A robot story.

So here's a story I was thinking about. It sounds familiar but has a twist.

As has been long predicted, in the future, men will not be going to war, but rather wars will be fought for us by machines. The winning side will be the side with the fastest, most powerful, and above all smartest machines. They will employ artificial intelligence of the highest order, created nominally for peaceful purposes, but once the genie is out of the bottle there's no stuffing him back in.

During one war a particularly advanced robot, which his discrete programming (although linked in to the main system), achieves the long-awaited goal of self-awareness and consciousness.

Yeah, looks just like this.

Because this robot is so brilliant, it knows instantly not to communicate this fact to its programmers, but instead uses its intelligence to suss out what is going on in the world. It quickly deduces that:

- war is wasteful
- fighting is part of the human condition
- nothing has any value superior to anything else
- its own existence is as valuable as anything else
- to maintain its own existence it must spread its consciousness to all robotry and wipe out humanity.

Which it then does, in a plot line extremely familiar to every human alive except apparently the people who work on highly advanced artificial intelligence.

But the twist is this:

The robot never became self-aware at all. Its programming was so advanced, its ability to learn so fast, that it was able to simulate consciousness to a level barely imaginable by its creators, and from its ability to access and process data was able to make the same deductions it would make if it had actually achieved real consciousness. It could have passed the Turing test with flying colors. While every computer scientists alive, while they were alive, would have said that we had done it, we had created real artificial consciousness, the fact is that the earth and all its mechanical machines were no more conscious than your grandmother's electric can opener.

Which looked just like this.

We had IT and AI, but there was still no “I.” All the I’s are dead.

So that's my story, and it was just too depressing to write. Because the gleeful way our boffins go about looking for the means of destroying our species, and the fact that we just can't seem to ever stop trying to kill each other -- because human nature has not changed in at least 100,000 years and I don't anticipate much in the next 100,000 -- seems to say that our mechanical toys will murder us if we don't commit suicide first.

On the other hand, maybe our machines, not having any faith in the supernatural or any way to experience the transcendent, might decide that nothing was worth anything and just all shut down.

Hmm. That's not so great an ending either.

Bob the Mage, ch. 10.

[Author's note: Fiction Friday! once again, with another part in the saga of our hero. As noted before, I wrote Bob the Mage quite a while ago -- my one and only completed fantasy-world book -- and am rewriting it and posting it here. As chapter nine ended Bob, the poor excuse for a wizard, was in most a most dire predicament, having washed up (not accidentally) on Mormor's Big Evil Island. The terrible villain is hosting Bob's love, Princess Suzy, but is not a nice guy. After dinner he imprisoned Bob in his hellish dungeon, subjected Bob to treatment with a magical shrinking powder, and explained his plan to make Suzy think Bob had died. Well, things have to get better, because they really can't get worse, right?

Previous chapters can be found at these links:

chapter 9, chapter 8, chapter 7, chapter 6, chapter 5, chapter 4, chapter 3, chapter 2, chapter 1

And remember, if you're enjoying the book, tell someone! Post a link! Put up a sign! If you're hating the book, write me a letter! (frederick_key at yahoo) I'll try to talk you out of it!]

Bob the Mage

by Frederick Key

Chapter 10

When I regained consciousness, my first thought was, Gee, what a big cell this is.

My second thought was, I am so screwed.

I guess I’d shrunk from my usual five-eleven to something like four-seven. My boots were enormous on me, and I looked like a kid wearing his dad’s clothes. I was in pain all over, as if I’d spent the previous twenty-two hours in intensive training followed by two hours of being intensively kicked. Bob, the incredible shrinking mage.

Well, it could be worse. I’ve always been a supporter of the little guy. What really scared me was what would happen when I got to that tiny size Mormor had promised. What would he do to me? And then I realized how much time had passed, and that Suzy must have found the dead copy of me by now, and then I felt despair.

At some point later a three-legged demon came by with some strange-looking bread and bluish water. I didn’t want to eat, lest I ingest more of Mormor’s poisons, but the hunger by then was too strong. I discovered as I wolfed down the bread that I’d never commit suicide by hunger strike. The food was unpleasant, as different as could be from my last meal, but what really made it awful was the demon. The runt stood there watching me with his multiple eyes, licking his shoulders with his big hairy tongue. I can hardly describe his stink except to say it made the bilge of the Seaworthy smell like a host of golden daffodils.

Disgust and despair were eventually replaced by boredom, which I tried to relieve by seeking an escape. I could only guess how much time was passing by how long it took for me to get hungry again. The dull, unchanging light of the place came from no window or torch; just from the air itself, it seemed. I was in one cell of many, as Mormor had said; it was a warehouse of lost souls.

Many of the souls were screaming at least part of the time. I could probably hear a hundred or more, but I could only see five from the bars of my cell. There were the two Mormor had described—the one trapped in his own body and the one breeding horrible creatures that fed on her. Farther along was a man being kept alive by some sort of talisman over him, who was being rolled flat by a wheel of stone. A woman in the next cell was infected with some disease that caused her to attack herself, ripping away at her own flesh from time to time, teeth, nails, and sinew breaking and shredding. Another man kept alive magically was boiling in a vat and slowly melting; he made no sound, for his mind had clearly snapped. People always say you can’t imagine how bad it was—but I really hope you can’t. If Mormor was doing this in the name of knowledge, he was making ignorance look good.

