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Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Troiaquest, or From Here to Paternity Monday, 30-Aug-1999 11:48:03
#18: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Troiaquest, or From Here to Paternity “Is this really the place?” Troia asked, hesitantly pushing open the doorway of the plumbing and watch-repair shop in the seediest part of Hall’s Bathroom. “It doesn’t look much like a magician’s den.” “Hey, I know Hell’s Bathroom like the back of my hand,” Exile objected. “And it still took me an hour to find this place. I’m almost certain that I checked this alley before.” “What did you expect?” ManMan wondered, peering around at the faded packets of bicycle clips for sale and the half-finished clocks covering the wall-shelves. Strangely, all the timepices were set for five to midnight. “Virgin sacrifices nailed to the counter and little imps dancing about?” “This is an imp-free zone,” the curious man with the spectacles perched on his nose told them as he appeared from the back room struggling with a three-foot-high carriage clock. “My familiar doesn’t like them. And in his current petrified form he can really squash them if you hammer him down hard on the little buggers. As for virgin sacrifices, well this is Hell’s Bathroom. Where is one going to find a virgin around here?” Troia blushed. “We… we came to ask you a question,” she ventured. “You are Xander the Improbable?” ManMan checked. “One of us has to be,” the master of the mystic crafts shrugged. “You see, I was telling Troia how you always seemed to know what was going on back when that Hooded Hood thing was happening,” Exile explained tentatively. “Like, you casually dropped a comment about my Inter-Dimensional Energy Controlling Devices holding back my powers-development, and now the Observing Eye have taken back my IDECTs and I’m discovering all kinds of energy-manipulating abilities I’d never suspected before.” “Training wheels,” muttered the shopkeeper. “Have they explained to you yet why they named you Exile?” “No. Why…?” “We’re here to support Troia,” ManMan reminded the energy ace. “She wants…” “She’s interested in the revelation that the Hooded Hood fathered her before arranging for her upbringing on Amazon Isle,” the little chap in the red somewhere-between-an-academic-robe-and-a-dressing-gown nodded. “Yes, I know. And she probably thinks she wants to know who her mother and long-lost brother are, also.” “I do,” Troia 215 admitted. “Can… can you help me?” “Now that’s a difficult question,” Xander told the Amazon administrator, battling to wrap the huge clock in brown paper as he spoke. “Do you want me to help you or do you want to learn the truth about your family?” Then he suddenly swung round to ManMan. “Do you know what was wrong with this clock?” “Um, no, sorry,” the hero with all the powers of a man admitted. “I’m more of a… a burger-making specialist than clock repairer.” The be-spectacled mage sighed. “You’ve got a real prize this time, Knifey.” “Hey, I work with the material at hand,” ManMan’s sentient blade answered. “At least he’s ditched the super-powered hound.” “True. This, ManMan, is called a feather. It’s one of the smallest pieces of a clock. Yet if it goes wrong, as it did in this device that I am now preparing to ship back to its owners, it can cause the entire mechanism to malfunction and grind to a gear-crunching halt.” Xander glanced at Troia. “A tiny thing can sometimes have the most massive of consequences. The Hooded Hood knows that.” “So who was my mother?” Troia wondered. Xander the Improbable sighed. “Let’s discuss fees, shall we?” “Base, this is Operative F, outside the weird spooky guy’s shop. The subject is leaving the building with her two companions. They’re carrying a large and heavy brown parcel. I am pursuing. Over.” “Is this the Interdimensional Transportation Corporation?” ManMan asked, checking the address on the parcel they had agreed to deliver. “It certainly is,” the immaculately dressed salesperson whose name badge identified himself as Mr Limpqvist agreed. He minced over to them. “Are you being served?” “We have to get you to ship this parcel,” Exile explained. “The person who wrapped it said you’d understand the codes on the transport label.” “Ah yes,” Mr Limpqvist smiled. “Mr Xander is one of our very best customers. He did say that he’d be returning the Chimes of Honour back to Amazon Isle.” “Amazon Isle!” ManMan gasped. “Hey, Troia, isn’t that where…?” “The Chimes of Honour!?” the Amazon administrator gasped more. “We’ve been carrying round the Chimes of Honour?” “Er, a few footnotes would be appreciated,” Exile suggested. “Like, what’s Amazon Isle and what are these Chimes of Honour, that kind of thing?” “Amazon Isle is the extradimensional place where Queen Titania led the Amazon people’s to escape Man’s World after a particularly brutal two