ELEVEN

Out of the Fire and Back Into the Pan

Dungar’s life never flashed before his eyes. He made no final pleas to a god he never acknowledged. He couldn’t even say what his final thoughts were. He just lay there in the dirt and the blood focusing on each new breath as it came. The Sharley’s breath carried a uniquely sickening combination of old eggs and flatulence. He couldn’t help but wonder if his body would have any kind of impact on the vile halitosis when the Sharley consumes him. He then thought maybe having ridiculous thoughts like that about his own demise indicated he was ready to die. It was irrelevant either way though; because as the rascally children of Woodwall used to say: ready or not, here it comes.

Dungar waited impatiently, hoping the beast hadn’t decided to start at his feet and work its way up. Nothing came though. Dungar peeled his eyes open so he could see just what was going on. His body still hadn’t really come back online, so getting to an upright position was excruciatingly difficult. As he struggled to get up, he heard the Sharley speak in a deep, raspy voice.

“What are you doing here, pathetic human?” The creature demanded.

“What?” Dungar spat. “Now what kind of stupid question is tha—”

But his response was cut off by an even louder, more incredulous response by a voice so ingrained in Dungar’s mind that he sometimes hears it when he’s trying to sleep.

“Wot am I doing here?!?!”

Dungar immediately sat bolt upright. His eyes could see clearly now, but he still did not believe them. Jimminy was boldly standing in the middle of the stadium facing down the Sharley; he appeared to be totally unarmed.

In as grandiose a gesture as he could muster, Jimminy clenched one fist and used his other hand to dramatically point at the Sharley.

“My name is Jimminy Appaya … And I’m here to kick your ass!”

With a vicious snarl, the Sharley did not so much as hesitate before setting off at a run towards Jimminy. Its long talons were raised and its gaping maw was open wide as it set in for the kill.

Jimminy stood fast as the beast rapidly closed ground. One of his hands disappeared deep into his pocket. Once the Sharley was within a close enough range, Jimminy loudly proclaimed “POCKET SAND!!” and threw a large hand full of the grit into the fiend’s face.

The Sharley, now thoroughly blinded and coughing up clouds of sand, began to violently thrash around, its long talons menacingly swinging to and fro. Jimminy, who was quite agile for a tall and lanky man, did a quick shoulder roll underneath a pair of the swinging claws and ended up behind his opponent. Without missing a beat, he took a run at the creature and delivered a mighty kick right between the humanoid monster’s legs and square into its groin.

With a gurgling groan, the entire body of the Sharley seized up and it crumpled to the ground in a heap, rolling around and clutching its stomach.

“Nothin’ wins brawls like a kick in the balls!” Jimminy declared triumphantly, before stomping on them once more which elicited a pained wail from the downed creature. Satisfied that his opponent was out of commission, Jimminy made his way over to Dungar.

“Good afternoon, mista Dungar! How are you today?”

“Jimmy, what in the bloody blazes—”

“Me too! Come on; let’s get you out of here!”

As Jimminy hauled him to his feet, Dungar caught sight of a rope ladder hanging from the side of the coliseum; it must have been how Jimminy made his way inside. He had no idea how he was going to make it up there, but it was his only chance at salvation.

“Sorry ‘bout the accommodations, mate. It was too hard to smuggle a real ladder past security!” Jimminy huffed as he helped support his companion’s run.

Jimminy raced up the ladder first, his long limbs allowing him to skip rungs with ease. Dungar, in his battered and beaten state, had significant difficulty. It was a bizarre feeling to have one’s own body ignore commands from his brain. Slowly, and with great effort, he raised his arms and legs one after the other. His mind went back to lifting the gate, to punching out the second gladiator, to the brutal beating he received from the tall creature, and the world-ending head-butt he dished out in return. He had come much too far now to simply be foiled by a stupid ladder.

“Hurry, mate!” Jimminy called from above, his hand stretched downward to offer assistance. Dungar did not take it though. Petty as it was, he had it in his mind that he was going to get there and he was going to get there on his own. Eventually he felt the hard lip of the railing in his grasp and, with everything he had, he hauled himself over the side of it before flopping onto the hard wooden floor.