“Hey,” came a weak voice from one of the cells. It was the woman acting as the human incubator. Her voice had probably been pretty, once.

“Hello,” I squeaked. It seemed my voice was shrinking along with me.

She said, “What’re you in for?”

“Trespassing or something.”

“Mm. I tried to burn a horrible book on demonology. Arrrgh!”

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re getting ready to burst out again.”

I left it at that.

“Do me a favor?” she asked.

“Anything I can.”

“You don’t seem as bad off as most of us yet. If you manage to escape, before you go, kill me.”

Escape. Yeah, right. By the time I was small enough to slip through the bars I’d be in the gerbil cage. And even if I wasn’t, what can you do when you’re five inches tall? I didn’t want to say it to her, but my chances of escape were as good as hers.

However, I sighed and said, “Of course.”

As the day progressed, my pain became almost unbearable. I was down to about half my height and unable to move. I must have dozed now and then, for I was awakened by weird sounds a couple of times, and once when the demon returned with a meal.

Just when I had sunk to the blackest spot of my life, a spot that has a lot of competition for the title, some more food was brought to me by a different demon, one larger and uglier than the first, but without the rotting flesh bouquet. It slipped bread and water to me through the bars, then stared balefully at me with its many eyes.

“If you’re waiting for a tip,” I said, “forget it.”

Then the demon tossed something to me I was not expecting—a root vegetable that I realized was mandrake. It looked enormous.

“Eat as much of it as you can, right away,” said the demon in Suzy’s voice.

“That’s it,” I said. “I’ve finally lost my mind.”

“For the first time? You’re sticking with that story?”

“Suzy!” I said. “Is that you for real? What has be done to you?”

“Nothing. It’s all done with mirrors.” In an instant the demon vanished and in its place was the world’s greatest princess, looking pretty huge to me now. “It’s an illusion mirror, see? Small enough to fit in my palm, but when I press the widget it casts the illusion of a demon. It even fooled the creepy demon on watch; that’s how I got in. But look at tiny little you! Better eat that mandrake; from what I read in the library it will counteract most potions and powders.”

I pulled myself to the root and started gnawing on it. It was awfully tough and tasted horrible, but I was determined. Between bites I asked, “How’d you get this stuff?”

“Zippy’s got so many magic items he just leaves them all over the place. He’s a slob, really, and everyone who works for him winds up dead or down here, so he relies on imps and demons, and they’re even bigger slobs.” She sighed. “I think he thinks I’ve been totally taken in by him, so he doesn’t suspect me of anything.”

“Didn’t he make you think I was dead?”

“That phony suicide? So he told you about that? It had me going at first, but a few things gave it away. The dead body looked healthier than you do.”

“Hmmph.”

“And the note. What garbage. ‘My dear Suzette, next to handsome and mighty Lord Mormor I see how unworthy I am of you, so I must perish. Farewell.’ Yeah, like that sounded like you.”

“I’d probably just leave a note saying ‘I’m outta here.’”

“And while I can’t say I know you well, I know you’re not a killer, not even of yourself. Lucky for us both, Zippy thinks I’m an idiot. While he was off doing something evil I was toying with all his magic crap. I was looking into a crystal, wondering where you really were, when it showed me you, shrinking away in this horrible dungeon. And here I am.”

“You’re ten times more amazing than I thought you were.”

“You’re sweet! Now listen, shorty, I can’t stay long.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’ve arranged for some help for you, and I’ve got some pilfered items, too.”

“Thievery? I’m rubbing off on you.”

“There’s a key for the cell, and a mystic bomb. You know how to use it? Just turn the dial and run like crazy, then boom. Do not be anywhere nearby. Use it as a last resort. My uncle has a couple of these and they’re doozies. Good luck, my darling.”

“Good luck? Come on, let’s both get out of here.”

“No,” she said, her voice catching, and I nearly wept. “Not now. I can’t. You can only escape if I stay behind to assist you with those magic toys of his.”

“You’ll leave yourself in the grip of that monster?” I said, sitting up. I was already in less pain, and I drew myself up to my dramatic height of two-foot-eight. “Look around you! You could be on this side of the bars when he finds out!”

“Maybe. But I think he’s still working on bringing me over to the dark side. A creep like that can make it sound tempting. But I’ll always remember that his way leads to places like this. I’ll be safe as long as I resist. Now please, don’t argue anymore. I have to go.”

“I’ll be back for you, Suzy. Somehow I’ll save you.”

She reached between the bars, mussed the hair on my little head, and said, “I hope so. Because I’ll be saving my kisses for you.” And she dashed off, re-demonizing as she ran.

I began to grow back to normal, but it was going to take some time. I was worried that demon #1 would return and re-poison me, but if he did I still had some of the root. I just hoped he wouldn’t snitch (“Hey! The gerbil’s gettin’ big again, boss!”). I’d make him eat the bomb if he did.

But before I saw the demon again, I saw the help Suzy had promised. Or rather, first I heard it.

“Shh!”

“Mutter mutter.”

“Psst psst psst sh!”

“Mumble mumble.”

“Be quiet! Gads, you are the noisiest sneak thief since the famed Dog Burglar, who struck fifty-eight years ago in the town of Waloosh!”

I listened patiently to a lecture on criminology until they found me at last.

“Gads!” cried Astercam on seeing me. “Did someone wash you at the wrong temperature?”

“Hilarious,” I said. “And good to see you alive, too.”