percent income tax increase,” Troia recited, recalling the history that was thrashed into all neophite Amazons over long years if tuition. “There we honour the ancient covenant with the gods, and… um, damn, can’t remember how the rest of it goes. Tee hee.” “The Chimes of Honour are the delicate mechanism which maintains the island in it’s state of extradimensionality,” Mr Limpqvist told them. “They are also used to confer honour upon the great champions of the Amazons, the best of the best.” “Explains why Troia didn’t recognise them… oof!” ManMan contributed. “We’ve got to deliver a clockwork dimension-device to Amazon Isle?” Exile demanded. “Man, I knew that little guy was gypping us when he said all we had to do was make a simple UPS run.” “You have to deliver it?” Mr Lundqvist moued, raising one manicured eyebrow. “Oh my, that is going to complicate matter considerably.” “Yeah, we said we’d all take it,” ManMan picked himself up from the floor. “In fact, Xander made us vow to all be there when it was returned.” “Oh hell,” Troia scowled. “Now I see the problem. No man is allowed to set foot on Amazon island. If any do it’ll destroy the ancient covenant with the gods and bring disaster on us all.” “So what do we do?” Exile demanded. “That sneaky magician seems to have got us into an impossible dilemma.” “Not at all,” Mr Limpqvist told them. “I’m sure you’ll make very fetching Amazons, dear boys. I’ll just go fetch the shaving cream.” “Shaving cream?” ManMan repeated worriedly. He didn’t like the way Knifey was snickering. “Amazons wear short skirts,” Troia explained. “I think Mr Limpqvist’s idea is to dress you up as girls so you can get in and carry out the mission uncastrated. And that means nice smooth legs. Except for Miss Sappho the gym mistress. Old “Ruggsy” would make a Yeti look bald.” “Hold it!” ManMan objected loudly. “I am not getting my legs shaved to dress up as a woman.” “How do you usually dress up as a woman?” Exile challenged him. “I thought you said you’d do anything for me?” Troia challenged the Elvis impersonator. “I never said that!” “Well you should have.” “I’ll get the razor,” anticipated Mr Limpqvist. “Just hold still while I take a few measurements.” He breathed on the metal end of his tape measure to warm it. “They’re going into a back room in this Interdimensional Transportation Corporation place,” Operative F reported. “The two men with the subject appear to be blushing. I’m going in.” “Genuine Amazon tunics!” Troia cried, picking up one of the short white dresses that she’d worn through her childhood years. She started to pull her t-shirt off to try the tunic on. “Whoa, Troia, we’re still in the room!” Exile warned her, shielding his eyes and then forcing ManMan to face the wall. “That’s OK,” the young redhead answered. “Amazons don’t have a nudity taboo.” “Er, I think Paradopolitans do,” Exile explained. But by then the Amazon administrator was looking very fetching in her short white shift. “Your turn,” she suggested, leaning back expectantly on the changing room wall and folding her arms. “The subject and two… persons… have come back out of the chamber they were in,” Operative F reported. “They’re carrying that big parcel into some kind of big metal cage like a sort of art-deco lift, but it’s not attached to anything. That Limpqvist guy is twisting some dials on a control panel. Holy….! The whole thing’s buzzing and starting to glow. I gotta make a leap an’ get on top of the cage or I’ll lose them. Goin’ in now…” Static. “Damn,” Dan Drury, Director of SPUD spat at the other end of the com-line. “We lost him. Come in Falcon? You hearing me? Falcon?” The sky was a perfect azure blue. The warm gentle sea lapped up white, pebble-free beaches. A number of the perfect young women had taken advantage of the beautiful sunshine to work on their all-over tans. “This is paradise!” ManMan breathed. He and Exile couldn’t get out of the transportation cage fast enough. “Just make sure you don’t fall off those high heels,” Troia warned them. “That’s all there is to stop you shattering the covenant and bringing the curse of the gods down on Amazon Isle.” “Everybody here is so very… fit,” ManMan admired. “You’re going to ruin your disguise if you don’t stop thinking about ‘fitness’,” Knifey warned the tunic-clad hero. “You’ll notice that not one of those Amazons has a strange bulge distorting the front of their pleats.” ManMan and Exile blushed and wished they’d been allowed underwear. Troia turned round curious to see what all the fuss was about. “We’d… we’d better deliver these Chimes of Honour,” Exile said quickly, pressing his front to the side of the package so he could lift it more easily. “Yes,” ManMan agreed, pushing up to the other side. “Lead the way, Troia.” “Well well well,” a cultured female voice called out as they struggled towards the temple ahead. “If it isn’t Troia 615.” “That’s 215, Polypheme!” the