Something M.Y.T.H. Inc.

TWO

Our intrepid band of adventurers has raised an excellent point. To wit, who could possibly be upset enough with Skeeve to try to organize a resistance movement?

A quick glance around the kingdom (it's not that big a kingdom) yields the answer.

Open rebellion rarely if ever comes from the rich. Their weapon of choice is money (that's why they're rich) rather than swords and bows. What's more, they can afford to employ expert retainers to do their fighting for them. Of course, those skirmishes usually take place in court or with auditors rather than on the field of battle.

By similar logic, the poor are seldom the ones to stir up trouble. Frankly, they can't afford either the time or the money it takes. Peasants are kept too busy by the endless tasks involved in tending fields and livestock to meddle openly in politics, and even begging takes a surprising amount of time and energy just to raise sufficient coins for one or two days' worth of sustenance. As long as things don't deteriorate to a point where everyone is starving and they have nothing to lose, the poor don't really care much who's running things.

For real grumblers and agitators, one need only look to those who have some money, a bit of education, and too much leisure time ... which is to say the middle class.

For an example of this, one need look no further than the annual gathering of the Sherwood Arms Bow Hunting Club. In happier times, this was simply a group of buddies who happened to live in the same suburb, specifically the Sherwood Arms, that scheduled their vacations at the same time so that they could all go bow hunting in the nearby Possiltum Royal Game Preserve. In truth, this time was usually spent drinking and playing cards while letting their beards grow out, all in the name of 'roughing it' ... which in itself was no small achievement considering the rather primitive conditions prevalent in Possiltum at this time. This year, however, there was a markedly different air to the proceedings ...

"I still don't get it," Tucker said, helping himself to some more wine. "Why do we have to do anything about this Skeeve character?"

"Haven't you been listening to Robb?" put in John, the broad-shouldered, construction-worker type of the group. "He's raising the taxes. You know who that's going to hit the hardest, don't you? Small businessmen like us."

"Speak for yourself, Johnny," Tucker snorted. He was the physical opposite of John, being rather short and rotund. "Unlike some, I wouldn't exactly call my business little ... excuse me, small."

"Would you like to step outside and say that, Tuck?" John said, getting to his feet and straightening to his full, considerable height.

"Umm, Johnny? We are outside," Tucker said wearily, making no effort to match John's actions.

Even though they were good friends and neighbors, the 'big/little' thing was a sore spot between the two men. Tucker owned several franchises of the biggest fast-food chain in Possiltum, making him notably more successful than John, whose third attempt at starting a company, this one renting porta-potties, was still struggling for life.

"Could you two knock it off for a while?" said Robb impatiently. 'This is important."

"Sorry, Robb," John said, sinking back into a sitting position. "It's just that the Cholesterol King here gets under my skin from time to time."

"It's just that some of us have the sense to give the people what they want... like ready-cooked food," Tucker sniffed. "Why try to rent porta-potties in a country where most folks' idea of a toilet is the nearest tree or bush?"

"For the same reason some people don't eat at your grease holes," John shot back. "They appreciate sanitation."

"Sanitation, is it?" Tucker snarled. "Well, let me tell you..."

"ENOUGH!!" Robb interrupted. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

The two combatants sank into a sullen silence, shooting each other occasional dark glances. Even though Robb did not have John's height and muscles, there was an intensity about him that made him the automatic leader of the group.

"Now, the part that really worries me," Robb continued, "is that not only is this Skeeve character raising the taxes, he's diverting part of the army to collect back taxes as well. Tell me that doesn't affect all of us."

The group exchanged uncomfortable looks. While all of them filed their taxes on a regular basis to avoid penallies and interest, they had gotten in the habit of relying on the kingdom's laxness in collecting monies owed. As a result, they all had sizable sums owed in back taxes, which could be disastrous if said sums were to be forcibly collected all at once.

"Okay. I'll admit that could be bad," said the well-dressed, red-headed member leaning against a tree. Slender to the point of being waspish, he nonetheless habitually carried himself with a poise and dignity that forbade anyone from even thinking of him as 'Red.' "So what are we supposed to do about it?"