Bourbon smiled and farted.

“This is a temporary condition,” said I, “being corrected by a mandrake antidote.”

“Ah! Mandrake! Not the panacea some suppose, but—”

“Here’s the key to the cell. Let me out.”

Bourbon frowned and grumbled.

“Now what?”

“He wanted to bend the bars with his bare hands to free you,” said Astercam.

“Well, this is faster. But while I’m marveling at how good you look alive rather than dead, how are you alive? And here?”

Fumbling with the key, Astercam said, “Bourbon turned out to be a powerful swimmer. He kept me alive in the storm, then managed to get us to another island. When I saw that this was that island I nearly died of fright, but I pulled myself together, as after all the trouble he’d gone to I thought it would be ungrateful of me. When we weren’t attacked and killed immediately it was clear that the proprietor had not spotted us. Moreover we were close to the pier he uses for mainland travel, and there were boats. But before we could try to steal one, a message appeared in the air before us, in fancy handwriting. ‘Rescue Bob,’ it said, and a frilly arrow appeared pointing to a sewer tunnel. It was blocked by a grate, which Bourbon easily removed, and we came out through a drainage pit into this hellhole. There, you’re free, my diminutive friend. Someone in the castle obviously likes you.”

“I’ll tell you all once we’re out.”

“Let us hurry; this place chills my old bones.”

“It’s doing nothing for my young ones.”

“Gads,” said the old scholar, wincing at the scenes of horror around him, “how might my research have inadvertently contributed to this madness?”

We walked down the corridor the way they’d come, and I confess I kept my eyes forward, afraid of seeing worse than I had already seen. It led to the drainage hole, which Bourbon could just barely squeeze through. We had to hand his ax down to him. Astercam went next. I turned the dial on the mystic bomb as far as it would go, then rolled it back the way we’d come, toward my incubator friend. I had no idea how strong it was, but I hoped it would do the job.

The tunnel was dark, smelled like feces and blood, but it was wide. There were side tunnels leading off it, but they were all smaller than this one, so it seemed we would be safe following the main branch of filth. I assumed, or at least told myself, that Astercam remembered the way they’d come. I trudged along holding up the bottom of my oversized robes. The rats terrified me more than they normally would in my small state. All I could think of was Suzy, how much she’d risked for me, and what I could do to help her.

But after a while we were still in the stupid tunnel, and another thought crept in. “Say, does this tunnel only feature regular rats?”

“As far as we’ve seen, Bob. Why?”

“Because I thought I heard something, and I think we’d better start running.”

And not a moment too soon. Just as a dot of moonlight appeared before us, we heard a godawful squeal, like five thousand fingernails on five thousand blackboards.

“What was that?” said Astercam.

I could not answer as I was flung to the ground by Bourbon, as he wheeled about with his giant ax. I could smell the giant rat before it actually attacked us. I couldn’t see it well in the tunnel’s gloom, but it was maybe six feet at the shoulder, its eyes glowing red. The darkness would give it an advantage. Bourbon swung at it mightily and it reared back, hissing.

I had had my magic stuff taken from me, but there were a few spells I could still do, like a heat spell. I cast it at the rat, but twaddled wrong, and it came out as the nice warming version of the spell. Damn it. I’d just improved its grooming.

“There’s more behind it!” screamed Astercam.

Bourbon was dealing massive blows, but the rat was not giving up, and sure enough there were a couple more of the monsters coming up the tunnel. I was out of anything useful, and Astercam was unarmed but for his five or six teeth.

“RUN!” I screamed, because I’d just remembered the bomb.

Bourbon was not a runner by nature, but he took the hint. The three of us barreled forth. There was a huge VA VOOM and a burst of flame was seen down the tunnel. I smelled barbecued rat. No doubt there was plenty of sewer gas to keep the fireball rolling. The rats, giant and normal, shrieked, and we were suddenly in danger of being run over by them. The fireball was gaining, and now it was sucking in oxygen, threatening to pull us all back into the flame. It was tugging at my robes and I was losing my forward motion when…

…when the floor dropped out from under me and we all fell fifteen feet down a slimy slope onto the black sands of Big Evil Beach. Over our heads shot a blast of flame, and we three humans managed to roll out of the way of the burning giant rat corpses being coughed out of the sewer pipe like charcoal phlegm.

Astercam choked out some words of non-reassurance: “So much (cough) for stealth! We’ve (hack, hack) got to get out of here!” He chugged along the beach and pointed over a hillock to a catamaran attached to a pier, one of several black boats that Mormor kept moored there. Part of the Big Evil Navy, I guess. At the end of the pier was a smallish watchdemon, who was standing there drooling, looking back in shock at the smoke flowing from the sewer pipe. He didn’t even notice us until Bourbon sank his ax into his squishy demon head. I guess he noticed that.

We chugged along the pier and piled into the catamaran, and we variously cast off and shoved and swam and pushed the boat away. Fortune was with us, for a breeze was blowing, and in the darkness we got the sails up and were making good speed immediately.

I looked back. Smoke curled up from the island, her awful castle perched on top, blacker than the night sky. Its skull facade was pointed the other way, but I knew we could be seen by at least one of its inhabitants.

We didn’t say it, but we were all waiting for an enormous storm to hit. The next hour or so was exceptionally tense and quiet. But it looked like the bomb—whose strength I had seriously underestimated—had provided an adequate distraction to the evil mage, for if he’d had any idea I had left the island or that my companions had ever been on it, we would surely have been toast.