Amazon administrator snarled back, turning to the beautiful brunette. “There weren’t six hundred and fifteen people in our class.” “If there had been you’d have been Troia 615,” the woman shrugged. “And that’s Polypheme 1 to you. What are you doing back here, anyway. I thought you were going out to prostitute yourself in Man’s World.” “Look, just because I didn’t want to stay here and polish my spear all the time…” “You never fitted in here, you pathetic little failure…” “You’re asking for a holiday in the healer’s hall, Poly-phony!” “Ladies, ladies,” ManMan intervened, remembering just in time to make his voice high and squeaky, “this is no time for class reunions. Remember, Troia, we have the Chimes of Honour to deliver for Mr Xander.” Polypheme 1 frowned. “I don’t know these two. Who are you?” “Well, I’m, um, Exilia,” Exile improvised, “and this is my friend, er, Mrs Doubtfire. We’re from Man’s World. Just passing through.” The rest of the information had now filtered through Polypheme’s perfect ears. “The Chimes of Honour? What is a little failure like you doing with the Chimes of Honour, Troia 615?” “Like I said,” Troia shot back, “some of us have more important things to do than toenail painting competitions. Now get out of the way and let me restore the Chimes to their proper place in the Temple of the Covenant.” Polypheme tossed her long black tresses. “I don’t think so, flunk-out. The Chimes of Honour should only be handled by champions. That’s me, in case you’d forgotten. You and your two ugly sisters can leave it to me and the girls now. Hespera 2! Iris 3! Over here.” Troia wished her tunic had sleeves so she could roll them up. “Alright. No more Miss Nice Amazon. I’ve grown while I’ve been away, girlies. I’ve battled Celestians. And you don’t want to know who my dad is. So now let’s rumble!” “Er, don’t you think we should interfere?” Exile asked as the Amazon administrator vanished into a tangle of arms, legs, torn tunics, and lethal bladed combat weapons. “Are you kidding, in these heels?” ManMan answered. “Besides, you’d pay $40 per month for this on cable.” “What is going on here?” The queenly tones of Titania, ruler of the Amazons, were enough to separate continents. Troia, Polypheme and Hespera sprang apart and tried to look as if they’d never had their hands closed around each other’s throats. Iris, who’d been at the bottom of the pile, tried to moan innocently. “We have this clock-thingie to deliver,” Exile explained, trying to think feminine. These younger Amazons might never have seen a man, but Titania dated back to the days of, well, dating, and she was regarding the two newcomers suspiciously. “Here. It’s fixed.” “Could you, you know, sign for it?” ManMan added. Queen Titania considered the situation. “Troia 216 returned the artefact to us,” she decided, “Therefore she should have the honour of placing it in the temple of Covenant. I know,” she added, holding her hand up to silence the other girls’ complaints, “that Troia did not gain the best of marks in the Amazon examinations. Mistress Sparta still has a limp in bad weather. Yet she has valiantly journeyed into Man’s World, and despite her vow never to return” (a sharp look at the pale Amazon administrator) “has nobly brought back the instrument which keeps us here in paradise. Therefore in thanks for her efforts she may place the Chimes in their rightful place.” “Oh wow!” breathed Troia, trying to smooth out the worst marks on her tunic and adjust it back towards decency. She reverently hefted the brown paper package and carried it towards the Temple. ManMan and Exile tottered after her, unused to the heels which kept them from touching Amazon Island. Polypheme and the other girls sullenly followed their Queen, and gradually more and more Amazons joined the throng so that buy the time they reached the temple there was a mighty host. Troia carefully undid the string around the package (with Knifey) and pulled aside the brown paper to reveal the delicate clockwork and moving figurines of the Chimes of Honour. As if in celebration of their liberation from their wrapping-paper prison the Chimes burst forth into a harmonious tune. Every Amazon present fell to their knees and joined in with the sacred words: You must fight the force of evil… and your chance won’t be denied… As the chimes fell silent Polypheme looked up with amazement. “That’s not possible! She can’t be a champion!” A venomous hatred filled her eyes. “She must have knocked it as she put it on the altar. Or maybe she interfered with it…” “There can be no denying what we all heard,” the Queen proclaimed. “But how is it that this child has received such an accolade? She is not of royal blood.” “That’s what we came to find out,” ManMan blurted. “We know who Troia’s father was. We know she was sent here as an infant to be brought up as an Amazon. We don’t know her mother.” Titania