“Nap time can come later!” Jimminy insisted as he pulled on Dungar’s curly hair. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Groaning and growling, Dungar was hauled to his feet once more as the two set off at a slow limp out of the arena. Enraged yells from both Herrow and guards could be heard behind them, motivating Dungar to continue putting one foot in front of the other. They made their way into the town just outside the arena, hoping to lose their pursuers. Dungar’s body exhausted quickly and he knew he couldn’t carry on this exertion for much longer. At the first empty building he saw, Dungar halted their pace and pushed Jimminy inside before entering himself and closing the door behind him.

They appeared to be in an old storage shed. Packs of grain and flour littered the floor. Dungar’s muscles were more than happy to give way and drop his body into them.

“Look alive, mate!” Jimminy admonished Dungar. “If someone were to come through that door how would ya make a quick escape from down there?”

Without even looking up, Dungar drew attention to Jimminy’s usual getting comfortable ritual. “Jimmy, you’ve taken your pants off. You’re not going anywhere in a hurry either.”

“Ah nonsense!” Jimminy dismissed. “I’ve been in many a situation where I had to put me pants on and make a speedy exit!”

Dungar grumbled to himself a quiet reminder to punch out Jimminy again in the future, because for now his only priority was not moving a single muscle. He wasn’t sure how much of his ordeal Jimminy was privy to, but he must have had some sort of inclination because he sat in silence while Dungar attempted to regain his strength. After a half hour or so, Jimminy clapped his hands and hopped to his feet.

“Alright, mate, the heat should be off! What say we make like me Mum and leave, never to return!”

The last thing Dungar had any desire to do was get up. But he knew the sooner they made it out of town the better. With a low groan and a small heave, Dungar was back on his feet and the duo was out the door. They found themselves in a some what crowded marketplace with the coliseum still in full view. There were assorted stands selling a variety of goods like fruits, vegetables, livestock, jewelry, and knickknacks of every kind. Jimminy’s desire to run to the hills seemed to have fallen to the wayside in favor of thoroughly inspecting every booth’s goods.

Dungar himself couldn’t even resist perusing a few goods here and there. Not that he could actually make any purchases though. He didn’t know if he had left his house with any money, but even if he had, between the kidnapping, the beatings, and the fact his clothes were torn to shreds, there’s no way there would have been any of it left. His attention was immediately diverted when his ears picked up the faint voice of Herrow off in the distance.

“And now, gentleman and ladies, the moment you have all been waiting for! Bring out this year’s batch of Blood Bath contestants!”

Dungar’s mind immediately went back to the cell where he had been imprisoned with Sir Lee. He had to save him. It was the most irrational thing he had ever contemplated in his life, or at least a close second, but somehow he had to get back into the arena and botch the Blood Bath for a second time.

“Jimmy!” Dungar barked. “I don’t have time to explain, but we have to stop the Blood Bath!”

“What’s that, mate?”

“I said we need to go back to the arena!”

“Why? Did ya forget something?”

“We need to save the people from Herrow.”

“Alrighty.”

They moved to head back to the arena, but they did not make it far before Jimminy once again stopped at a booth.

“Jimmy!” Dungar yelled out again. “What are you—”

“Just a moment, mate!” Jimminy cut him off. He then turned to the shopkeeper who had a large assortment of goats on display. “Oh my they all look so wonderful!”

“These be the best goats west of the Demon’s Kettle!” The portly salesman encouraged him.

“I want that one right over there!” Jimminy exclaimed, pointing at a goat that stood still right in the middle of the pen. The body of the goat was a creamy brown color with white patches, but its hair got steadily darker as it went up the goat’s neck and covered its face. Each of its eyes had a pitch black perfectly circular patch of fur around them, and a matching goatee made out of similar black hairs which would catch the occasional flecks of grass that fell out of the goat’s perpetually chewing mouth. Any horns the goat had were also completely hidden underneath the enormous black afro growing out of the top of its head.

“An excellent choice!” The rancher praised. “The most docile one of the pack I’d say, don’t never give nothing no trouble, that one! Calm as can be and the least picky eater in all the land. My asking price is—”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I’ll take him!” Jimminy cut in, not even waiting for a price. He dropped a purse filled with coins on the counter, leashed the goat’s neck, and took it out of the pen.

“Isn’t he gorgeous, mista Dungar? I’m going to name him Shaffleton!”

“Where did you get all that money?” A bewildered Dungar inquired.

“I led the local pub in a rousing sing-along after sharing the tale of my daring escape!” Jimminy grinned. “Then when everyone was distracted, I swiped the tip jar.”