Robb craned his neck and looked around before he spoke, as if expecting to find a spy or a soldier lurking behind a nearby bush.

"I've got a plan," he said, lowering his voice. "The way I have it figured is that we can pay our taxes like good citizens, then steal it back from the collectors after they leave."

"That's illegal," the red-head said. "If we got caught, my law practice would go right down the toilet... no offense, John. I don't like taxes any more than anyone else, but I can't see becoming a hoodlum over it."

"Don't give me your legalistics, Will... and don't call me a hood," said Robb. "At worst, we'd be outlaws. For that matter, we're already outside the law. We've been poaching in the Royal Game Preserve for years now."

"Nobody cares about that," Will said. "Rodrick wasn't into hunting the way his father was, and Hemlock has been too busy expanding the borders to bother with minor domestic crimes. If we start messing with the tax collectors, though, somebody's going to be upset."

"Besides, how long has it been since any of us have actually shot anything on one of these jaunts?" Tucker muttered.

"Like we could hit something if we tried," John agreed. Despite their claims to being a bow-hunting club, the group, without exception, were incredibly bad shots with a bow and arrow.

"What's the rest of it, Robb?"

That was Allie speaking for the first time. As someone who was trying to make it as a stand-up comic and merely renting a room in John's house, he was not really a full-fledged member of the crew, but they kept him around for laughs.

"How's that again, Allie?" Robb said, innocently.

"C'mon, Robb," Allie said. "Don't try to kid a kidder. I've gotten to know you pretty well. Taxes and back taxes are one thing, something everyone can agree on. If I know you, though, there's something else. Something's bothering you. It's big enough to have you thinking about taking on the army, even small units of it, but it isn't so big that you can use it as a sales point to the rest of us. I'm just kind of curious as to what that something is."

All eyes turned to Robb.

"Okay," he said with a sigh. "I've heard that one of the things Skeeve is thinking of doing is wiping out the Royal Game Preserve. It's been proposed to him that he can raise money for the kingdom if he lets the lumber companies level the forest, then sell the land to developers."

"Where'd you hear that from?" said Tucker.

"From my niece, Marian. She works part time as a maid at the castle."

"A maid? Named Marian?" John said thoughtfully.

"Forget it, Johnny," Robb waved. "Between her job and her schoolwork she hasn't got any time to be a part of this."

"I'm missing something here," said Will. "Since we don't really do any hunting, why should it matter to us if they level the Preserve?"

"Think about it. All of you," Robb said. "The preserve and our hunting are the only excuse we have for these yearly outings. If it goes away, so does our excuse for getting out of the house. How many of you would really rather spend that time with your families?"

A thoughtful silence descended of the assembly. Despite their personal differences, the one thing that united the men was that they were all married. Happily married, of course, but it's been said that a man can only take so much happiness without a break.

"So, Robb," Tucker said, breaking the silence. 'Tell us more about this plan of yours."

Of course, for hotbeds of sedition and revolution, one need look no further than institutes of higher education. Rampant idealism untempered by the practicalities of having to earn a living is great for producing droves of untested youths who are convinced they know how to run the world better than those currently in charge.

It has been noted, however, that the atmosphere at these centers tends to go through cycles, penduluming from radical to conservative and back again. At the time of our tale, the schools are in a conservative loop, so only one group of misfits figures into the current equation.

The particular group under study is a gaggle of students who periodically gather to play a popular Fantasy Role-Playing game. For those of you unfamiliar with this pastime, this is a game where people get together, often dressed up in medieval garb, to assume the role of various fantasy characters in order to act out (usually verbally) a scenario devised by the game master. The fact that games of this sort are extremely popular in Possiltum might be explained by the fact that such costumes are very easily obtained here, and at incredibly low cost.

· · ·

"I tell you we simply can't let this opportunity pass us by!" ranted Storm (known in her everyday life as Wil-hemia). An imposing, hefty young woman, she was the group's main rule-citer and enforcer, and wasn't used to being argued with. "A chance like this only happens once in a lifetime, and men only if you're lucky."