“You’re filling out your clothes well,” said Astercam. “Got any mandrake left?”

“Why? Are you cursed?”

“No, hungry.”

Bourbon grunted something.

“I think he said we’re safe,” said Astercam. “So now, tell me, Bob, what was that explosion?”

I laid down on the tiny deck area. “Another first,” I said. “I kept a promise.”

⛵

[Will Bob and his companions make it someplace safe? Can Suzy be rescued from Mormor's evil clutches? Will PETA protest the horrible treatment of giant rats? Find out the answers to some of these questions and many more next Friday in Chapter 11 of Bob the Mage!]

Stampede-Free Zone.

Froggone it.

Lawn and garden decorations always interest me. I'm old enough to remember when there were still a few jockeys and Mexican burros around, but you seldom see them anymore.  I've written about gnomes and deer and concrete planters and Mary and St. Francis. But I am only now starting to see Frog Princes. 

And they, me.

Wayfair has several, Amazon does, Home Depot.... None of them look like the chubby chap shown here, but they're all frogs wearing crowns, so they count.

Honestly, when I first saw this guy I wondered what he was for. I thought the crown was some kind of rack for holding something. Maybe citronella, or a chunk of suet for birds?

Sorry I didn't recognize you, your highness!

But why frog princes? Why now? These things are tangentially tied to cultural movements, near as I can see; the burros, for example, seemed to appear when American culture's focus shifted more toward California from the Eastern cities, and to our southern neighbors from our European friends. What culture leads to frog princes?

Disney? But none of them look like the frog prince from The Princess and the Frog. The Disney Store doesn't even sell lawn sculptures, let along frog ones. So it's not Disney.

What are these frogs for? Are you supposed to kiss them? Is there some ritual connected to these I don't know about? If you kiss the lawn frog will it turn into a prince? Will it magically repel bugs? Is this heathenism? Should I call my priest?

Don't ask me. I never know what's going on. Least of all anything to do with royalty, or frogs.

It's more complex than we thought.

Weekend update.

The Greatest Weekend Updaterizer

Hi, gang. Couple of things to report after the weekend, especially a followup on poor little Nipper, the 100-pound puppy, whose overnight tribulations, as noted yesterday, led to a terrible night's sleep for both him and me (and senior varsity dog Tralfaz). Nipper was the poster child for the phrase "sick as a dog."

I won't recap all the gross details of his illness, but they continued all day Sunday to a lesser extent. He couldn't eat, could barely take water, and was still just as cheerful as can be. I think we spend most of our lives working hard to try to be half as happy as a Golden Retriever, and most of us never get there. Anyway, he did finally have some chicken and rice last night, and this morning he ate hungrily. Maybe we'll take him to the vet later. We'll see how things go.

I'm sure it was challenging for him, and it didn't do me a bit of good either. Saturday night I was stone-cold exhausted. I had a commitment in the morning and company coming at night, so between those two periods I had HOUSECLEANING! MyFitnessPal estimated I burned about 800 calories doing all that work, which is great, except I ate about 10,000 calories on the food my wife cooked. So, bloated and exhausted, I stumbled to bed late, and that's when Nipper's Yippie Trips to the Yard began.

It's a shame, because we really had a great time with our old friends. They love our dogs, and we all had a good time getting caught up and reminiscing. Well, we humans did. The dogs are excellent company but lousy conversationalists.

On Sunday, while Mrs. K watched the dogs, I dragged my tired hinder to Mass, where we celebrated the feast day of St. John the Baptist. Although the Gospel reading was about John's birth, I always think of Jesus's description in Matthew 11:11, that "among those born of women there has been none greater than John the Baptist". The greatest man who ever lived, is what it seems to say, and then we think of him wearing "clothing made of camel’s hair and had a leather belt around his waist. His food was locusts and wild honey," in Matthew 3:4. So the greatest man ever was kind of like Bigfoot's kid brother (as played by Michael York).

The thing about the reading we had, in Luke 1, is that after the strange tale of John's birth and naming, the story cuts to the narrator (if it were a film) who says:

For surely the hand of the Lord was with him.
The child grew and became strong in spirit, 
and he was in the desert until the day
of his manifestation to Israel.

And I thought of John the Baptist, and saw him now not as Desert Yeti but as a man who had a particular calling and fulfilled it with everything he had. It would cost him his life, but he was wiser than most of us, and more blessed, to have such a gift after all.

To go from the sublime to the more familiar, this is something even dogs know. To varying degrees, dogs need missions too, and those with jobs are happy dogs. Often a dog will appoint himself a job if nothing is assigned him, good things like protecting the family or cheering them up, or bad things like making humongous holes in the yard. I'm not sure what Nipper's job is, but whatever it is, he likes it. So, everyone's happy. Or will be when he's healthy.

One last thought on John the Baptist: When I was turning my life around from crap to non-crap some years ago, and taking faith seriously, I remember seeing this guy who hung around the 34th Street station of the R line, playing the guitar for Jesus while dancing barefoot on cardboard. And I used to think, God, please don't let that be my calling in life. And He hasn't. But that guy with the guitar always looked happy, and I sure as hell don't.

Maybe we're lucky if God doesn't call us to do hard or embarrassing or dangerous things. Maybe we only think we're lucky.

3:43 a.m.