glanced across at the priestess of the temple, an ancient Amazon with blindfolded eyes. “Pythoness?” The old crone staggered forward, reaching out to touch Troia’s temples. “Ahhh! The spirit of her mother is strong upon her. An old shame and an old glory. She is indeed, champion of our people – as befits our princess.” “Er… princess?” Troia gulped. “Princess?” ManMan echoed. “Princess!” spat Polypheme 1. “My sister Rigantona?” Titania remembered, as pale as the young Amazon in front of her. “She was exiled for her… her disgrace. Sent forth into Man’s World to bear the child she had mysteriously conceived.” “Children,” Exile deduced. “Troia has a brother.” “Princess,” Troia kept on saying. “And we never knew, never suspected,” Titania wondered, suddenly clutching her niece to her. “No! This isn’t right!” Polypheme shouted. “I should be the champion. She did something to the Chimes!” And the disgruntled woman lurched towards the clockwork to check how it had been rigged. ManMan and Exile tried to stop her but overbalanced in their heels and fell backwards into the mechanism. The whole delicate dimensional device toppled and fell from the altar. And the Falcon caught it. Swooping down from his hidden perch he plucked the Chimes of Honour out of the air before they shattered on the marble of the temple floor and laid them safely back in their proper position. In the meantime Troia had caught Polypheme in a painful armlock. The Chimes whirred as every Amazon present stared at the decidedly male superhero who stood beside the rescued mechanism. The key word in that sentence was stood. “Why is everyone lookin’ at me?” Falcon asked. “Oh, only because when a man’s feet touch the ground of Amazon Isle the ancient covenant of the gods is shattered and the whole place is doomed,” ManMan told him. The heavy doors at the front of the timepiece burst open and a little wooden figure whirred out. “DOOM. DOOM. DOOM.” Then there was a twanging sound and all the whirring Amazon figurines, the spinning cogs, everything, ground to a halt. The skies turned dark over Amazon island and lightning sundered the skies. “What… what’s the rap for dooming Amazon isle?” Falcon asked worriedly. “I believe Troia mentioned castration,” Exile answered helpfully. “They… they’re all men!” Polypheme cried out. From her awkward position on the floor at their feet she had exactly the right angle to know. “The circle turns!” the Pythoness prophesied. “As Rigantona sacrificed her life to save our island from the doom she had unleashed, now must Rigantona’s daughter die to keep back the horror we guard against.” “Princess… er, die?” Troia came back to her senses. “Die?” “Amazon Island was given to us by the gods under certain lease arrangements,” Titania explained. “We sit here on the dimensional cross roads blocking the entry to Man’s World from the conqueror of the Dismal Dimensions.” “We sat there,” the Pythoness corrected. “No more. The way is open now for the legions of the dread Dormaggadon to march onto the Earth! All creation is doomed!” “At least we can punish the perpetrators of our destruction,” Polypheme pointed out. “Before the end is upon us we can mete out the traditional punishment for men who cross the mighty Amazon nation.” “Oh shit,” ManMan, Exile, and Falcon all said in unison. On his throne of skulls, the Lord of the Dismal Dimensions sensed the shifting of the planes. His burning countenance turned to look through strange angles to see what was different. Then he smiled a ghastly grin that was the death of worlds. The way to Earth was open now. “Yes, the ancient barrier is gone,” the stranger in his courts agreed, stepping out from the shadows to speak fearlessly with the terror of the night. “I imagine your first reaction would be to gather your countless hordes and pour down upon the Terran plane, wreaking your terrible lust for destruction, enslaving galaxies, claiming that reality as the first stepping stone in a long chain of conquests which adds to your power, yes?” “Who art thou, mortal, and what dost thou here?” dread Dormaggadon demanded, the flames which swathed him burning red in anger. “Oh, I was just going to suggest a slightly different course of action,” the stranger suggested. “As for my name, you may address me as… the Hooded Hood.” Next episode: Which bits of Exile, ManMan, and Falcon get out of Amazon Isle? What does Dan Drury want with Troia 215? Must the Amazon administrator sacrifice her life to save her people? What is that cowled crime-czar up to now? All this plus the Lair Legion in Ausgard, due sometime at the weekend unless I get really enthusiastic. The Hooded Hood, with apologies to ManMan and Exile |
| Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Troiaquest, or From Here to Paternity (The Hooded Hood, with apologies to ManMan and Exile) (30-Aug-1999 11:48:03) |
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