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The Journal of Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Extract Seventeen: In which we journey to a place of ravens and destiny in the company of a misplaced Norse deity and there are lots and lots of bright flashes Friday, 15-Oct-1999 12:03:01
The Journal of Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Extract Seventeen: In which we journey to a place of ravens and destiny in the company of a misplaced Norse deity and there are lots and lots of bright flashes Donar Oldmanssun was a bit of a surprise. Don’t know what I’d expected but a chap in frayed jeans and an old t-shirt with a duffel bag over one shoulder wasn’t it. According to young Hatman this chappie was supposed to be one of the mythological gods of the Vikings, who for reasons I don’t fully understand was now based in some semi-Australian heaven. I’m Church of England myself. Felt obliged to tell him so. “Tis a matter for thine own heart what thou believest,” he answered. “For me, I look to a man’s worth in his courage, his loyalty, his generosity and his mirth.” Not a bad set of standards, when you come to think about it. Asil Ashling, my amanuensis, explained the situation to the Hemigod of Thunder. We needed to try and travel through strange dimensions to the place called Comic-Book Limbo to question a villain who was lost there about what he had been doing twenty years ago investigating an alleged UFO craft site which yielded the strange technology that we had been trying to recreate and which Zemo and others seemed so keen to gain. Simple. The miscreant had contracted himself to the New Tomorrow Foundation which had commissioned the search as Dr Peter Nomodov. Asil pointed out that this was clearly an anagram for his better-known surname of von Doom. This Peter von Doom was apparently the second villain ever to menace the apparently famous team of superheroes the Lair Legion (back when, for reasons best left unfathomed, they were styling themselves the League of Regulars). He had been dropped into the place where old forgotten supercharacters go to fade away after his last plot against them failed. Now Donar apparently has a sort of hand tool which can traverse the dimensional void, so Hatman had arranged for him to try and transport Asil and I to this Comic-Book Limbo place. I had a few qualms about taking young Asil on such a potentially dangerous mission, but Asil is as stubborn and brave as her doody-head Miss Waltz and refused to be left behind. Wish my gal Patricia had half as much spunk. Donar introduced us to this pickaxe-cum-hammer affair which he called Mjalcolm. We knew it was his because there was a sticker on it that said ‘Property of Donar’. This was to make sure that the hammer always came back to him. “I masyest not be able to taketh thee to whither thou wants to goest,” the Ausgardian warned us. “And if we get there we mayest not be able to escapeth.” We assured his highness (Donar’s a prince of the non-existent realm of Ausgard) that we were willing to place our trust in his abilities. This seemed to surprise him. He said he was used to working with the Lair Legion. Anyway, the chappie hit his big mallet on the floor with a thump that rocked the room. There was a jolly bright flash and suddenly he was all in a medieval fishscale armour. Then there was a second bright flash and a horrible wrenching sensation. Then the unmistakable feeling of being grabbed by the scruff of the neck and pulled back and dumped on a cold stone floor. Looked around. Lots of candles and a prevalence of birds of the species corvidae. Donar picked himself up and shouted into the darkness, “Shaper!” A voice like the grave came out from the darkness. “Try again, godling.” “Chronicler of Stories?” Donar accused. “Strike two.” The hemigod actually spat the remaining possible conclusion, “Samhain, Destroyer of Stories!” A rather grim looking chap in a black mantle stalked out of the darkness. “Strike three, little myth,” he hissed. And from behind him came a cove in white carrying a large book and a jolly looking young gel in grey acting as a raven perch. “Not only Samhain, but the Triumverate United. Your trespass is such as to cause us to meet in enclave to pronounce your doom.” Asil helpfully footnoted. There are these chaps and chapesses whose job it is to sort of keep the Parodyverse spinning. Post-holders change from time to time but the job descriptions are pretty much fixed. The Shaper of Worlds starts cosmic events running, the Chronicler of Stories records what happens and makes it reality, and the Destroyer of tales brings them to a conclusion. The three are rarely seen together; they move in different social circles apparently. Not surprised. Samhain the Destroyer is an oik of the first rank. Seems these people were rather upset about our foray into Comic-Book Limbo, which is (a) forbidden and (b) beyond the boundaries of the Parodyverse. Shaper explained Peter von Doom was trapped there after some dodgy dealings