"Frankly, I'm not wild about our chances," said Egor, also known as Melvin. A pale, fey, math major, he rarely strayed from his books other than to take part in these gaming sessions. Surprisingly, he had proven to be the only one who could vaguely hold his own in disputes with Storm.

"Are you kidding? An evil sorcerer holding the kingdom in thrall?" Storm shot back. "It's the exact type of situation that we've been practicing how to handle for months."

"Reality check!" said Egor, holding up a hand. "What we've been doing is playing around with make-believe characters in pretend situations. You're talking about going up against a real sorcerer with real guards. Guards, I might add, who carry real weapons that inflict real wounds. Not the kind that you can heal up with a die roll, the kind mat can make you real dead. What's more, from all reports, the opposition has been doing this professionally for years, not months. Like I said before, I don't like our chances."

"I'm not talking about us trying to attack him head on, you dufus," said Storm.

"Oh?"

"Of course not I'm not stupid."

"I stand corrected on both misconceptions," Egor smiled, bowing slightly from his seat.

Storm stuck her tongue out at him.

"So what exactly is it that you're proposing?" said Red Blade, a bespectacled, skinny drink of water known more commonly as Herbie, who tended to think of himself as a warrior trapped in an academic's body.

"I think we should do what it says in the book," Storm said grandly. "I think we should form a Fellowship."

"Book? What book?" frowned Red Blade.

"What book? What book?" mimicked Storm. "The book, of course. C'mon, Red Blade. How many books are there that center around a Fellowship?"

"Oh. That book." Red Blade said.

[Author's Note: The reader may be wondering how this and occasional(?) other anachronistic references appear in Possiltum. Early in the series, it was established that Deveels are merchants extraordinare and make a large portion of their money buying and selling new inventions through the dimensions, which is why broadswords, chain mail, and crossbows seem to appear anywhere fantasy is written. Similarly, they will pirate literary and musical works and market them through the dimensions without regard to copyrights or royalty payments. You know, kind of like the Internet.]

"As I recall," said Egor, "there was quite an array of characters in that book. Where do you expect to find their equivalent here in Possiltum?"

"It's not as hard as you think," Storm said. "Like, remember when we tried an FRP camp out last year?"

"I remember most of us getting poison ivy."

"Well, the guy who came up and told us that we couldn't have open fires in the park was dating Melissa for a while, and she still knows how to get in touch with him. I figure he'll do for a Ranger."

"Stretching," Egor said, hesitantly. "But keep going."

"Now then, for a dwarf... how about whats-his-name? PeeWee?"

"Now that's cold," interrupted Egor. "I mean, he's short, all right, but I don't think he'll like you calling him a dwarf."

"We don't tell him he's a dwarf, silly," said Storm. "We just invite him along and let anyone who sees us draw their own conclusions."

"Hmmm. We'll hold judgement on that one. What else?"

"Okay, and as far as kismet goes, my roommate's brother enlisted in the Army as a sorcerer, and it happens that he's in town on leave with a couple of his buddies. I figure we can recruit them just by saying we're lining them up with some blind dates."

"Cute idea," said Egor, "but I don't think they'll go along with helping us attack the sorcerer. Last thing I heard, he was in kind of tight with the army."

"Like I told you before, we aren't going to attack him directly," Storm said. "Remember the book. We're going to do an end run and try to knock out his power source." "And exactly how do you propose that we do that?" "Are you ready for this?" Storm said, her eyes gleaming. "Everybody gather around."

She produced a small box from her belt pouch, and opened it with a dramatic flourish. Nestled inside was a disembodied finger with a gaudy ring embedded in its flesh.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Red Blade said weakly.

"What in the world is that, Storm? And where did you get it?" demanded Egor.

"From Marian," said Storm. "You know, the one who works part-time at the castle? She swiped this right out of the sorcerer's room and passed it to me."

Everyone looked alternately at the ring and each other.

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

"Well, I've got to try to come up with an elf," said Storm confidently. "I need the rest of you to spread out and see what you can do about finding a volcano."

