Robert Arthur Smith - The Ducks of Doom vol. 4.pdf - Robert Arthur Smith - allforjesus2001

THE DUCKS OF DOOM

Chapters 91-120

A WEEKLY SERIAL

By Robert Arthur Smith

www.duckparade.com

rasmithr@yahoo.com

THE DUCKS OF DOOM was a 2002 Independent e-Books award finalist.

Robert Arthur Smith,

CHAPTER 91:PHARAOH'S THEME PARK

The Camels of the Negev had been wandering for quite some time in the desert before

they reached a McVlod's eatery. During that long period of hunger, thirst, blisters and

grumbling, they'd begun to forget their sophisticated, urban manners.

They grew accustomed to goat-skin tents, snakes, vicious battles with their enemies,

flesh-eating spiders, and water that ran away before it could be used for anything. They grew

irritable and weary, and they stopped leaving artifacts for museum curators.

Some historians think there was a limit to their urbanity even before they left Just Ur.

Living in a family of 70,000 (actual quantity may vary from number printed on box) puts a

crimp in your sophistication. You have to jump right into a conversation with both feet if you

want to be heard, and you have to elbow your way to the haggis if you want anything to eat.

Not very delicate, but that's how it is in big families.

Anyway, by the time the camels arrived at a McVlod's eatery, they were a

rough-and-ready crew.

The restaurant was soon a chaos of exuberant camels belting out chorus after chorus of

'On Top of Old Smoky', 'She'll be Coming 'Round the Mountain', and 'How Much is That

Doggie in the Window?'.

They had food fights, they bonked each other with antique canopic jars, and they

embalmed each other with the little embalming kits that were supposed to be party favors

for young people.

They drank too much McVlod's Ambiguous beer and they threw up in incense jars and

sarcophaguses.

A waiter dropped the check into the mess and departed. Hank put on his reading

glasses and discovered that the camels owed an amount approximately equal to the gross

national product of Denmark.

He summoned the waiter.

"This seems a little excessive," he said mildly. "What's this item here? Ten thousand

shekels for Alpine water?"

"It's special water, sir," said the waiter. "From pristine Alpine streams."

"In a goat's eye it is!" said Hank. "I saw your water boy get it from a well in the back

yard, next to the privy."

"That's our Alpine well. Didn't you notice the gentians growing in the shade of the privy?"

"And what's this item here? Fifty thousand shekels for Salade de Petrie Dish?"

"That's a house specialty, sir. Our chef designed it himself, in honor of Pharaoh Petrie

Dish. It's made with fresh-picked greens garnished with natron."

"You picked it off the rocks in that pond by the stables! It's algae."

"Those are organic rocks, sir."

Hank shook his head. "I don't have enough cash," he said. "Will you take my IOU?"

Thus it was the camels spent forty days and forty nights washing baked-clay bowls and

antique canopic jars at McVlod's.

When their term of service was up, an Egyptian overseer by the name of Amen's Tooter

led them into captivity in the Land of Goshen, east of the Nile Delta.

As it happened, the place was full of Canaanites.

"Your job, Hank," said the overseer, "will be to build a theme park. We want it 5000

cubits by 20,000 cubits. Here are the blueprints."

Hank sighed. "Blueprints, blueprints!" he muttered. "What is it with these things?

Doesn't anyone use baked-clay tablets anymore?"

The camels gathered around for a look at the mysterious squiggles.

"What's this?" said Thunderbags, pointing at a particularly odd tangle of lines.

"That's the Book of the Dead ride," said Amen's Tooter. "It includes the Crocodile's

Revenge ride, the Judge with the Funny Hat ride, and the Pecked to Death by Bird People

ride. We're hoping to draw in a lot of tourists from the Minoan empire."

"Does Disser know about this theme park?" said Hank.

"Umm, Hank...," said Thunderbags. "We don't believe in Disser. Don't you remember?

We're camels of the Negev; we think Disser is just a cultural icon, like the Jolly Fat Llama in

the red suit who brings toys to all the good children in the world."

"It's not a question of belief," said Hank. "It's diplomacy. Disser will be very angry if

someone makes unauthorized copies the Underworld."

"But he doesn't own the Underworld anymore," said Thunderbags. "He sold it."

"Really?"

"It happened in the future. I foresaw it."

There was a silence.

"Nice work if you can get it," muttered Brubaker, the eternal complainer. "Making

statements about things that can't be checked out until we're dead and gone."

Thunderbags turned the color of an overripe beet.

"Peace, brothers," said the gym teacher. "The future doesn't concern us. Whatever

WILL happen has already happened."

Brubaker shuddered. "Don't say that!" he squawked. "I've seen the future in

Thunderbags' crystal ball, and it's full of giant mushrooms in the sky. I'd rather stay in the

past. I don't even like mushrooms."

"Oh, so!" said Thunderbags. "The old fake priest isn't so fake after all! Sometimes his

crystal ball works."

"No one's wrong ALL the time," said Brubaker.

"I thought we decided crystal balls weren't kosher," said the gym teacher. "We get

burning bushes, ladders, angels from the WWF and smitings, but no crystal balls or other

bric-a-brac from primitive demon worshippers."

"MY crystal ball is merely an aid to reflection," said Thunderbags. "It all depends on your

attitude."

"Anyway, If we're planning on staying here in the past, we're going to need a lot of mud

bricks," said the gym teacher.

"Stones, you mean," said Amen's Tooter. "We Egyptians build our monuments in stone.

The archaeologists insist on it."

"Stones are heavy," said Brubaker. "If you build with bricks, you can save money on

workers. You won't have to keep reinflating the squashed ones."

"Listen, I don't like this anymore than you do," said Amen's Tutor. "But you have no

choice. Pharaoh Petrie Dish knows you not. He feels you might be thinking of getting

together with the Assyrians and attacking him."