“Are you done now?” Dungar growled, his patience almost exhausted.

“Yup!”

So off they set, Dungar, Jimminy, and Shaffleton the goat, back towards the arena. The half hour rest Dungar received was hardly adequate for him to regain his strength, but it allotted him the ability to walk and probably at least a few solid punches. Between that, and his posse consisting of a lunatic and a farm animal, this was likely to be a tricky endeavor.

As they reached the arena, a short and chubby guard stopped them at the door.

“Hang on there, gentleman and animal. The show’s only for paying customers.” He addressed them in his best tough guy voice.

Dungar nudged Jimminy. “Don’t suppose you have any more money on you?”

Before Jimminy could respond, the guard cut in.

“Wait a minute! You’re the convict who escaped!” He declared, fumbling for his sword.

Dungar braced himself for a fight, but it was over before it could begin when Jimminy picked up a nearby rock on the ground and clubbed the guard over the head with it. Afterwards, he stuffed the aforementioned rock down his pants.

“Like I said, mate” Jimminy chuckled. “Never know when ya might need one!”

The salesman’s pitch about Shaffleton’s docility seemed to hold true, the goat didn’t appear spooked by the altercation in the slightest. It simply remained where it stood, continuing to munch noisily on nothing.

They made their way into the arena lobby, which was completely empty. Herrow’s voice could be heard reverberating off the walls, listing the various false crimes that the people in the arena allegedly committed.

Dungar, in a frenzy, began searching the area for anything that could be used in his favor. The halls did not have much to offer. The lobby was a large, circular room with hallways leading around the arena on each side, as well as the entrance to the stadium and the arena exit. On the left side of the arena entrance was a concession stand of sorts that appeared to sell various kinds of cooked meat. It was closed though, the operator likely in the stands with everyone else.

Herrow finished listing the crimes committed, and after the jeers and heckling died down she continued. “And here to put an end to these horrible people’s criminal careers are two majestic and ferocious beasts that we had imported from the far away Tyiri Jungle. Put your hands together, unless you are using them to cover your children’s eyes, for a pair of the infamous Tyiri Leolos!”

Leolo. Dungar was by no means an expert on the animal kingdom, but everyone knew what a leolo was. They were the largest cats in the world. They were furry quadrupedal hulks with enormous tusks jutting from their cheeks and a thick mane of quills behind their heads and on the tips of their tales. Leolos were the primary reason the jungle ecosystem over in the land of Tyiri was endangered. They had a tendency to breathe fire whenever they’re angry or agitated, resulting in their jungle homes being steadily burned to the ground.

Dungar was frantic now; he was running out of time. He raced down the hallway as fast as his exhausted legs could take him, throwing open every door he could find along the way and rifling through the contents of the room. Brooms, mops, spices, meat sauces, extra sword handles, sharpening stones, spear heads, gun powder barrels, helmets, gloves, wait … gunpowder barrels?

Dungar shoved a shelf of various armors out of the way and lumbered over to the pile of barrels and popped one open. Sure enough, it was completely full of the black powder. Grabbing some flint and steel off a nearby shelf, Dungar lit the fuse one of them and tossed it down the hallway. The resulting explosion left a gaping hole in the floor as well as a large pile of debris on either side. Satisfied that his handiwork would keep any guards at bay, Dungar hastily began throwing the enormous stockpile of barrels out into the hallway, setting up the foundation for what would likely result in an enormous blast. After he had emptied the storeroom, he grabbed as many as he could carry and proceeded to roll one with his foot out the door and back towards the lobby, leaving a trail of the powder to the main cache.

“Jimmy!” Dungar yelled as he made it back to the lobby. “There’s a room just down the hall there, I need you to—”

Dungar’s voice trailed off as he rounded the corner and saw Jimminy. The man had broken into the food stand and was drizzling every kind of meat sauce and marinade he could find onto the goat.

“What are you doing?!” Dungar demanded.

“Why, I’m prepping Mista Shaffleton, here!” Jimminy responded matter-of-factly.

“For what?!” The still thoroughly confused Dungar asked desperately as Jimminy took the goat by its leash and headed for the stadium door.

Jimminy strode through the door with Dungar hot on his heels. They reached the edge of the bleachers and looked over the railing into the stadium. The bodies of Dungar’s opponents were all gone, but their blood still remained. The arena was now filled with a crowd of terrified men and women all huddled together desperately trying to stay away from two massive leolos who were prowling menacingly around the stadium, eyeing up the prey that lay before them.

