Witches Be Crazy, page 8
Sufficiently woken up, Jimminy looked around wildly before his eyes settled on his caller.
“Oh hello, Dritungo, fancy meeting you here, mate.”
“Do I know you, little man?” Growled the goon.
“Apparently not.” Jimminy pointed out, mildly put off.
There was a brief silence due to the mild confusion caused by the brief exchange. Then, opting to return to business, Dritungo addressed both of them.
“Out the door, both of you. It’s almost show time.”
As he walked towards the door, Dungar moved at a deliberately slow pace, taking the extra time to size up this Dritungo person.
“I recognize that look, tough guy. Don’t even think about it.” Dritungo warned.
“Your fists are indeed mighty, mista Dungar, but even if you could take him there would be plenty of other hired helpers upon us before we made it out of here.” Jimminy chimed in.
“What is going on, Jimmy?” Dungar insisted.
“Well, assuming mista Dritungo here is under the same employment as he was when we last crossed paths, we are currently underneath the Vthnnqouayey arena.”
“The fight arena? What a boring name.”
“It’s a foreign word, that’s just how it’s pronounced, it’s spelled nothing like how it sounds.”
“So what does this mean for us?”
“Well, most likely that we’re either going to be fed to exotic beasts, or beaten to death by gladiators. Personally I myself am hoping for the former, what a way to go that would be eh?”
Dungar shook his head. He never ceased to be amazed by Jimminy’s idiosyncrasies. Here he was calmly explaining their impending death as nonchalantly as if he were discussing the weather.
“You’re not right in the head, are you?” He asked rhetorically.
“Dungar, me friend …” Jimminy began, as he put an arm around his mate’s shoulder. “Take it from me. Wrong is the best kind of right.”
They walked for a few moments like that, Dungar contemplating his situation and Jimminy’s words while Dritungo continued to usher them down the narrow hallway towards a staircase.
“That doesn’t make any bloody sense, Jimmy.” He finally stated.
“Well what do you expect from me, mista Dungar?” Jimminy asked. “We just established I’m not right in the head.” He added with a laugh.
As they made it up the staircase and exited through the door, the two heroes found themselves walking into the bright daylight of the outdoors. After his eyes adjusted, Dungar found himself in the middle of a large coliseum filled with spectators all presumably there to watch him die. He gaped at the spectacle of it, amazed that such a thing was allowed to exist in the kingdom he had held so dear.
The doorway from which they had come was now sealed behind them, Dritungo presumably behind it. Even amid the screaming crowd, Dungar and Jimminy were entirely alone. Alone to face whatever lay behind the ominous gate on the other side of the arena. There were no weapons in sight, no escapes available, and no one to rely on but the shaggy loose cannon who was waving and blowing kisses to the crowd. Dungar swallowed nervously, hoping it wasn’t too much to ask for to be kidnapped again right about now.
NINE
Put Up Your Dukes
The sun shone brightly as it rose higher into the midday sky. A warm breeze swept over the arena, the only respite available from the heat of the day. The weather was ideal for viewing a sporting event, it’s a shame they couldn’t have picked a sport that didn’t revolve around him brutally dying, Dungar thought.
A hush fell over the crowd. The gate on the far side of the arena slowly began to creep upward. Dungar wasn’t sure if his heart had stopped or was simply beating so fast he could no longer feel it. Even Jimminy appeared to be mildly absorbed in the anticipation. The gate continued to open until finally it revealed a dark entranceway. Dungar began to wonder to himself what he would prefer to deal with. He had never actually seen a redbear in the flesh before; so perhaps if it was his time to go he could at least mark that milestone beforehand.
Finally, at the sound of a tremendous cheer from a crowd, a figure walked through the gate. It was a man, a mountain of a man, several inches taller than Jimminy and roughly three times as wide. His entire body was covered by chain mail except for his head, which was free from any armor whatsoever. His wavy golden hair blew gently in the afternoon breeze as he flashed a winning smile to the crowd making several ladies as well as a few men swoon. Given the confidence with which he wielded his monstrous battle axe, he had clearly done this before; making his feat of an unscathed face all the more impressive for the crowd and ominous for Dungar and Jimminy.
