy embarresed.

"You actually did very well." commended Master Steffan; "Usually we begin with just releasing the energy -and what comes out is just that, energy- and then combine it with manipulating it in doing something. You did that with no trouble!"

Still feeling the blanket of power, he shoved his hands in the direction he wanted, away to his left, simply releasing it, as Mr. Rhyffed was describing. He could see a sizable ball of green flying off into the distance... The infinite distance...

Master Steffan Rhyffed watched the boy, as the boy watched the green sphere.

 "Very well! You have exceeded my expectations. You are a very good pupil! This practice of manipulating your energy becomes routine for you, if you exercise it often. A proper wizard performs it almost subconsciously, when he wants to do magic. What I want you to do now is repeat the same thing, but this time try to focus the energy on some result. Here, try to levitate the fish!"

Peragrine tunred and looked at the fish.  It was a usual fish, floating in space. . . Which was rather unusual. . . But that was not the point. Closing his eyes, he felt the magic inside him, relaxed to let it flow through him. Once he felt blanketed in the magic once again, he opened his eyes, and considered the fish intently.

 Perhaps too intently. Pointing at the fish, it exploded.

"Oops." He said again, for the second time.

Wiping some of the fish from his face Steffan spoke:

"Perhaps, you should stay more focused on what you're doing on the fish and less on the fish itself. And, you know, to perform the particular spell, you'd need a tad less energy. And by a tad I mean tons and tons less! Now, let's try again!" and the fish's pieces started to fly back to each other until the fish was whole again.

Meanwhile, for no reason at all, Steffan began slowly spinning vertically towards his side.

Peragrine took a deep breath... Then realized they were in space, so that did nothing. Master Steffan was entirely sideways now, and still going. Still feeling energized, he tried to 'act casual' and flicked a claw at the newly reformed fish.

It seemed to work, sending the fish straight up and then stopping abruptly, but it was not as controlled as Master Steffan would have liked, considering his bemused face...Or perhaps he just looked bemused, due to being upside-down... Or was it Peragrine who was upside-down?

"Well, it's better than fish-splosions! But try once more. And this time try not to send my brunch to outer space!"

Unphased, Peragrine tried one more time: Holding both hand out, staying casual, but cool. He moved the fish carefully. Up. Down. In a circle, in an orbit, around himself, while spinning and a few other directions, as directed by his Master. It all went rather well, but upon latter inspection, though, the fish appeared cooked.

"Hmm, I can't use it for procfroc now, can I?" Rhyffed mumbled. "Well, I think you get the general idea of it and we can get back to it later, if necessary. Let's try something else. How about conjuring some fire?" he said, forgetting his wisdom, considering Perry seemed to be trying too much and fire is not to be played with.

Peragrine's eyes lit up.  "Oooooh!!! Yes Please!" he said. Then he checked himself and said "Are you sure that's ok?"

"Ok? Why wouldn't it? What can a harmless flame do? Besides the simplest fire conjurations don't actually burn, they are just warm."

"Okay!" giggled Peragrine. How would I do that? Fuel the energy to my hand, and imagine?"

"Something like that. Try to keep it small, though!"

 "Right. Riiiight," Peragrine conceeded, giving Master Steffan a thumbs up, and what he hoped was a serious look. He then held out his left hand palm-upward, and focused just a SMALL tidbit of his magic from the rest of his body to his hand. He felt his arm tingle a bit, and noted that it was supposed to usually be smooth by the time it reached his arms, not tingly... His hand got very warm, and a moment later, a green flame appeared in his palm. But it did not burn him.

"Careful, careful!" he said to himself. The magic in his body seemed eager to supply his endeavor, and his arm began to grow in strength.

Master Steffan watched curiously to see how Perry would do.

At first the flame was small enough to fit in Perry's palm, but as the half-seconds ticked by, the size began to fluxuate.  It quickly grew to the size of a foot, getting taller than Perry, and the base of it had swallowed Perry's hand.  The immediate space became warm, and Perry was sweating, looking at where his hand was, the middle of the flames licking his face, but doing no harm. Then the flame shrunk about half that size, to about two studs high, and much more manageable. Peragrine smiled as he saw the flames tips reaching for his chin. Then he flipped his hand down, and the flame was extinguished.