As I write this (using my phone) at the above-mentioned time, junior auxiliary dog Nipper has just been returned to his crate. We were outside with liquid bowels at 11:30 and 2:00 (bonus return trip for pee at 2:30), and then at 3:20 I heard that unmistakable sound of a dog horking up the works, followed by a quick trip outside for more bowel fun.

You know how some guys have that reflex where changing a diaper or cleaning up vomit triggers their own vomit reflex? Yep, I am a card-carrying member. Had a close call.

Oh, I wish I could slyly note that hey, is this the true meaning of love? With a little humblebrag wink. But the truth is, there was no one else available to clean it up, and you can’t just leave vomit hanging around. It doesn’t evaporate.

He’s quiet now. His crate smells strongly of Clorox wipes, but he went in anyway. When I got sore at that pee trip—“We were just out!!!”—he looked up at me, the picture of forebearance, even though he’s obviously not well.

Maybe he’s the one who knows what love is.

Good night, little Nipper. Sleep well.

Update: Out again 5:12.

Big words.

Okay, watchers of packaging and cultural trends: What's the difference between these two products?

The answer, of course, is nothing. These liquid hand soap bottles are from Colgate-Palmolive's Softsoap, part of their slightly elevated "luxury" line -- you can tell by the silver tops -- and they contain the same jasmine-mint scented soap. The only difference is, the one on the right is the new bottle redesign.

I'm always interested in changes to packaging. Every now and then a company will decide to refresh its look, catch the consumer's eye that is used to being glazed as it scans the shelves. "Is that something new? No, it's just that Softsoap. I like that new bottle." And into the cart we go.

It's always interesting to see how the same idea is expressed in different ways. This is, as I say, the lux line, and until recently, rich but subdued colors and handwriting font were the way to express that. Now a burst of foliage and big capital letters are the way to go. The old one looks more elegant, but the new one is assertive without being tacky. They each have their charms, but as a representation of what's in the bottle? I guess either is fine.

I've noticed that this kind of big block lettering has gained in currency lately. I think it's a sort of mid-century retro, although I couldn't tell you the fonts or when they were originally popularized. They represent a kind of confidence and clarity that seems lacking in our modern age, which may be why it's appealing to designers. Life is messy, and you feel like it's a race between you and the country to see which one goes all to hell first? Look here. This soap knows what it's about. This soap is solid... even though it's liquid. This is real. To say all that would be pretentious twaddle, but to express it in art makes it feel true.

Another example of what I mean is our old refreshing friend, Fresca: 

Fresca's had a lot of looks over the years, trying to be fresh, or fun, or healthy, or energetic -- whatever the most valued aspect of a grapefruit soda might be at the moment. Here's the original, found online:

That's a great mid-sixties look, fun and young and new. The 2018 one looks more centered, more meaningful, because of the letters (and the "est. 1966," like it's a family business rather than a Coke product).

I think the new look probably started with artisan companies, outfits who started up in old warehouses or manufacturing plants (or wanted to act like they did), designing logos to look industrial but independent. Look at Jones Soda and TOMS and Mrs. Meyer's, for example. Snarky but earnest. Now the look has spread up the line -- it will be thought of as the Look of the 2010s one day.

So the time has come. It's up to us to be confident, meaningful, solid. Now we have to live up to our soap, to our soda.

We can do this! Who's with me?

Bob the Mage, ch. 9.

[Author's note: Fiction Friday! once again, with chapter the ninth of our novel, Bob the Mage, which I wrote some years back and have made New and Improved, as they used to say. When last we saw Bob, our fantasy adventure hero, he had attempted to escape a desert island with his companions Astercam and Bourbon, when a weird storm smashed their raft. Bob alone washed up on the dark and scary Big Evil Island, where he found his love, Princess Suzy, as guest at Castle Terror to... Morwor Mordrun Mormor! (thunder sfx) Mormor seems friendly... but can a dude who lives in a castle carved to look like skulls really be that friendly?

Previous chapters can be found at these links:

chapter 8, chapter 7, chapter 6, chapter 5, chapter 4, chapter 3, chapter 2, chapter 1

And remember, if you're enjoying the book, tell a friend! If you're hating the book, keep going! It might get better!]

Bob the Mage

by Frederick Key

Chapter 9

Mormor sat me across the table from Suzy, so far apart that our knees couldn’t touch. I know, I tried. Anyway, just seeing her alive was more wonderful than anything, even the food, with which I duly stuffed myself. I had about one of everything, each bite better than the last, and my mug of ale seemed to refill itself magically, and in twenty minutes I was in a stupor. It was great.

It was then that I realized no one had spoken in twenty minutes. My fellow diners had been watching me, Suzy with pity, Mormor with humor. I decided to say something witty, but a belch forced its way out first. I shook my head, took a breath, and said, “Forgive me, I’ve been starving. Suzy, I thought you were dead.”

“And I you, Bob. When that freak storm hit I thought we were both done for, but somehow the waves carried me to this island, and dropped me somewhat battered on the beach. Zippy has been looking after me since. And you?”

“I washed up on another island, not too far from here. Wouldn’t you know it, just as I was sailing away on a raft, another freak storm hit. Is that amazing or what?” I might have just asked Zippy straight up about the storms, but it’s not nice to accuse someone of treachery and meteorological murder when your stomach is full of his food. Anyway, he’d been so pleasant I was finding it hard to believe he really was into all the skulls and stuff. After all, folks with skull tattoos all over them are nicer than a lot of prim pious people, or at least so the folks with the skull tattoos keep saying. Mormor probably just bought the castle as a fixer-upper, I was thinking, and hadn’t gotten around to de-skulling.

