Smack-dab, in the Middle of Nowhere (Waste Stories #1)

24. When in Trouble, When in Doubt... (Part 4)

The double doors before Phoenix swung open with a cliché creak, a wall of smoke following behind, leaping in slow motion from its shadowy abode.

The crowd gasped in anticipation.

Phoenix wriggled in his bonds, hoping to slide his wrists out from the tangle of filthy ropes holding him to this infernal slab. But alas, if the cultists knew one thing and one thing only, it was how to tie a fool to an altar. He glanced side to side, hoping to spy something, anything, that could help him find his freedom. But it was to no avail. He was in that classic adventurer's situation, where all hope seems lost and he just had to sit and wait, playing the part of the worried victim, until his quirky group of friends rode in to save the day at the very last minute. A rag-tag group of allies would also suffice.

But Phoenix had neither, and he didn't think Bert would be slogging up Mount Butt any time soon. Not when she was on the other side of Can't Be Buried bargaining with bandits.

He wriggled again, just to make a point of it.

And then a voice did speak.

"THINE LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND OTHER STARRY FOLK..."

And the people, they did squeal in exaltation.

It was a woman's voice, and it boomed all over the square, seemingly coming from every direction. It rattled Phoenix's ribcage and gnawed at his headache, and the wild crowd squealing that followed was the boot to the stomach while he was already down.

And the voice, it did speak again.

"PLEASE, PUT THINE HANNNDS TOGETHER..."

And the people, they did prepare thine hands.

It was loud, bloody loud. If the tribal drums were a punch to the brain, this was a mortar strike. Phoenix winced and struggled at his bonds, desperately wishing this was a less enthusiastic cult. Like those suit-wearing money people from Bank Island. They were far more brooding and grim, like a good cult ought to be. Better dressers, too.

And the voice, it did speak once more, but slightly quieter so doth to build thine excitement.

"Forrrr ... theeeee..."

And the people, they did suck in an excited breath.

Phoenix flinched in advance, instinct telling him what was about to happen.

Then it happened.

The voice, it did scream.

"CONSTELLATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR!"

And the people, they did go absolutely bananas.

Phoenix could only squint as the crowd exploded around him. A solitary bugle fought for supremacy above the noise. Begging disbelief, it was somehow even more tuneless than the last musician. Next, through the great double doors sprang a short, plump figure in a garish black robe. Her garb was speckled with brilliant, jewelled stars, the satiny fabric glittering in the dancing light of the lanterns. A collar hugged the back of her neck, rising up in a towering star pattern to halo her chubby face. She smiled wide at the crowd and waved, the two starry guards at either side of the door standing ruler-straight in salute.

Now, the woman hopped and danced her way to the altar, stopping every so often to wash the adoring crowd in her regal smile, ensuring that every one of them thought she was smiling at them, and not anyone else. She laughed modestly, like this massive crowd of screaming fans was totally unexpected and oh my, wasn't this a lovely welcome, oh ho ho.

Phoenix stared at her, at her womanliness, and a plan began to form in his head. A devious plan, filled with heroic banter, sly manipulation, and the subtle art of seduction. All things Phoenix was a master at. The glimmer of freedom beckoned to him at the far end of the tunnel of doubt.