“I’m prepping him for his big moment, mate!” Jimminy vaguely explained before he picked up the goat and, ignoring the creature’s bleats of protest, calmly hoisted it over the railing and into the arena.

Dungar had no words. He just opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure how to voice his opposition to Jimminy’s indecipherable logic. Before he managed to form the words, Jimminy spoke first.

“Relax, mate. That’s a Farrawee fighting goat. Those leolos don’t stand a chance.”

“What?!”

Jimminy didn’t respond; he just watched Shaffleton down in the arena. After he got to his feet, the goat once again stood completely still, its jaws absentmindedly chewing up and down on nothing. The leolos immediately picked up the scent of the various sauces that Shaffleton was currently marinating in, and they both turned towards the tantalizing meal on display.

Seeing that the leolos had taken his bait nicely, Jimminy produced the same rope ladder they initially escaped with and once more threw it over the side of the arena, using gravity to uncoil it. Immediately the crowd of people all made a rush for the ladder and one by one they slowly began to work their way up it.

“That better be one bloody chewy goat, or those people aren’t going to have enough time to escape.” Dungar pointed out.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the entire arena was shaken by a tremendous deep, bassy roar. Confused, Dungar looked at Jimminy who in turn was eagerly staring down at Shaffleton. Dungar turned his attention towards the goat just in time for it to emit another incredible roar. Dungar would never have expected such a noise from the creature. The sound could easily be repurposed as a foghorn. Each time the leolos went to make a move towards Shaffleton, the goat would frighten them with the noise. However, it became less and less effective as the leolos slowly started to get braver.

As the first hostage made his way over the railing, Dungar got an idea. If Herrow thought he ruined her livelihood the first time, then she hasn’t seen anything yet. He took a barrel of gunpowder and handed it to the man, ordering him to spread it everywhere before he ran away. He did the same with every new individual that made their way over the railing. There was plenty of gunpowder to go around. Dungar had no idea what they had stockpiled so much of the stuff for, but he felt it was a prudent course of action to teach the arena proprietors the downside of possessing such an obvious fire hazard.

The goat roars were starting to get more frequent now, indicating the leolos were setting upon Shaffleton more often. Eventually they grew immune to the noise, and one of them pounced in for the kill. Soon as the cat became airborne, Shaffleton jumped into the air and did a 180 degree turn before delivering a double hind leg kick right into the leolo’s face. Moments after the first cat set in, the second also began bearing down on Shaffleton. After the goat landed from its first attack, it immediately jumped back into the air and sent another spinning kick into the second leolo’s ribs.

The battle became quite the spectacle as Shaffleton the goat lay an increasingly vicious beating on these two exotic beasts. The cats were helpless against the goat’s speed and agility. Every swipe of their paws or swing of their tails was easily dodged by Shaffleton and promptly countered with a punishing kick from his hooves. The goat also utilized its afro in combat. The afro was apparently much more solid than initial impressions may have implied. All attacks seemed to bounce off of it, and the goat would occasionally swing it like a wrecking ball. Guards began to spill into the arena attempting to halt the hostage’s escape. However as soon as they set foot inside, Shaffleton would powderize their ribcages with his mighty hooves.

The fight quickly became a losing battle for the leolos. Even their attempts to breathe fire at the goat were promptly dodged. Unfortunately, one of the hostages still in the arena was not as quick. His clothes caught fire and he began to go into a violent panic. He then cut in front of one of the hostages and made a frantic climb of the rope ladder.

Fearing for the gunpowder that the stadium was now thoroughly coated in, Dungar halted the man at the top of the ladder and proceeded to rip any burning clothes off of him. It was one of the more uncomfortable things Dungar ever found himself being forced to do, but they were all dead men if he didn’t. The man was oddly reluctant to lose his clothes for a man who was on fire; probably because once he did he was revealed to apparently have a liking for ladies’ underwear. Nonetheless, he too was handed a barrel of gunpowder and sent on his way.