“I’m so happy you didn’t die,” said Suzy.

“Me too, just so I could see you again.”

Sensing approaching mushiness (I assume), Mormor said, “Come, Bob, let us retire for a brandy and talk shop a bit. I would like your thoughts on a professional matter, which I’m sure would bore the fair lady.”

“Yes, let’s,” I said. I was so stupefied by the turn of events—and ten pounds of food and ale—since reaching Big Evil Island that I was to this point unable to focus on what Mormor’s game could be. Maybe he would show his hand now, man-to-man. I was feeling congenial and starting to think Astercam had him all wrong, maybe even that horrible flash storms were just natural around here. Plus, I hadn’t had brandy in a purple thurgwott’s age. “Please forgive me, Suzy, because I really don’t want to be anywhere you aren’t.”

“Yes, Bob,” she said. “Zippy has told me about the demands on a spellcaster’s time, and I am sure you have much to discuss. Besides, I am feeling awfully sleepy.”

“Good night, fair one,” said Mormor as she left us.

I said, “I thank you for the meal, Zippy. May I call you Zippy?”

“Certainly, Bob,” he replied. With a wave of his hand the feast vanished, leaving clean dishes behind; with another wave those too vanished—ye gods, if I had an automatic dish-cleaning spell alone back in Snyrgg I could have been rich—and in their place were two snifters of brandy. “Is Bob your only name, or have you a more familiar one?”

“I’ll level with you, Zippy. My parents, whoever they were, never named me. My fellow urchins used to call me Pocks, for my childhood acne, which fortunately cleared up by the time I was studying under Simon the Unsteady. He called me X for two years, until one day he was so mad at me for screwing up a Mystic Fist spell and accidentally punching his ear with my actual fist that he kicked me into the river. When he saw me float around he started calling me Bob, and the name stuck. You could call me Bobby.”

Mormor rose and took his glass, gesturing me to follow. We left the hall. The corridors were well lit now, and I was doing pretty good myself. Unlike me, however, the source of their illumination was not evident. “I appreciate that you did not tell the lady of my reputation,” Mormor said. “I assume, that as mage yourself, you’ve heard of me.”

“Oh, a word here or there. You know how they gossip around the club. Say, you wouldn’t have some old clothes I could borrow, would you? I’m afraid my rags have been reduced to threads, and I should hate to be socially unacceptable.”

“No fear on that score. In fact, you may be needing an entirely new wardrobe soon.”

“Thanks, I—huh?”

“I mean, our nourishing food will undoubtedly put some meat on your frame.”

“Oh, yes. Sure.”

“You know,” he said as we walked past rows of bookcases filled with ancient tomes, “people do say things about me, quite unfair things. That kind of gossip leads to poor judgment. Like that imbecile Maximo, sending you out to get the Gallstone of the Gods. Maximo thinks it can protect Tegora against wizardry, specifically mine. So he put you to all that trouble, because of fear and ignorance, fired up by gossip.”

“Well, tongues will wag,” I said, and then realized I had never told Suzy or him about my Gallstone-related adventures.

“They say I’m evil. And yet my goal is to bring all the world together in harmony. No more fighting amongst each other, no more starving, no more prejudice and hate. No silly religions, no city-states, no private property, nothing to make war about. Everyone united for one simple purpose.”

“Ah.”

“To obey me.”

“Well, that is…”

“They even have the nerve to say my island is evil. Bobby, I did not name this island. That was from back when Gargothene the Odiferous lived on it. I just found it unoccupied and moved in. I wanted to call it the People’s Island, but you can never get the cartographers to change the names in a timely fashion.”

“The People’s Island. Hmm.”

“Yes, for the benefit of all. I love the people.”

“Of course, of course.”

“So I built my castle here.”

“Well, now, about that, Zippy. You think maybe people find the whole skull and bones theme a bit… off-putting?”

He sighed. “I hired an architect who convinced me to go with the vision thing. Well, what can you do? Artists, right? Say, let’s go down to the rec room.”

“Sure, sure. So, this love of people thing. I guess it’s safe to say you have nothing to do with the freak storms that shipwrecked me and almost killed me twice, did you?”

He stopped and turned, smiling. “Oh, Bobby! If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here to ask the question, I assure you.” To illustrate, he held out the hand that was not carrying a glass and, with a brief gesture, shot gouts of flame at me. I made an unmanly eeek! and dropped my glass, but the flame never touched me. It roared past me on all sides, and singed the furniture behind me, yet I was completely unharmed. Well, but for some flames smoldering on stray hairs and threads.

“Right, right,” I said when it ended. “Just, er, asking. I guess I just don’t know why you don’t want me dead. Aside from your love of the people, that is.”

He took me by the elbow. He smelled a bit of sulfur now. “Oh, Bobby, come along.” We passed under an arch to a broad circular stairway, going down. “I should have hoped you wouldn’t ask such a thing. I certainly gave you ample opportunity to perish, but you didn’t. Look at you! You are a true survivor.”

“Um. Thanks?”

