Prisoner of the Molepeople

Chapter 51 - Lenny

At once the spotlight operators shifted their focus.

“Long live King Richard!” Lenny shouted, his voice filling the ballroom. At the sight of the “netherworldian terrorist” risen from the dead, a wave of panic spread over the people.

Holding the only microphone, I become the impromptu emcee. “That was random.”

Lenny saw my point. “Sorry. Love live Grandma.”

The word “grandma” was echoed all around me as people turned their heads in confusion.

Perhaps this vision of Lenny was a delusion, and I really had lost my mind. My heart, however, was fluttering. I wanted him to be real … even though his timing couldn't have been worse. If only he'd stayed dead for a just a few more minutes.

Feeling lightheaded, I must have tipped over, because the next thing I knew, I was caught in the arms of several guests.

Lenny raised my sword (the one that had fallen in lava), and behind him, running through the open doors, assembled a small army. They were my hippies and bums in all their flamboyance, armed with crowbars and broken beer bottles. Among them were Bobbert, Gunhilda (both looking very much alive), and The Old Sage from Beneath the Grave.

Lenny continued: “What I'm meaning to say is, hand over Ann or suffer the consequences.”

Part of me wanted to run into his arms. Another part of me wanted to pick up a chair and beat him over the head … just when I thought I'd achieved a state of spiritual mastery. Getting back onto my feet, I said into the microphone, “Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is certainly a surprise. I'm sure all of us would like to hear Lenny's miraculous story. However, first I'd like to direct your attention back to me.”

I was interrupted by a shouting Duthbert: “Aren’t you guys supposed to be dead?”

Lenny began to strut into the reception, not the least bit ashamed of his green tights. “When one achieves a certain level of heroics, he becomes impervious to the forces of evil.”

Duthbert started approaching Lenny as if they were playing game of chicken. “You're saying the sheer force of your goodness generated a force field that protected you from the lava?”

“Yes. Metaphorically speaking.”

“How about literally?”

“Literally … no air conditioning system could possibly cool a giant room full of lava. The pillars should have melted. The monster could have never existed.”

“But it did exist.”

“If you mean as a robotic puppet wading through a lake of corn starch and orange die, then you're right.”

It took a moment for the truth to sink in, but when it did, Duthbert stomped, fuming for everyone to see. “You see why I've been trying to shut down the Romantic Division? This is how Grandma's been secretly spending our tax dollars.”

“Speaking of which …” The voice came from the Old Sage from Beneath the Grave. “In light of recent events, we've decided to open the under-underworld to the public. I have a hundred free passes to the grand opening. First come, first serve.” He held up a stack of tickets, and people immediately rushed out of their seats to get them.

An overwhelmed Duthbert turned to Father Jackothan. “Did you know all this?”

With a menacing smile, Father Jackothan nodded.

“And all the while I thought you had some actual power.”

“I did just as you wished,” said Father Jackothan. “You'd heard the legend that only a priest could summon a monster from the deep, and it was true. Only I knew the voice-activation commands. Grandma and I worked it out that way. And if you were a real priest, you too would know the secrets.”