· · ·

If there's anything with greater potential but less actual usefulness to society than a college student, it's a recent graduate who has yet to find gainful employment and is thus still living with his or her parents. Thus it is with a particular only son of the wealthiest land developer and landlord in Possiltum ...

"I gotta say, Donnie, of all the hare-brained schemes you've come up with, this has got to be the craziest!'

"C'mon, 'Nardo," the youth said to his heavyset companion. "It'll be a snap. Trust me on this one."

Viewed at a distance, the duo would appear not unlike a staid and somber owl being circled by a scrawny but energetic jay ... or, more accurately, a popinjay.

"Trust has nothin' to do with it," Nardo said. "I didn't keep bailin' you out of one mess after another all the way through college to let you end up gettin' chopped up by some army types."

Like many rich fathers with only one offspring, Don's father was phobic about anything happening to his heir apparent. One of his solutions had been to hire Bernardo as a manservant/bodyguard for his son when shipping him off to school. While a close bond had sprung up between the two, in many ways closer than the bond between father and son, Bernardo never lost sight of what his main job was ... or who was paying the bills.

"But I can't just stand by and watch while this sorcerer gouges the heart out of my father and his tenants with higher taxes," Don insisted.

"As near as I can tell," Bernardo said drily, "what he's doin' is savin' the kingdom. Queen Hemlock had lowered the taxes way too far to be able to keep things on an even keel. The economics were all wrong."

"How did you figure that?" Don asked, genuinely puzzled.

"By stayin' awake and listenin' in all those classes you slept through," Bernardo said. "Bodyguards can't sleep on the job. Besides, it came in handy when I had to sit in for you on some of those tests."

"Well, whatever." Don shrugged. "That's still going to be a sizable hunk of change the tax collectors will be moving around. I should be able to shake some of it loose."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with your father cutting off your allowance until you find a job, would it?" Bernardo said suspiciously.

"It's just a way of picking up a little expense money to tide me over until I get settled," Don protested. "It's not easy to find an appropriate position for someone of my talents."

"You can say that again," Bernardo muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothin'," the manservant said innocently. 'The thing is, Donnie, even if you can get past the army types, I'm not sure you want to mess around with this Skeeve guy. I've heard rumors that he's connected, and that could mean big trouble."

Bernardo spoke with no small amount of knowledge on that score. He had worked for the Mob once before retiring and getting hired for his current position.

"Oh yeah. Sure." Don laughed. "I've heard that he keeps a dragon, too. Tell me, have you seen a lot of dragons around?"

"Well..."

"I tell you it's all just hoopla to scare people into letting him have his way. As for me, I'll believe it when I see it."

"I've seen some things I still don't believe," Bernardo sighed.

'There. We're in agreement!" Don beamed.

Bernardo stared at him for a moment, then played his trump card.

"If your father gets wind of this, he'll throw a fit," he pointed out. "Then he'll take it out on me."

"I've got that all figured out," Don said, excitedly. "I'll do it under a secret identity. I'll use another name, so no one will know it's me."

"Oh, that'll fool 'em big time," Bernardo said, pointedly eyeing his charge's colorful costume. Don had always prided himself on standing out in a crowd, and today was no different.

"Of course, I'll wear a disguise, too," Don added. "I tell you, I have this all worked out."

Bernardo sighed heavily and shook his head. Despite his certainty that this latest venture was doomed from the onset, he also knew it was next to impossible to change Don's mind once it was set on a venture. Especially if that venture involved a new wardrobe.

"So tell me," he said, "what name have you picked?"

"Well," said Don, "I'm small, but I'm strong and stubborn. I was thinking I'd call myself El Burro."

"I suppose it's better than 'Jackass,' " Bernardo muttered.

"What?"

"Nothin'. And the outfit you have in mind?"

"I haven't completely made up my mind there," Don admitted. "Maybe something in a brown suede jumpsuit with fur trim and accents."

"Oh that will blend right in with a crowd," Bernardo said, rolling his eyes. "Why not go all the way and wear shiny black ... with boots, gloves, and a cape?"

"Hey! I like that!" Don grinned.

"Donnie, I was kidding!" Bernard said desperately.

"I wasn't."