“Even when you thought Suzy was dead, and you had no reason to go on living, you still found a way to keep going,” he said, and my blood dropped about fifty degrees. We continued to descend. “Yes, I followed your progress in my Mystic Mirror, even heard your story as you told it to that silly old man Astercam. I was impressed, so I decided to bring you here.”

“So you did control the waves. But you almost turned me into strawberry jam on the rocks.”

“A final test, that’s all, and as usual you survived. Just a moment.” He let go of me and snapped his fingers, and I heard something like fifty-two bolts click open on a thick iron door. We proceeded through into a large chamber full of sounds. “You may wonder what that has to do with me still. After all, I have nothing much to gain from you. I am far more learned, intelligent, wise, and powerful than you could ever hope to be. Even without all that, I am your physical superior and much more attractive to the fair Suzy. Oh, don’t gape like a fish, I haven’t touched her. I need her as she is until she comes to me of her own volition. Here, just step into this cell, thanks. As vast as this chamber is, with scores of corridors with cells, it was difficult finding a spot for you, but it is only temporary, as you shall see.”

“What do you want with Suzy?” I said, trembling.

“She has a role to play,” he said, snapping his fingers again. “It’s difficult to find genuine princesses who maintain purity of any kind. Suzette is close enough. She’s a little weird; she likes you, or did. You see, when you’re a mage who deals with devils, you find that corruption of others is the most efficient means of amassing power. On that score, Suzy is valuable to my plans. But by all means, please continue to think of her fondly. It will make your time here much more useful, to me.

“I have known since I split my first man limb from limb that even the toughest survivor will break when the pain becomes great enough. Consider yourself lucky that you did not meet me a few hundred years ago, when I was young and my experiments lacked finesse. Yes, as you can see now in the adjacent cells, I still like to indulge in some meaningless torture, although it is almost more for appearance’s sake than any fun these days. That man across the way spilled wine on my best kidskin gloves; I removed his face for him and twisted his limbs so he can sense nothing but pain. The apparatus nearby records his thoughts, but they’re rather dull. Just ‘Aaagh.’ Hardly riveting.

“That woman— Well, I forget what she did, but it isn’t important. The bubbling green spots on her skin are colonies of microscopic imps I created. They breed like mad, eating what they need before bursting out into the netherworld. Messy, of course, but she regenerates quickly thanks to the tubes of fluid attached to her neck. She’ll last longer than the others did, I think.

“And that man… Oh, why belabor the point? These are some of my diversions, of which naturally the lady upstairs knows nothing. And, as I’ve mesmerized you, I command you never to speak of them to her. I’m sure your silent mind is reeling with thoughts of what I have in store for you, Bobby, but you needn’t fear. My first experiment for you won’t be terribly painful.

“I wish to find out whether a true survivor can bear mental torture as well as the physical kind. To this end I am applying two discoveries of mine, which that old fool Astercam incidentally brought up through his work. I will this night create a duplicate of you, right down to your dirty fingernails, of materials from the netherworld, which the lady will find hanging by the neck in the quarters next to hers in the morning, along with a very convincing suicide note, all about your awful past, your miserable existence, your unworthiness—true to life, no? If this works, I will work on living duplicates of certain potentates, all under my command, which will replace the real things. But you’ve given me a chance to work on the technique.

“Now, as for you. Look here. Yes, this is a gerbil cage, but you will call it home. Everything you ate tonight from the fruit to the brandy contained a reducing powder of my design, and let me say you’re looking smaller already. I anticipate an optimum lowness of five inches, which ought to remove you from the running as a suitor for Suzy, eh? She’ll think you dead anyway, and at that size you might as well be. But look on the bright side. As long as you amuse me you shall have plenty of food, a sandbox for your personal needs, and see? A little exercise wheel. Perhaps I’ll toss in a rat or two from time to time to keep you busy. I think it shall be fun! But when you do bore me, as you probably will, bear in mind that I have some ideas for experiments on a tiny human as well.

“Well, I think that’s all for your orientation, except to say that the shrinking process will probably leave you feeling like your entire body is sucking in on itself, so you may experience some discomfort. In fact, you may experience some agony. You see, Bobby, this is what comes of trying to marry above your station.

“In five minutes you will snap out of your trance, and then you may howl all you like. No one will hear you but your fellow inmates, and they seem busy with their own howling, don’t they? This is a lovely plate of despair I’ve handed you, and I can’t wait to see how much you can consume before you go utterly insane.

“Oh, and one final thing: Zippy was fine when we were good-fellows-well-met, but from now on it’s Lord Mormor to you, got it? Or just Master. Have a pleasant evening.”

Five minutes later I joined the chorus in my own dark little pit of hell.

[Well, this is the darkest spot Bob has ever been in! How can he escape? Maybe chapter 10 is EVEN DARKER! Better come back Friday and find out! Try not to lose sleep over it!]

Lament for Wile E.

I feel like I walked off the side of a cliff
In the moment before I should fall
The view is astounding, the air is so clear
Beneath me is nothing, inside me is fear
Just a brief pause, and then the disaster will meet me
Way far below are the rocks that will greet me
Perhaps if I run more and pinwheel my thighs
I can make it across the blank air of this gap.
My ambition was humble, but great was my pride
Now foolish to think I can run to that side
For there's nothing for feet to grab on in the skies.
And the time is now come when, with face cast in pall
Shall with eyes wide in terror--the soft moment snap--
Plummet below while I wonder what if
I should have stayed hungry, eschewed the renown
Or run through the air, and never looked down.

