Divine Misfortune (2010) (27 page)

“So here’s what we’re going to do. Syph and I are going to have a talk with Gorgoz, straighten things out like reasonable
deities, put a stop to this absurd cycle, and, most importantly, get Phil back.”

“I’m not agreeing to this,” said Syph.

“Yes, you are. Because you know it’s the right thing to do. For Phil, and you, and Gorgoz, and Lucky. It’s the right thing
to do for everybody when it comes right down to it.”

“Fine, but in return I demand the following tribute from everyone present.”

Quick said, “No tribute. See, when something’s the right thing to do, you don’t do it for a reward.”

It was clear to everyone that Syph didn’t understand that concept. But Quick assured them that he’d explain it more thoroughly
on the way.

“Great. I’ll get my keys,” said Teri. “I’m driving.”

“Oh, no,” replied Quick. “Putting you two into a car right now would probably be a very bad idea. Wrathful goddess and defiant
mortal do not mix. And, to be perfectly honest, you’ll only get in the way.”

“I can’t just sit here.”

“Yes, you can.” He slithered over, took her by the shoulders, and very deliberately pushed her down into the sofa. “Don’t
make me swallow you whole to make you behave.”

“If you swallowed her whole, wouldn’t she end up going with us?” asked Syph.

Everyone ignored the goddess.

“Just making an observation.”

“Teri, I want you to wait an hour. If you don’t hear from us by then, call Divine Affairs and let them know where to find
us.

“I don’t see why we can’t just call them now,” said Syph.

“Because so far Gorgoz has outmatched all of us,” said Quick. “Our best chance is to reason with him.”

“Because he’s so reasonable,” said Syph.

“It’s worth a shot.”

“Oh, all right,” said Syph as Quick guided her toward the door. “But I don’t see why one insignificant mortal life is worth
getting this worked up over.”

“One hour,” said Quick to Teri just before the gods took to the sky and flew away.

Teri grabbed her keys.

Where are you going?” asked Janet.

“Where do you think I’m going?” replied Teri.

“But Quick said—”

“I know what he said. And I don’t care. The gods got me into this mess. I’ll be damned if I’ll just stand aside and let them
try to get me out of it.”

“Aren’t we at least going to call Divine Affairs?” asked Janet.

“So they can blow up Gorgoz and any unfortunate mortals who happen to be standing beside him?”

Janet and Bonnie stepped between Teri and the garage.

“You’re not thinking this through,” said Bonnie.

“No, I’m not. I’m being foolish and impetuous and headstrong. Because that’s the only way to deal with gods. You don’t negotiate.
You just charge right in and tell them you’re not going to put up with their crap anymore.”

“And then you end up turned into a spider,” observed Bonnie.

“Not always. Sometimes you earn their respect.”

Janet and Bonnie tried to remember any historical precedent. There were a few here and there, but for the most part, mortals
who challenged the gods ended up squashed beneath their feet.

“I have to do this,” said Teri. “And if I’m not going to let gods stop me, what makes you think I’ll let you?”

There was an edge in her voice that let Janet and Bonnie know that Teri was deadly serious. Janet was a few inches taller
than Teri, and Bonnie outweighed her by perhaps ten pounds. But both women knew that standing in her way was probably the
worst place for mortal or god to be right now. Teri was charged with righteous indignation. It was indeed the kind of determination
that could even get the heavens to stand up and take notice. Whether those same heavens parted the seas or razed a civilization
in response was always up in the air, though.

“I’m going with you,” said Janet.

“Me, too,” said Bonnie.

“Fine. I don’t have time to argue.”

Teri jumped in her car, but locked the doors before the others could get in.

Janet pounded on the window. “Teri, don’t you dare do this.”

Teri slammed on the accelerator, not even bothering to open the garage door. The indestructible car smashed its way through.
Teri barreled down the street without looking back.

“Do you remember the address?” asked Bonnie.

“No, damn it,” replied Janet.

“She’s going to get herself killed,” said Bonnie.

“If she’s lucky.”

There was a time, centuries ago, when Lucky had loved blowing off the day to watch the latest round of good, clean carnage
Valhalla had to offer. But that was before Odin put in the stadium seating and the concession stands and started selling tickets
to the show. Back before the warriors were all divided into teams and the play-off system was instituted. Back when warriors
battled for the love of slaughter and the promise of a resurrection and feast at the end of the day.