Dungar had managed to save the gunpowder, but during the burning man’s ascent the fire from his clothing managed to spread to the rope ladder, which then spread to the thick coating of fresh lacquer on the wooden railing surrounding the spectator’s stand. Panicked, Dungar quickly began sweeping his gunpowder trail away from the railings as the fire spread around the circular arena and into the bleachers, his efforts unintentionally aided by the terrified event attendees as they fled from their booths towards the entrance. He shot them death glares as they departed, briefly considering trying to stop them, but had to begrudgingly acknowledge to himself that being unsympathetic jerks didn’t mean they deserved to burn to death. Besides, the ensuing chaos from their retreat was helpful to keep encroaching guards at bay.

When he turned back to the arena he felt fortunate to find there were only three hostages left down in the arena. However he felt unfortunate to find the second to last one to leave was, well, a very large man of prodigious girth. The singed rope ladder was hopeless at supporting his weight, and he only made it up about four or five steps before the ropes snapped.

“Cod dangit, fat boy! If yer brains were dynamite you wouldn’t even have enough to blow yer nose!” Dungar heard a familiar voice holler from down in the arena. Sure enough, the only two hostages left down in the pit were the large gentleman and Sir Lee.

“Lee!” Dungar yelled. “Hang on! We’re going to get you out of there!”

“Are you off yer mental reservation, boy?!” The knight bellowed back. “The cod dang architecture is a-blazin’! Unless you wanna be a lit shuck, I suggest you make like a bird and get the flock outta here!”

“And just what in the blazes do you intend to do then?” Dungar retorted.

“I ain’t no hard case hillbilly with a snoot full of honey bees! I got a plan, now git! You and yer uglier-than-a-burnt-steer’s-hindquarters friend!”

Dungar looked around helplessly. The ever-spreading fire was quickly making its way around the building and would undoubtedly soon be finding the gunpowder that was spread everywhere. Even Herrow had vacated her vantage point as the flames encroached upon it. The whole coliseum was going to go up at any minute; he had no choice but to get out of there. Jimminy, on the other hand, didn’t seem to realize this because he was too busy dwelling on Lee’s parting comment.

“And just wot did you mean by that?!” He hollered down into the arena.

“Yer ugly enough to back a buzzard off a gut wagon, son.”

“Jimmy we need to go. Now.” Dungar ordered, prying Jimminy away from the railing.

“Now just a moment, mate, I haven’t adequately ascertained the implications of that gent’s—”

Given its effectiveness in the past, Dungar elected to employ yet another stiff backhand to snap Jimminy out of his fixation and return him to reality. Once again, it proved effective.

“Well come on, mista Dungar, we need to go. Now!”

At a full-on sprint, the duo rushed through the lobby and out the exit of the arena. The ordeal had done nothing to stem Dungar’s mounting exhaustion, so once he was fifty paces or so away from the arena he had to stop. They looked back at the Vthnnqouayey arena, the blacksmith hoping it would be the last time he or anyone would ever lay eyes upon it. Thick plumes of smoke began to rise from the coliseum now; the ravenous flames making quick work of grossly over-glossed stadium as final stragglers streamed through the entrance. The air grew tenser with every detonation-free second.

Finally the sound of an explosion was heard. It was smaller than Dungar had thought and hoped it would be, only ripping a rather large chunk of the arena wall above the entrance that fell and sealed the doorway closed behind it. There was no fire, just a large pile of debris.

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWWWW!”

Suddenly Sir Lee came bursting through the smoky hole above the entrance, riding on a large brown Farrawee fighting goat. With one hand he held its scruffy afro, while the other was wildly waving a big floppy hat. No sooner had they cleared the building than did another more enormous explosion erupt from the top of the arena, sending most of the walls tumbling down and causing some of the closer onlookers to clutch their ears and flinch away from the blast of heat. Even a hundred feet or so back, Dungar marveled at the mushroom cloud and debris that rained from the sky, knowing it was an image he would never forget until the end of his days.

“Howdy there, soldiers!” Sir Lee greeted them triumphantly from Shaffleton’s back. “I reckon anyone who’s against bein’ irresponsible with explosives will be whistlin’ a different tune after that display!”

“Don’t suppose you know what happened to the other guy who was left in there with you?” Dungar asked.

“I’d wager he’s about 350 pounds o’ cooked bacon by now.”

Sir Lee let out a boisterous laugh, an amusement neither Dungar nor Jimminy shared as evidenced by their awkward looks. They weren’t exactly sensitive people, but it wasn’t remiss to have at least slight empathy for the deaths of innocents. “Oh unhobble yer lips, fellers! Now what say we go kill ourselves a queen?”

“Say what now?!” A shocked Jimminy asked.