and is being left to rot. She added that she’d rather enjoy seeing the Hooded Hood there as well. Can’t say I blame her. “I art the scion of Oldman, and wilt bloody well trespass where I pleaseth,” Donar pointed out to three of the most powerful cosmic entities in the astral hierarchy. “On the contrary,” the Chronicler contradicted. “You will obey the covenants under which your pantheon was bound by the Celestians or you will be eradicated.” Asil suggested to the hemigod that now was a good time not to get eradicated. Donar suggested to the Triumverate that they couldst come and have a go if they thought they wast hard enough. Chronicler tried to be reasonable, pointing out that by the laws of the Parodyverse there were certain barriers that only cosmic office-holders could traverse, however big a hammer they might have. Donar offered to demonstrate how big his hammer was on Samhain by ramming it… well, I had to cover Asil’s ears. Things were clearly getting out of hand. Before I knew it, Donar was down in this cosmic arena facing the Triumverate’s champion of choice, a rather nasty chap that Asil identified as an aspect of the Parody-Master. As Donar began a spirited but clearly doomed attempt to beat a villain with the entire powers of the Parodyverse behind him I sauntered over to have a word with the Chronicler and Co. Pointed out that they were out of line in pulling us from our journey. They’d said themselves that only cosmic office-holders could traverse certain barriers. Produced the Chronometer of Infinity and asked them what they thought that was if not one of the symbols of a cosmic office holder (however trivial). That led to a certain amount of tedious questions about what had happened to the previous office-holder and where the rest of her tackle had gone. Told them it was none of their business but that if they’d been minding their jobs instead of waylaying legitimate travellers they might be a damn sight more efficient than they had been recently by all accounts. Asil pointed out that while we were chatting Donar was becoming Ausgardian paste down there. Not quite true. Fellow’s jolly tough, even up against the Parody-Master’s oblivion beams etc, but it was clear that the chap was going to go down fighting. He was currently repeatedly trying to break the Parody-Master’s fist with his teeth. Fine command of colloquial Anglo-Saxon English, however. Put it to Chronicler that the Triumverate plainly hadn’t done their homework, and that they owed Donar, Asil and I a formal apology. Chronicler was fairly gracious about it. Probably intrigued to find out how Madame Symmetry lost the Chronometer. Shaper was a bit sulky. She’s young. Samhain vowed terrible revenge on me etc. Told him I didn’t give too hoots for his threats, and that I considered him a jumped up hobbledehoy. Suggested that if he cared to stop hiding behind the power of his office I’d be happy to thrash him seven ways till Thursday; he didn’t take me up on it. Another bright flash (it’s been a day of bright flashes) and the Parody Master was gone. “Coward,” Donar gasped as he tried not to fall over. “Wimpeth. Come back and let me finish thee off…” The Destroyer of Tales sourly conceded that we were welcome to continue on our journey. This rang alarm bells. Asked Shaper if she thought that was a good place to start our next adventure. She glanced at the Chronicler but he kept mum waiting to see what she’d do. “The enclave is over,” she decided. “I don’t have to work in tandem with Samhain any more. There’s no point you going to Comic-Book Limbo. Peter von Doom’s not there any more, and Donar wouldn’t be able to get you back. You’d all end up fading away until you were recycled as Rob Liefield creations in his hot new ‘Tymebladers’ book.” Donar shuddered. Samhain spat in disgust at Shaper’s revelation of his malicious intents and vanished – in a bright flash. Chronicler nodded as if Shaper had passed some kind of test. “You’d better go now,” he told us. And with a wave of his hand he had us back on Earth. Thanked Donar and bought him dinner. How that man can quaff his mead-and-lager half and half! Got to fall back now for clues on our trip to Equidor to PvD’s secret super-villain stronghold. But that’s another day. One thought occurs to me as I write up my journal tonight. Did the Chronicler of Stories really not know I had gained the minor cosmic office of Keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity? Seems unlikely in retrospect. Or was he just interested to meet me? Or to interrupt our journey of no return? Does he want the Sempiternus Singularum reassembled for some reason? Or perhaps the test was for the Shaper, to determine whether she was more aligned to the Chronicler or Samhain? Ah well, such weighty affairs are beyond the ken of little office-holders like me. I’m not going to puzzle my head about it. Will retire to bed with ‘Anne of Green Gables’ and worry about something else in the morning. Mumphrey |
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