He smirked at Dungar and Jimminy with condescension; clearly he was unimpressed by his opponents. Dungar surmised that could perhaps be used to his advantage. Soldier or not, Dungar still wasn’t entirely sure how much use Jimminy would be in a fight. But perhaps, even if Jimminy were to simply serve as a distraction while Dungar tried to get the jump on the gladiator, they may be able to win this.
“Ladies and gentleman!” A familiar feminine voice rang out from above.
Dungar turned towards the source of it to see Herrow looming over the arena addressing the crowd. The volume of her voice was quite impressive for someone who seemed to be so soft spoken, it was almost inhuman. Her long, wavy brown hair flowed down elegantly past her shoulders, contrasting nicely with the flowing formal white dress she was wearing. As much as Dungar hated her, he had to admit she was quite beautiful.
A hush fell over the crowd as all eyes began to turn to her.
“Thank you again for coming to the preliminary events for the biannual Vthnnqouayey arena blood bath!” Herrow announced triumphantly.
Another loud cheer erupted from the crowd before she continued.
“Ah we’re still in the prelims!” Jimminy pointed out.
“What does that mean?” Dungar asked.
“These are just the battles to warm up the gladiators, mate. We’re just here to be fodder for the handsome gent over there before he does the real competition tomorrow!” Jimminy explained.
Herrow’s voice rang out again in the arena. “In our current match-up we have another returning favorite. He has survived not one, not two, but five Vthnnqouayey arena bloodbaths! And he’s still as handsome as ever. Give it up for Pretty Boy Panin!”
With a smug smile, the man gestured with both arms towards the crowd as they enthusiastically screamed their thunderous approval.
“And here to help him stretch his legs,” Herrow continued, flashing a cold smile towards Dungar and Jimminy, “are two convicts generously donated to us from the infamous dungeons of Jenair. Both were found guilty of trafficking women and children. Let us see how they fare when confronted by an opponent who can fight back!”
Jeers and boos erupted from the crowd. Dungar felt a seething hatred rising in his chest.
“Mista Dungar!” Jimminy exclaimed incredulously. “You never told me you were a trafficker! I never would have agreed to this quest if I knew—”
Jimminy’s spiel was cut short by Dungar backhanding him.
“Shut up, Jimmy.” Dungar said with disgust. “She’s obviously lying.”
“Oh, right.” Jimminy acknowledged as he rubbed his face.
“Are you ready to get this fight started!?” The triumphant voice of Herrow rang out one last time, followed by a final tremendous cheer from the crowd.
Dungar was fuming. If pretty boy over there was looking for a fight then Dungar felt happy to oblige in his current state. But Jimminy tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.
“Relax, mate.” Jimminy mumbled as he leaned in close to Dungar. “I got this!”
Thoroughly confused, but also curious, Dungar decided to see what Jimminy had in mind.
Putting on his signature grin, Jimminy confidently strode towards Pretty Boy Panin as calm as the hush that had settled over the crowd. Dungar wasn’t surprised by his audacity, and was instead surprised at his own lack of surprise at Jimminy’s audacity.
“Hello there, you great brute of a combatant, you!” Jimminy greeted the large man as he continued to walk closer.
Panin tentatively stared Jimminy down as he continued to walk closer, clearly confused. Before long Jimminy was just a few paces away, still confidently strolling towards Panin. Then suddenly, and without warning, Panin drew a deep breath, raised his axe, and moved to lunge at Jimminy.
“Whoa whoa whoa there!” Jimminy admonished his opponent with impressive conviction. “Just what do you think you’re doing, mista gladiator!”
Panin froze.
“Uhh …”
“Don’t you ‘uhh’ me!” Jimminy continued to chastise. “You were actually about to strike an official referee! Why I oughtta disqualify you from the tournament!”
“What are you talking about?!” The gladiator demanded.
“You see that burly gent over there?” Jimminy asked, pointing at Dungar. “He is your opponent, not me!”
“There ain’t no referees …” Panin grunted unsurely.