 "Good, good. SPACE SQUIRREL ATTACK!!!" Steffan shouted all of a sudden.

"Wait, WHAT?!" hollered Peragrine, and he shook his hands, as if he was warding off a dozen Squirrels and the fire reignited on both hands and sprayed in all directions.

Steffan snapped his fingers and the flames that had caught on his beard and clothes ceased.

 "It's a good thing we're on the Astral Plane, otherwise we'd be badly burnt, right now!"

Peragrine flipped his hands down to his sides, extinguishing the flames on them.

"Sorry, Master Steffan. Didn't mean to roast you." he apologized, paranoid of his hands and any possible phantom Space-Squirrels.

"But I meant to scare you!" Steffan laughed.

Peragrine chuckled, realizing that his Master was quite crazy, and finding he was quite happy with it. "That you did!" 

"Now, let's continue to the next thing!" Mr Rhyffed announced.

Dusting himself off, and brushing some soot off Steffan, Perry Nodded enthusiastically, and the Apprentice and Master continued their magical exercises.

##C ~ ~ ~ * <======{\\\\)

After what felt like an extensively long time, filled with wonders beyond his wildest imagination, Peragrine suddenly noticed that Steffan Rhyffed had begun getting transparent. When he spoke, his voice sounded distant as if it was coming from afar:

"Peragrine, interesting things are about to begin happening. But they are equally dangerous. You need to be ready for them. But when all is over and you reckon things are calm, travel to the Tuleiren mountains. For now, there's only one more thing I can do to help you. When you wake up, all of this is going to be fuzzy, but you will remember what I taught you. But you'll need more to escape!"

Peragrine had began feeling sleepy now, or was that wakey? Steffan, now very much like a ghost, quickly dashed towards Perry and when he reached the boy he bumped his head on the latter's. Perry woke up suddenly; he was back at the prison cell. But now he was full of energy...

END PART 1 OF 

TO DEFY DOOM.

To Defy Doom: Act 2: The Dominos Fall

Chapter 1: Persian Carpets

'briiiing, briiiing,' The phone rang, as Jean listened. It took a few rings, but eventually someone answered.

"J C Merchants, this is Yasmine," a young girl's voice said. It was accompanied by a static sound of faint wind-chimes.

"Hullo! I'd like to order some of your Persian Carpets!"

"Ok! What is your name and number, so we can reconnect if we lose your signal? You are very far out right now, and it's putting a bad strain on our connection..."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you might experience some annoying background chimes. That's because the spell isn't holding well, so please give me your name and number, just in case."

"Goodness! Yes, where are my manners? The name is Jean-Claude Silverstine, and the Number is 10-26-"

"Please hold while I transfer you to an associate." 

"Oh? Um, ok! Goodbye!"

The static-chimes faded a bit, and a melody of Indian flutes and finger cymbals took its place.

(::::}========>

Maleisus sat at his desk, having his morning repast. Soup, of a recipe from his Easterner Homeland, and some hearty bread. Simple fuel, for a optimal body.  But as he ate, he also listened. He listened to the strains of the flutes, the twinkling of little bells, and the other various instruments. He listened as the tune faded, and an older, yet softer, feminine voice came on the line. 

"Hu-llo? This is  Sandhya. Thankh you for whaiting. How can I helhp?" asked the woman. She had a very thick accent.

"Hello! Yes, I was talking with another lady, and she cut me off, but I was looking to buy some Persian Rugs!" came the tremulous yet chirpy voice of Jean.

"Mmhmm. Yes. Yasmine wrote down your enformation. Meister... Silveerstein?"

There was a muffled chuckle. "Yes. That's me." 

Maleisus leaned back, already done with his meal, and itching to get on with his day. Many things, as always, required his attention. This was going to be a long conversation, but he had to be certain this was not a hidden ploy that would harm his master's reign. All things must be certain under his watch, for nothing less than that could be allowed to mar his Majesty's reign. At least, not in his jurisdiction. Not if he could help it. And there was no better exemplification of this fact than the fate of the previous Grand Warden, who had allowed the pathetic vandal Sir Talmid to escape. . . He had found out what the inside of a Volcano felt like....