Things had changed. Things always did. But not every change was for the better. Lucky couldn’t blame Odin for selling out.
He had to pay the bills somehow. It wasn’t enough to get by on tribute anymore. Any god with a real operation had to have
some cold hard cash in the bank, too.

But Lucky did miss the days when the fields of Valhalla were a little more exclusive, before any mortal with a few hundred
bucks to spare could buy a season ticket, paint his body red, and scream at the top of his lungs like a moron while blocking
Lucky’s view.

It was battle-ax giveaway day, and Lucky considered planting the weapon right in the mortal’s back. But this was frowned upon,
and it was bound to get him kicked out.

He glanced around the shrieking mortal, but the battle raging below was a distant chaos of tiny combatants. Balder had promised
to hook Lucky up. The short notice wasn’t supposed to be a problem. Apparently that meant the cheap seats in the nosebleed
section, seated among a throng of mortals. Lucky hadn’t expected a skybox, but something behind fort hill wouldn’t have been
too much to ask. He couldn’t even hear the cheerleaders as they banged their shields and swords together to work up the crowd.

A Valkyrie vending refreshments walked up the aisle. Lucky tried to catch her attention, but her back always seemed to be
turned. He struggled to get comfortable in the cheap plastic seats, but if there was a trick to it, he hadn’t figured it out.

The guy next to Lucky said something. Rather than admit that he hadn’t caught it, Lucky nodded, forced a polite smile, and
hoped the man would take the hint.

“I’m Bob,” he shouted above the din. “Bob Saget. Not the actor and comedian, though I have been told I look like him.”

“Uh-hmm,” said Lucky, intently watching the Valkyrie to avoid missing his chance.

“It’s why I grew the beard,” said Bob. “The wife isn’t crazy about it, but I told her that it was her own fault for marrying
a man named Bob Saget who resembles Bob Saget.”

The Valkyrie turned. Lucky raised his hand.

“Guess what she said?” asked Bob.

Lucky glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“Guess what she said? My wife.”

“I don’t know.” Lucky looked back, but the Valkyrie had wandered in another direction.

“She said that was why she married me. Because I looked like Bob Saget. Someone actually married me because of my resemblance
to Bob Saget? Can you imagine that?”

“Can’t say that I can.” Lucky slid back into his seat with a sigh.

“You gotta like the Barbarians this season,” said Bob. “They’ll never make the Battle Royale, of course. Not until they get
a few guns in the lineup. Swords and axes will only get you so far these days.”

Catapults launched several flaming projectiles that sailed across the field and exploded. A dragon roared its hideous death
rattle as soldiers riddled it with semiautomatic machine gun fire. The Legionnaires pushed closer to the Barbarians’ fortress,
but it was still anyone’s battle. The crowd cheered.

And Lucky couldn’t care less.

This was supposed to help get his mind off of his problems. But fate was conspiring against him. Fate, cheap seats, Valkyries
that were deliberately ignoring him (he was pretty sure). And Bob. He couldn’t forget about Bob.

“I’ve heard rumors they’re considering letting the Joes field a Sherman tank next year.”

Lucky jumped out of his seat without excusing himself. Bob was probably still talking. Lucky didn’t look back to check. He
approached the Valkyrie.

“One mead lite, please.”

She glared at him with stern judgment, but that was a standard expression among Valkyries. Especially Valkyries in miniskirts,
stuck selling hot dogs and turkey legs.

“Sorry, sir. We’re all out.”

“One regular mead then.”

“All out of that, too.”

“Fine. I’ll take that.” He pointed to the last mug on her tray. “Whatever it is.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I just sold it.”

“Sold it? To who?”

“This gentleman.” She handed the mug to a customer sitting within arm’s reach.

He said, “Excuse me, but I didn’t ask for—”

“Yes, you did.”

“But—”

“On the house. Enjoy with our compliments, sir.” She turned and walked away.

He shrugged, then took a drink.

Lucky ran after the Valkyrie.

“What was that about, lady? Do you know who I am? I’m close friends with ol’ One-Eye himself. I could have you fired—”

“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked.

He swore under his breath. “Sure I do.”

She covered her name tag. “What’s my name?”

“Brunhilde.”

The Valkyrie snarled. “Lucky guess.”

