Ben dropped the shitPhone down the open darkness and cocked his head to the side, listening for the smash at the bottom. It seemed to take forever to come, but he nodded when he heard it and said, “Three seconds. Hench would probably break both legs if he fell down there.” Bill sighed. “I guess we have to find another way then?” “Or a ladder. Maybe a rope. Ideally an elevator though.” Both men fell quite for a moment as Henchling v0.67 entered the room. They were, as far as Bill and Ben knew, a mostly normal human being but since they’d made it through the obstacle course of tests that they required of their henchlings they were clearly slightly superior in some regards. The version number was just Ben’s way of keeping track of which henchling candidate they were using at any given time; v0.10 and v0.67 were definitely the best of the bunch. The Henchling paused and then unshouldered a brown, hessian backpack which bulged and looked heavy. Unstrapping it, they produced a coiled rope ladder from it, after which the backpack looked almost empty again, and the Henchling started looking around for somewhere to secure one end the rope ladder to. “Very resourceful,” said Bill with a note of approval. He was wearing an explorer’s pith helmet and a khaki shirt but he’d forgone shorts for jeans despite the heat outside in the jungle. Here in the stone temple to Camazotz where the air was both cooler and dried he was glad of that. “Did you think of that yourself?” The Henchling grunted and started tying the ends of the rope ladder to the base of a stone statue that towered over all of them. Ben picked the other end of the ladder up and dropped it over the edge of hole in the floor and watched it flop into the darkness. Then, agilely, he bent down and swung himself onto the ladder and started descending. “Last one to the bottom gets to die first!” he called. The Henchling grunted, now trying to tie the ladder safely off while there was extra weight on it, and barely got the last knot tight before Bill had also started down the ladder. At the bottom there was a shitPhone with a smashed screen and a crossroads with four seemingly identical corridors leading in the cardinal directions. Ben checked the compass built into his watch, confirming that, and then started East. “You don’t want your phone back?” asked Bill, following behind him. “You could take pictures if the Bandit King is still alive.” “Nah,” said Ben. “Apple hasn’t produced one worth buying in nearly ten years now. I’ll just nick another when we’re back. The prices they charge are modern-day banditry anyhow.” “True enough,” said Bill. “Think Hench is coming down the ladder after us? Or that they’re hoping that if they don’t they don’t have to die first?” “I wouldn’t want to stand around alone in here,” said Ben. “Camazotz was a death-deity. But it’s up to them, of course.” They stopped talking as they reached a doorway with a large stone door blocking it. There were no visible handles. “Through there,” said Ben. “Start looking for something clever.” “Why?” asked Bill, though he obligingly started poking at the walls to see how solid they were. “Because the Bandit King had both his hands chopped off by the time he was thirty,” said Bill. “So however he got through that door, it wasn’t using his hands.”
Greg - ah, it feels like it has been a while since last we hung out with these two and their henchling du jour. A surprisingly (thus far) undeadly visit as well!
2 comments:
a Bandit
Ben dropped the shitPhone down the open darkness and cocked his head to the side, listening for the smash at the bottom. It seemed to take forever to come, but he nodded when he heard it and said, “Three seconds. Hench would probably break both legs if he fell down there.”
Bill sighed. “I guess we have to find another way then?”
“Or a ladder. Maybe a rope. Ideally an elevator though.”
Both men fell quite for a moment as Henchling v0.67 entered the room. They were, as far as Bill and Ben knew, a mostly normal human being but since they’d made it through the obstacle course of tests that they required of their henchlings they were clearly slightly superior in some regards. The version number was just Ben’s way of keeping track of which henchling candidate they were using at any given time; v0.10 and v0.67 were definitely the best of the bunch.
The Henchling paused and then unshouldered a brown, hessian backpack which bulged and looked heavy. Unstrapping it, they produced a coiled rope ladder from it, after which the backpack looked almost empty again, and the Henchling started looking around for somewhere to secure one end the rope ladder to.
“Very resourceful,” said Bill with a note of approval. He was wearing an explorer’s pith helmet and a khaki shirt but he’d forgone shorts for jeans despite the heat outside in the jungle. Here in the stone temple to Camazotz where the air was both cooler and dried he was glad of that. “Did you think of that yourself?”
The Henchling grunted and started tying the ends of the rope ladder to the base of a stone statue that towered over all of them.
Ben picked the other end of the ladder up and dropped it over the edge of hole in the floor and watched it flop into the darkness. Then, agilely, he bent down and swung himself onto the ladder and started descending. “Last one to the bottom gets to die first!” he called. The Henchling grunted, now trying to tie the ladder safely off while there was extra weight on it, and barely got the last knot tight before Bill had also started down the ladder.
At the bottom there was a shitPhone with a smashed screen and a crossroads with four seemingly identical corridors leading in the cardinal directions. Ben checked the compass built into his watch, confirming that, and then started East.
“You don’t want your phone back?” asked Bill, following behind him. “You could take pictures if the Bandit King is still alive.”
“Nah,” said Ben. “Apple hasn’t produced one worth buying in nearly ten years now. I’ll just nick another when we’re back. The prices they charge are modern-day banditry anyhow.”
“True enough,” said Bill. “Think Hench is coming down the ladder after us? Or that they’re hoping that if they don’t they don’t have to die first?”
“I wouldn’t want to stand around alone in here,” said Ben. “Camazotz was a death-deity. But it’s up to them, of course.”
They stopped talking as they reached a doorway with a large stone door blocking it. There were no visible handles.
“Through there,” said Ben. “Start looking for something clever.”
“Why?” asked Bill, though he obligingly started poking at the walls to see how solid they were.
“Because the Bandit King had both his hands chopped off by the time he was thirty,” said Bill. “So however he got through that door, it wasn’t using his hands.”
Greg - ah, it feels like it has been a while since last we hung out with these two and their henchling du jour. A surprisingly (thus far) undeadly visit as well!
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