(:::}========>

Jean laid the receiver down in it's cradle.  

It was all set! Sandhya had been extremely patient. They would arrive a few weeks from now, with their best selection of rugs, Persian and otherwise! He couldn't wait! 

"I only hope I survive until then..." groused Jean-Claude, as he wrapped his robe a bit tighter around himself, and shuffled his feet in his slippers.

(::::}========>

Maleisus waited a moment, to be certain it was not a trick. Not that he believed Jean would try, but because he wanted to confirm that notion. Then he turned off the tapped line, disabling Jean's ability to make any other calls.    Making a mental and physical note to remind Carson to pick up the phone when he arrived for his morning rounds, the Headmaster Warden continued with his duties. . .

Chapter 2: Destiny Awaits!

(::::}====> 2 1/2 Weeks Later, 15 miles from Mount Thunderclap <===={::::)

In the camp of JC Merchants, lights and campfires were being put out for the night.  But in the largest tent, in which the leadership resided, the lights stayed on.

Four women of varying ages, two older, two younger, stood around a small circular table, elegantly carved.  They leaned over an incomplete layout of the nearby fortress, gathered from gossip from many mouths over many stops. One of the older two women spoke.

"So it's settled. Genny, you'll take care of our client, since you talked to him, and he will recognize you and not us." Said one elder to the other.

"And I wouldn't want Bethany to be in the very belly of the beast alone." added the second, Genny, motioning to the younger one at her side.

"Correct," affirmed the first.

"Well, I don't feel much better either way, because that means you'll be in the proverbial belly of the beast, Mother!" replied Bethany.

The four all together began to sigh or speak, but the other young one spoke the loudest with her voice and hand motions.

"None of us like it, and we'd all volunteer, but the fact of the matter is that Mrs. Richardson here is the best suited. Me and Mother simply can't risk being recognized by Jean, and the best choice out of the two of you is your Mother, seeing as how he talked with her on the phone... Sorry, Beth." Apologized the girl to her friend.

"No need to apologize, Emily!  It all makes sense..." Bethany reassured.

"In fact, thank you, Emily.  That's called keeping focus! Something my husband lacked." Genny agreed, ending on a soft note.

There was a moment of respectful silence.

"Besides!" said Emily, grabbing Bethany's hand, "We have our own risky business to attend, right Beth?"

Bethany nodded, "Yep! Risky Business!" 

Both girls giggled.

"That's right, and both of us will be worried sick every moment." Stated Emily's Mother, as the two mothers shared nervous smiles.

Bethany turned to her. "Well then, for what it's worth, Mrs. Silverstine I solemnly promise to take care of her like the sister she has become to me."

"And I too. For her. Like a sister." Concurred Emily to Mrs. Richardson.

The next moment of silence was filled to the brim with emotion. Thereafter, the planning and worry was set aside; they had gone over it quite enough.  

The lights did not go out for quite some time thereafter, as the two broken families found solace in their unity found in duty, but eventually rest found all of them.

They would need that rest, for destiny awaited them!

Chapter 3: 'JC Merchants' Arrives

[Song used while writing: MOKA - Kotake And Koume's Theme (Rearranged) - The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time Music Extended] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xfm7gS1-oxw

Wonderful day! The Merchants had arrived! Jean-Claude knew this, because there was some general extra hubbub coming from the city below.

As he looked out from a turret window in his Office Alcove, he could see a large crowd by the Main gate in the short distance as, just entering the city were 4 to 6 distinctly oriental wagons. Complete with a good smattering of overpacked Camels that towered above the chaotic crowd.  Jean-Claude chuckled. He could only imagine what all the yelling and fuss was about. The Guards demanding a display of proper Identification, the Common-folk demanding a display of the exotic goods, and the Camels displaying their distaste of the lack of water and space. Much demanding. Much hassle. Much Camel Spit.