She was right, and he felt guilty getting caught.

“Does the Hundred Years’ War mean anything to you?” asked Brunhilde.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Rainy night. Hayloft.”

“Can’t say it rings a bell,” he said.

“You said you’d keep in touch.”

“Yeah, well, I meant to, but…”

He stopped.

“You know what? I’m not doing this. I really don’t care about whatever wrong you think I’ve done to you. It was one night.
I was just being polite. And that’s that. So get over it, baby.”

Ass.

She walked away. Lucky visited the concession stand and tried to forget the encounter. If some leggy blonde couldn’t let it
go, it wasn’t his problem. But he couldn’t stop thinking of her withering scowl. Even after he bought his mead and turkey
leg and returned to his seat, he couldn’t enjoy them. And it wasn’t because of Bob or the uncomfortable plastic seat or the
dirty looks all the vendors were giving him now. Maybe driven by Valkyrie solidarity. Maybe because he’d shared a barn with
several of them. He couldn’t remember. They all looked alike, so it really wasn’t his fault.

But they really weren’t the problem. It was the combination of disgust and disappointment that got to him. And though they
were blond and muscular and looked nothing like Janet, he kept seeing her face.

And Janet’s face led to Teri’s face led to Phil’s face led to Gorgoz and Syph and Quick and the whole tangled mess.

He’d gotten involved. Standard protocol was to keep your distance when it came to mortals. It’d been so easy a thousand years
ago. Gods above, mortals below. It’d been so simple. When the hell did it all get so complicated?

Lucky handed off his snacks to Bob and found Brunhilde.

“I just wanted to apologize. I don’t know if it counts for anything, but that’s all I wanted to say, Brunhilde.”

“My name is Sonja.”

“Oh, well, could you do me a favor and pass the message along? I’d do it myself, but I’ve got some mortals to save.”

Quick pushed the button on the gate intercom. It took a few minutes and a few more button presses to finally get an answer.

“Yes?”

“We’re here to see Gorgoz.”

The security cameras above the gate swiveled in their direction.

“There’s no Gorgoz here,” replied the voice.

“Tell him it’s Syph,” said Quick.

The goddess performed a halfhearted wave for the cameras.

“There’s no Gorgoz here,” said the voice again.

“I told you this was a waste of time,” said Syph.

“He’s here,” said Quick. He turned back to the cameras. “We’re trying to be polite about this, but if you don’t invite us
in now, we’ll call Divine Affairs and let them handle this. And I don’t think any of us wants that, now do we?”

The gate buzzed and swung open.”

Thank you.”

Gorgoz rolled the dice, then moved his race car to the B&O Railroad.

“Oh, drat,” he said. “How much do I owe you, Phil?”

Phil collected his fee, and eyed the pile of colorful cash sitting before Gorgoz. It was a meager sum compared to Phil’s own.
He was winning, and Gorgoz had promised to devour some unspecified extremity should the god win.

So far, Phil had scored a slim victory in Sorry! to avoid having his knees broken and followed that up with a miraculous win
in Candy Land that kept him from losing a thumb.

“I gotta say you’re one lucky son of a bitch,” remarked Gorgoz with a grin, though his tone was not amused. “Are you sure
you renounced your old god? You wouldn’t be trying to pull a fast one, would you?”

“No,” said Phil. “Never.”

Gorgoz’s grin dropped.

“I would never do anything like that,” said Phil through a tightening throat. Whether that was Gorgoz’s doing or just Phil’s
own nerves, he couldn’t tell.

“I’m just messing with you, buddy.” Gorgoz picked up the dice, but stopped short of dropping them into Phil’s hand.

“Now, I don’t suppose you want to reconsider my offer? Just say the word, and I’ll go consume your lovely wife and get you
completely off the hook with our little wager.”

“No, thank you.”

“You’re a good man, Phil. Boring, but good.”

Phil wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. Or when Gorgoz would grow bored and discard this pretense. But he
wasn’t tempted to take the offer. It had less to do with being a good person, and everything to do with his complete distrust
of Gorgoz, who had already admitted to lying all the time. Any deals weren’t worth much, but Phil figured anything to keep
the mad god occupied was all he could do. He didn’t have a better plan than that. He was a pawn of the gods, but he wasn’t
a hero of legend. He was just a mortal in way over his head, and his only chance of getting out of this was a miracle.