“Did you not read the official rulebook update that was issued for this tournament!?”
Panin did not respond. Instead he just looked around helplessly.
“Of course you didn’t.” Jimminy exclaimed, exasperated. “I bet you can’t even read!”
Panin still continued to stare at him, stone faced. It was unclear if Jimminy’s words were even registering.
“Blimey …” Jimminy sighed, smacking his palm to his face. “Mista Dungar! Come face your opponent!”
Dungar cautiously began to walk towards them. He had no idea what Jimminy was planning, but if the man was really shoving the burden of fighting this guy entirely onto his shoulders then Jimminy better hope he doesn’t survive.
“’Twas an honest mistake, mate.” Jimminy comforted Panin, slapping him on the back. “Just go do your thing, we’ll chat about this later.”
Confidence regained, Panin lumbered towards Dungar. His shoulders were hunched and his arms were flexed into attack position. Dungar, on the other hand, stood straight and stoically. Even standing up straight he still didn’t come close to matching Pretty Boy’s hunched over height. Nonetheless, Dungar defiantly stared him down. Regardless of whatever conflicting feelings were flying through his mind, his eyes were unfaltering.
“Alright boys!” Jimminy cut in. “I want to see a nice clean fight between ya! No scratching, biting, eye gouging, hooking, facemasking, throwing sand in the face, insensitive slurs regarding your opponent’s mother, or hitting below the belt!”
Dungar continued to stare Panin down. Even in spite of the height difference, he could spot the twinge of trepidation on the pretty boy’s face.
“Let’s get it on!” Jimminy bellowed, clapping his hands and ducking out of the way.
Pretty Boy Panin straightened up and raised his axe high above his head, going for the killing blow early.
Dungar immediately lunged for him, his hands grasping the chain mail, intent on turning this fight into a grappling match.
Then, out of nowhere, there was a sickening thwacking sound. Dungar looked down to see the limp body of Pretty Boy Panin bleeding profusely from the right side of his face and being supported by nothing but Dungar’s firm grip on his chain mail. Dungar then looked up at Jimminy, who was staring down at Panin’s face. He had a large, bloody rock in his hand.
“Hah! He ain’t pretty no more!” Jimminy gleefully exclaimed.
“Jimmy!” Dungar shouted with surprise. “Where did you get that rock?”
“I always keep a large rock on me.” Jimminy said with a shrug, before stuffing the rock down the front of his pants. “Never know when ya might need one!”
Dungar laughed heartily before casually dropping the limp body of Panin to the ground.
“Well that was … Interesting.” The voice of Herrow rang out through the stadium. “In a stunning upset, the child rapists from Jenair managed to pull a fast one on our honorable hero and defeat him using deceit and deception!”
The crowd rang out in more boos and angry yells. As loose objects began to be hurled towards them, Dungar and Jimminy made a dash for the gate they came from. It opened up to reveal several armed guards and Dritungo, the latter having a very sour look on his face. The guards all grabbed Dungar to take him back to his cell while Dritungo stayed behind to pin Jimminy to the wall.
“Alright, wise guy.” Dritungo snarled. “Give me the rock.”
Jimminy laughed at him. “How about you reach in and get it, mate?”
“Unless you want to lose more than the rock, I suggest you hand it over now”
“Here you go, friend!” Jimminy grinned, immediately producing the rock for him.
After that brief exchange, they were led back to their cell. As he walked towards it, Dungar took the opportunity to study the turnstile. Contrary to his suspicions, there was no locking mechanism. The turnstile simply rotated normally. Puzzled as to what kept the gate shut, Dungar looked at the gate itself and that was when he saw it. Affixed to the top of the gate was an enormous rock, the weight of which was surely enough to keep the gate down. It took the efforts of three guards to rotate the turnstile and lift the gate.
Secure in the cell once again, Dungar and Jimminy settled in. Dungar took to pacing while once again Jimminy removed his pants and reclined against a wall.
“You knew Dritungo.” Dungar stated, halting his pacing and turning to Jimminy. “And you knew where we were. Have you been to a one of these before?”