Jean-Claude continued to watch, till the crowd broke up, and the wagons split into smaller groups that melded into the buildings, where Jean could no longer keep track of them.

Smiling, he went about his morning, knowing that he would have some new guests very soon.

(::::}======>

A couple minutes later, Jean Claude was not disappointed, as his door rang.

"Come in, Come in! I have the kettle on the boil!" he called, as he walked over to greet his guests.

The door opened, and Carson held it wide, as a small, sturdy, two-wheeled wheelbarrow loaded with hanging fabrics made it's way in slowly and carefully. Pushing it was an older woman, dark-skinned and with a face of preoccupation.

Jean was taken aback.  "Ma'am, allow me to-"

The woman looked directly at him. "I can manage it," She said.

 At first glance, Jean has thought she was about mid to late 40s, but after seeing her face, and those eyes... Her eyes were deep brown and shadowy with age and . . . worry?  Jean stopped short in his venture to help, and caught a glance from Carson, who was now holding the door with both hands, and watching him.  

"Ah yes, that's right." This was not his house. He was an inmate, not a tenant. Not to be trusted.

Straightening up and backing off, a momentarily chagrined Jean replied, "If you wish, m'lady."

"I do." Replied the woman, as Carson took to closing and then standing discreetly by the door, being completely bored.

 

"Her eyes have a depth that tell of a higher age.   I'll conjecture... mid to late 50s. " mused Jean.

As the woman set the barrow down in the middle of the room, Jean moved forward and inspected the small hanging fabrics.  "Are these... samples?"

"Yes, these are smaller parts of the rugs we spoke about."

"Ah! Then you must be Sandhya!"

"Yes. And you are Jean-Clod Seilverstein."

"So I am! And may I say that it is a pleasure to meet you, and that your English has much improved since I spoke with you last!" complimented Jean-Claude.

"Oh, it has?" asked Sandhya, a flash of surprise flitting across her features.

"Indeed!" affirmed the gentleman.

"Well- Hmm.... Thank you." She replied, requiring her usual thoughtful expression that she had first come in with.

"You are most welcome, M'lady. Would you like some Tea? I am sure it was a long and thirsty ride!"

"Tea? Oh, yes, that would be... most gracious." The woman replied haltingly.

"Right this way! You too, Carson!"

Carson was jumped out of his space-walk to nowhere, and, after a poorly concealed rolling of the eyes, he joined the other two minifigures in Jean-Claude's kitchenette, just as the Kettle began to sing.

"Isn't it lovely? It's an enchanted kettle! Sings Opera!"

(::::}=======>

Chapter 4: Into the Belly of the Beast

BLAH BLA BLA. BLA BLA, BLA, BLE BLAH. BACON. and now for deleted scenes.

"Isn't it lovely? It's an enchanted kettle!" Jean Claude explained to the confounded guests. " It sings a variety like you wouldn't believe!  Unfortunate, I don't know how to change it. The instructions are in Wizard's Runes, and while I know a few basic Runes, I can't make out any on the bottom of this kettle except this one. It says Water... Still, Opera is not a bad variety of song to be stuck on!  This was a bonus for translating a particular letter on the double. Apparently, the material was time-sensitive, and I got it done fast enough for it to be relevant. The fellow who brought it to me, which oddly wasn't you, Carson, told me it was my 'share of the spoils', if I remember correctly. I still don't quite know what he meant by that? Oh well!" Jean continued before Carson could make a sarcastic remark....

I'll write more later, but probably not tomorrow! later, rather than sooner! The next part requires a bit of architectural thought. :P Like, how many walls does a Underground dungeon need to have destroyed before the castle above would collapse? Is the dungeon even underground?? Where is the Lava-channels that go up to thedude's hot-tub??? :P And where the brick do they keep all those prisoner's stuff?!?! Not to mention, I've got to come up with a reason, or excuse, that Perry doesn't end up save BLINKING EVERYONE from that horrible place. Because Perry's telling me he's going to blinking well try! O_O

>>Next Suggested Story>> This story is called 'Harold didn't want any more Rises'