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From: Gandalf
Date: 3/10/99
Time: 7:40:47 AM
Remote Name: 158.72.105.122
Friends, Fegs, countrymen, lend me your eyes. I have a story of glory and gory lore, a tale true and bad, and it badly needs telling.
You have received transmissions before from my colleage, one Dr. Oswald Fane, Professor of Reknown. There is not much call for this field anymore these days and I fear he had entered into an uneasy retirement and may have died. He has left it to me to complete his dire warning and select a Champion who might vanquish the horror that threatens to destroy us all.
I was made aware of him, as a wizard might, by a strange combination of magic and technology. Or was he made aware of me? I was never sure... in any case, this Champion, whose name I cannot reveal for fear that this manuscript be discovered by the Enemy, contacted me from a land far distant. "O great wizard," he said to me, "I yearn for an Adventure, for exotic lands and deeds of valor and great Reknown." At these words I startled and wondered if this stranger was in fact my friend Fane, for who else would seek Reknown in these dark days? "Why do you trouble me?" I replied, for I am something of a curmudgeon. "I know quite well that your land has its own wizard, who would be better put to the scut of providing such entertainments."
"Great one, our wizard is but a charlatan, a fraud, a single-band wiener in comparison to your mastery of Space and Time," the man replied. "Mmmm.. I *do* have intimate knowledge of the curvature of Time, the spherical nature of Space..." I mused, accidentally speaking aloud. "Then you will help me!" the stranger cried. "...Or is it the other way around? Oh, bosh. Very well!" I shouted. "I will provide you with a quest. But it is not without peril. You will very likely perish. For you will be seeking the Greatest of All Evils, which can only be found in the Worst of Both Worlds, or should you go very far afield, the Worst of All Possible Worlds."
"This I shall do, and gladly."
"So be it. Your journey begins... now!"
________________________________________________________________________
L'HOTEL DE VERRE WAS, or rather is, a saloon and boarding house on the edge of the West, that is to say, the Frontier. Our Traveller entered the customary swinging doors and a passel of gunfighters whirled guiltily to face him, much like people checking their email at work. "Er.... Howdy, y'all," said the Traveller.
"Howdy, Stranger," said the leader of the gang. "My name's Runyin, but they call me Mike the Viking - I don't know why."
"I'm D--"
"SHH!" hissed another cowpoke. "Your name you must not reveal, lest it be discovered by the Enemy!"
"Oh. Yeah."
"My name's Lem," said the cowpoke. "Lem Stanislaw. This here's Terry the Mark of Normalcy, Dignan Graves, and Tommy Clarkson and Shark Holster from the Apple Plumping Gang. The Viking you've met. Behind the bar is 'Topher Biggs, the barkeep."
"Please to meet you," the Stranger replied. "I come from a distant land on a vital quest. In interstellar burst, I'm here to save the Universe. I seek the Greatest of All Evils."
A wince shuddered through the gathered throng. "Greatest - that'd be the Shirriff, that would," offered Dignan. "Crooked as a shadow on a broken mirror, or my name's Eric Broome. Rode up into town with the Posse many a year ago, broke off from them and set to ruling this town with an iron claw. It's never been the same since!"
"The Posse? Who is this Posse of which you speak?"
The throng creaked back in their chairs. "Ah, the Posse," sighed Clarkson, whose chair seemed to have wheels and an entirely anachronistic jetpack on the back. "There was a wonderful bunch. The tales, the dirty jokes, the all-night revels! The Posse really knew how to party."
"Indeed," agreed Terry of Normacy. "I've the marks to prove it."
"If only the Posse would return, and rout that foul Shirriff," lamented Shark Holster, so named for his sharp teeth and glassy flesh.
"The Posse is headed up by one Eddie West, also called Wild Eddie," offered barkeep Topher Biggs. "A true Re-Evolutionary, that one, though a bit over-sell-us."
"Why don't you confront the Shiriff yourselves?" inquired the daring Stranger.
The cowpoke looked shocked. "Never!" he gasped. "He has a terrible bodyguard and thug in Ebony Bill, progessional gunslinger, mudslinger and Insulter. Not to mention certain, ah, photos..." The cowpoke reddened.