“Before I left the service, me battalion was in these parts during this season one year.” Jimminy explained. “’Tis quite the spectacle. They import great creatures of exotic ferociousness and sic ‘em on a big group of folks. If today was the prelims then tomorrow will probably be the blood bath!”
“What about the gladiators?”
“Oh they have a tournament for them too. It’s a daylong event, mate; can’t expect the lemmings to outrun the beasties all day now.”
Dungar grumbled to himself. It’ll take more than a rock in Jimminy’s pants to save them against whatever monsters awaited them tomorrow. He walked over to the gate and looked through it. Soon as he did, he heard footsteps and saw faint movement far down the dimness of the hallway. Then out of the darkness emerged a detachment of armed guards followed by a large group of assorted individuals in varying forms of restraints. The gate to the cell opened and in stepped Dritungo.
“Get in there, all of ya!”
One by one each prisoner filed into the cell. By the time they had all made it inside, everyone had to rub shoulders in order for everyone to fit. As the gate slammed behind him, Dritungo sneered through the gate at them.
“Hope you lot are comfortable. You have a big day tomorrow.”
A few sharp glances at those within his immediate vicinity allowed Dungar a small buffer zone between him and the crowd. Jimminy, on the other hand, had proceeded to make his way up to everyone to introduce himself and shake each of their hands.
Soon the room was filled with the dull roar of pockets of people talking amongst themselves. Dungar could hear Jimminy interviewing people as he made his rounds.
“Good whatever-time-of-day-it-is, kind sir!” Jimminy greeted a particularly terrified looking man. “No need to be afraid now, we’re all friends in here.”
“I don’t belong here!” The trembling man insisted. “Please! There has been some kind of mistake. I’m just a farmer; I’m not whoever they were after!”
Hearing this, other prisoners began to weigh in.
“I’m a farmer too!” Another man exclaimed. “I was just minding my own business out in the field when I was attacked.”
“I was at the market with my kids.” A small, frail man standing to the side sobbed. “They threatened to harm my children if I called for help.”
A nearby prisoner put his hand on his shoulder to try and console him. At mention of children, other people in the cell began to break down.
“My boys are probably wondering where I am right now.” A woman choked through tears. “My husband was killed in battle; I’m all they have left.”
As he sat secluded in his corner, Dungar spent the next few hours catching snippets of conversations. People’s names, backstories, and how they came to be stuck in this situation. Nearly every one of them was a normal, simple individual not unlike himself. Most were snatched from their homes, their businesses, their families; all doomed to die screaming and hopelessly trying to escape. He had no doubt that Herrow probably fabricated similar incriminating backstories for all of these people as she had for Jimminy and himself to justify their bloodshed.
As he sat seething in the corner for hours, eavesdropping on one heartbreaking story after another, Dungar found himself at the end of his rope. Silently, he rose from the spot where he had remained motionless. Slowly, deliberately, and unstoppably, he moved towards the gate. Anyone who did not step out of his way was thrown aside. He reached the ominous wooden gate that obstructed his freedom. The loathsome gate that was the catalyst to their captivity. Worn and warped by age, but nonetheless imposing and unbreakable still.
With a grip strong enough to slightly conform the wood to the shape of his massive hands, he grabbed a hold of it and heaved. The rebellious door would not give, but Dungar continued to pull. The room had quieted as each pair of eyes began to move in his direction, studying the seemingly delusional man who sought to overpower their instrument of oppression.
Dungar’s mind was focused entirely on his body. He could feel every facet of the pressure of the eyes, the gravity of the situation, and the strain of his muscles. With a guttural and animalistic yell he heaved again. But this time slowly, surely, the gate began to rise. Small gasps and sounds of disbelief could be heard from the group as more light began to creep into the cell from the doorway.
Dungar’s hands were in agony, his arms felt like they may rip right from their sockets, but he could not stop now. He continued his inhuman feat of strength until he was finally standing up straight. The impossibly heavy gate was now almost two feet off the ground, supported by nothing but Dungar’s white fingertips and his unshakeable mental and physical fortitude.