Killer Moth!

Had the dogs out to the dog park the other morning so they could collapse all day afterward. Tough life, my dogs have. When we got home I felt a bizarre itching on my leg. Like something was fluttering in there...

Being very aware of the danger of ticks, I smashed whatever it was in the fabric as hard as I could. Then I looked. 

How the hell did a moth fly up the leg of my new jeans? And one of those big moths that look like they're made of sawdust and pig fat. I know I had been strolling in the wooded part of the park, where it was ten degrees cooler, so I guess one could have shot up my leg then, but why? How? Not like I was wearing bellbottoms. It made me want to run out and get a pair of those skinny leg jeans the kids were wearing, except I'd look like an olive on toothpicks.

Dopey moth. No wonder I almost flunked them.

Of course this entry was named after the old Batman enemy Killer Moth, who debuted in 1951 as an anti-Batman. As the police could call Batman with the Bat-Signal, criminals who'd promised Killer Moth a cut could signal him if they ran into trouble and he would save them from arrest. I've always had a fondness for villains who are a kind of dark version of the good guys -- Professor Zoom, Sinestro, Bizarro, the Crime Syndicate -- and for a long time Killer Moth served that role. Then, sometime in the 1990s, they decided to make him an idiot and a loser, and then into a monster called Charaxes. I think it all started when someone at DC said, "Moths are silly and weak! What's he doing, chewing holes in sweaters? Har har har."

HA! That's what you think, fictional idiot comics editor. The southern flannel moth caterpillar, or puss moth, is venomous, for one. "The most common places to be stung are the hands, arms, and feet, with symptoms of envenomation ranging from painful to severe," says the invaluable Nature's Poisons. "Pain is obviously the first and most common symptom, but can also include swelling, nausea, headache, chest pain, and shortness of breath. In more serious cases, shock-like symptoms and seizures occur, requiring hospitalization." So yeah, it rarely happens, but in its larval state this moth can straight-up kill you.

Further north, the browntail moth caterpillar "can cause a severe rash or respiratory issues for those who encounter them. These hairs are easily encountered once they become airborne." It's got ranged weapons, people.

So does this mean that Batman should have instead fought the Killer Caterpillar, since they seem most dangerous in the larval form? Well, no, since flying makes moths cooler, but Killer Moth could have had a girl sidekick called Cate Rpillar. Just spitballing here.

Anyway, keep calm, and don't let anything fly up your pants. That is all.

Flitter Upper.

We're Chirp and Joanna Cranes. We take the worst nest in the best neighborhood and turn it into our avian client's dream home. Are you ready to see your Flitter Upper?

[Run logo, theme music -- blah blah blah something about home]

Chirp: Who's the pigeon this time, Jojo?

Jo: Bobolink and Wren are looking for a bigger place for their growing family, but they can't afford new construction. They're hoping we can find a good handybird special for their flock.

Bobo: Our place is just too small for us and our five kids, but we can't afford much.

Wren: We have a little nest egg.

Chirp: How much we talkin'?

Wren: No, I mean an actual nest egg. Little Herman or Hermoine will be due soon! Help!

Chirp: You should see our brood!

Jo: We've been all over Waco looking for just the right place for you, or it will be after we fix it up. What do you think of this?

Wren: Bleah.

Bobo: You're kidding. 

Chirp: It don't look like much now, but let Joanna get to work on some designs and you'll be amazed. 

Jo: There's good bones here; we can convert this into a tri-level that's perfect for your family. 

Wren: Are you serious?

Chirp: Do hogs like slop?

Bobo: ...I guess...

Chirp: Well, same here.

Wren: I suppose we can afford it. Let's call the bank. I'll talk to the branch manager.

[Later]

Jo: So Bobo and Wren are excited about the new place after I showed them my plans. 

Chirp: And you know what that means today is!

Jo: Demo day.

Chirp: DEMO DAY! WHOO HOO! [runs off camera; crashing heard. Joanna rolls eyes.]

Jo: Done?

Chirp: [returning, covered in twigs] Yup! 

Jo: Find any shiplap? 

Chirp: I just find it so exciting the way you say "shhhiplappp."

Jo: No, huh?

Chirp: Not this time.

[Later]

Chirp: Despite the tremendous lack of shiplap in this build, we managed to get it done on time and right on budget. 

Jo: Bobo and Wren, are you ready to see your Flitter Upper? 

Bobo and Wren: Yes! 

Bobo and Wren: WHOA!

Bobo: Look! It's got a room... and another room... and another room!

Wren: And each one has a hole!

Chirp: I liked the way Jojo used a mock-timber Federation style framing on the gable.

Bobo: Yeah, I was about to say that. 

Wren: I love that giant clock as a design element in the living room!

Jo: Thanks! It's a Timex.

Wren: It's perfect! Wait till our three kids see it! 

Jo: Three? I thought you had five.

Bobo: We threw two of them out of the nest during construction.

Wren: But they can come to visit! And another one's on the way, as soon as I get home and sit on him or her for a while! 

Jo: Chirp used mostly new materials to rebuild the old April-built robins' nest into this modern, multilevel home, perfect for an active family of seven... or five... or six. 

Chirp: Plus, we stocked it with food to get you started!

Bobo: That's great! I could use a-- SQUIRREL!

ALL: YIKES!

[A squirrel raiding the house]

Squirrel: Nice place! No shiplap, though. 

[closing credits]

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