"The Striped One would make short work of us all," explained the one called the Viking. "There is none who can best him, save perhaps Wild Eddie, who is long gone. And, of course, the legendary Jay, who perhaps was never here at all."
"The Jay could do it," agreed Dignan Graves. "The Jay and none other. Even Douglass the Cutlass, Thane of the Pirate nation of Pathetica, whose blunderbuss fires bullets of pure pathos, met with disaster when he tried to defeat Mr. Ebony. Seems Ebony Bill's emotions were just too strong..."
"Pah," spat the overconfident Stranger. "I will challenge this Ebony gunfighter and defeat him handily."
The saloon doors creaked open behind him and a striped shadow filled the dusty room. The Traveller felt a chill from within.
"Will you now," came the gunslinger's mellow tones. "Many have tried, but none so far have done so -- not handily, nor leggily, nor with any other part of the body."
The Stranger turned to face this nemesis. Ebony bill wore a black hat, and a black vest over a garish yellow shirt. His boots were studded with the bones of wild Newbies. He was indeed a frightening sight!
"Now choose the manner of your demise," he offered kindly. "Will it be a contest of quick-draw, insults, or knowledge? How about insults? I'm quite good at those..."
"Er... not really my thing, I'm afraid," the Stranger replied. "And I am unarmed... how about knowledge?"
"Fine," answered Ebony Bill. "I'll be back at High Noon to defeat and kill you." He departed hastily, bones clinking on his fegskin boots.
"Well, at least I have until then," the Traveller sighed.
"It's 11:42," someone informed him.
"The Ebony One is undefeated in all areas of erudition," said the Viking Runyin. "He ate (for breakfast) even our buxom School Marm, Danny El, who was a kind and most knowledgeable soul, despite bring cursed with a boy's name."
"And she quite enjoyed it," quipped Tom Clarkson.
Terror beginning to set in, the Traveller begged his newfound companions for help. "This world is completely new to me," he implored them. "How can I ever hope to answer Ebony Bill's challenge?"
"As the Visitor, you will ask first, so we need only think of a question Ebony Bill cannot answer," answered Terry of the Mark.
"Still a daunting task," added Dignan.
"But we will help you," promised Shark Holster.
For the minutes that remain'd they conferred feverishly, frantically. Finally Ebony Bill returned, wearing a smile and that accursed shirt.
"Well? What feeble question have you for me?" he smirked.
The Traveller stood and faced his adversary. "Draw a link between Carl Palmer and Robyn Hitchcock," he said, --Ah! Easy, began Ebony Bill, "...using only albums with three or less letters," finished the Stranger.
The gunfighter was confounded. He wracked his mighty mind to find the answer, to know avail. He stared at his boots and muttered "I'll have to consult the datab..." He looked up, startled, as if he had not meant to speak. "You've won this round, Stranger. But mark me well: we shall meet in the next world. The Next of all possible worlds!" He turned on his spurs and left the Hotel de Verre.
The Traveller was soundly congratulated all around and Mr. Biggs poured free drinks all the rest of that day. They made grand plans to storm the Shiriff's hideout, now that his guardian was out of the way, but alas, the strong drink made any more heroism, or even HeroSim, completely unlikely.
"Cheers to the gunslingerslayer!" they cried, and raised a glass of seven grain ale.
"Cheers to the Goddess, who provides us Boose!" they shouted, and raised a glass of Pumpernickel Porter.
"And Cheers to Boose!" they laughed, and drained another pint of Egyptian Cream Stout.
_________________________________________________________________________ epilogue
I neglected to tell the hero that with each sleep would come a new world, until finally he reached the Worst of All Possible Worlds. Of course, after this drunken revel, he soon was in a fine state of unconscience. When he awoke, he was in the Next World, leaving the old one unsaved. But fear not, the prodigal Jay returned and liberated the town from its captors. "El Jay," as she was known south of the Pecos, employed a number of wiles and revealed to the world that Ebony Bill was Nice, and she also used this power called "The Nice" on the Evil Shirrif, and I'm told she is living with him in sin and great happiness to this very day....
NEXT WEEK: The Dark Enchantment of King Quail (and the answer to the Stranger's challenge!)