"Are you kidding?" said Brubaker. "The Assyrians hate us! EVERYBODY hates us!

Who are we gonna get together with? The Hyksos?"

"What are the Hyksos?" said the gym teacher. "Do they live around here?"

"They were immigrant shepherds who got fed up with sheep," said Amen's Tutor. "They

started taking jobs away from our plutocrats, so Pharaoh Ahmose kicked them out and

sacked their home cities."

"Are you sure that isn't US?" said Brubaker. "We're the ones who are always getting

sacked."

"After the Hyksos, the Egyptians got antsy about ALL immigrants," said Amen's Tutor.

"So he doesn't really have anything against you, per se; it's just bad timing. All immigrants

have to build theme parks, temples, and monuments. They also have to toil in the fields and

make mud bricks."

"I really hate mud bricks," said Brubaker.

"We could always leave this place and conquer Canaan," said Thunderbags.

"All in due course," said Hank. Then he gave his attention to the blueprints again.

"Okay, we can do this," he said. "But afterwards, we're going to escape into the desert,

wander around and starve for forty years, and then we're going to enter the Land of Milk and

Honey and take part in a lot of messy battles. Many of you will be eviscerated or mutilated."

"Sounds good to me," said the gym teacher.

"I'm looking forward to it," said Thunderbags.

Just then, Hank's wife, Sari, ventured a bit of wisdom.

"Why don't we just ask the way at a gas station instead of wandering around for forty

years?" she said.

"You're wasting your breath," said Michelle, Thunderbags' wife. "You know males!"

"The sooner we get started, the sooner we can wander off into the desert," said Hank.

"Don't forget the plagues, boils and frogs for the Egyptians," said Thunderbags. "They

won't let us go unless we afflict them with something."

The overseer was impressed. "I really like you people," he said. "You have a very

appealing theology with lots of pain and suffering. Can I join you?"

"Sure," said Thunderbags. "Got the scissors, Hank?"

Hank passed him the special bronze scissors with the little picture of a tent flap

engraved on the haft.

"What are those for?" the overseer asked nervously.

"Well there's a small matter we have to take care of; it's a sort of initiation rite."

"What? Are you joking? I've already had it done. I'm an Egyptian. We Egyptians get

trimmed at the age of fourteen."

"Aha, but you're not a natural-born Egyptian," said Thunderbags. "You're an immigrant

from Mycenae. I can tell by all of the feathers you're wearing."

Amen's Tooter turned pale.

"Relax," said Thunderbags. "It's only a little thing."

"Speak for yourself. Mine is quite large."

"Anyway, we don't take the whole thing, just the tent flap."

"But that will hurt. And it's going to be cold afterwards."

"You can make a little toque for it. You can put signs on the toque."

"Yeah; you can sell ad-space for beer, bread, and haggis," said the gym teacher. "You'd

be surprised how much money you can make."

"But who will see the ads?"

"Well, that depends on what sort of a social life you lead."

"Do you use anesthetic?"

"We have scotch. We traded a Phoenician some bagels for a barrel of McVlod's

Hair-Raising Scotch."

"The Phoenician thought the bagels were a kind of flotation device," said the gym

teacher. "They sink like stones, actually."

"It's not as if we didn't warn him," said Thunderbags. "He can always use them as

ballast."

There was a sudden howl of pain.

Later, the overseer hobbled over to the canteen and drowned his agony in a barrel of

fermented goat's milk.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" said Thunderbags. "Now you're one of us! You're part of a

big, happy family."

"Well, we do have a bit of backbiting, feuding, civil war and such," said the gym teacher.

"But it's no worse than anyone else."

"You'll have to learn our customs," said Hank, and he wheeled over a cart loaded with

parchments and cuneiform tablets. "These are tech manuals, FAQ's, and articles on stuff

like, How to be Persecuted, What to do When your neighbors start to like you, and One

thousand and one answers to the question: Why Me, Oh Supreme Being? You also get your

own copy of the Ten thousand food rules."

"Gosh."

And that was how the camels won over their overseer and began plotting their escape

into the desert.

Pharaoh Petrie Dish had a bad feeling about this....

CHAPTER 92:ANCIENT RADICALS

Now that the overseer had been recruited, Hank was beginning to feel better.

He had a plan.

"We'll have to continue being slaves and suffering for four hundred years, but we can

handle it," he said. "The important thing is, we have a spy who can help us get ready to

flee."

The other camels whined and groaned.

"Four hundred years! Do we have to! I'll be OLD by the time we get out of here."

Hank sighed. Even great souls get discouraged at times. It can be so difficult,

explaining the necessity for long periods of torment and hard labor to people who have

never acquired a taste for such things!

Meanwhile, Pharaoh Petrie Dish had problems of his own.

For one thing, the archaeologists couldn't make up their minds if he really was the

pharaoh who had been so mean to the camels, or if it had been some other chap.

Perhaps it had been Tuthmose, or Ramses. Or had the camels made a mistake and

shown up in the wrong era?

These were troubling questions.

If you're going to organize a gang of 300,000 unionized construction workers and set

them to work building gargantuan monuments, you want to make sure you get your dates

right.

It would be embarrassing if you spent all that money only to find out you'd built your

monuments in the wrong era.

Also, it's very difficult to rub out mistakes in blocks of quarried rock.

For this reason, Pharaoh Petrie Dish's chief scribe, Beak Head, sent off a delegation to

the Royal Ontario Museum, where many of these issues are decided.

This is not the ROM that once existed on Earth, by the way, when Earth itself existed.

The ROM on Tockworld is associated with the University of Strange Thoughts. Every

scholar in the world pays obeisance to it, because the ROM is the final arbitrator in all

matters having to do with the past.

The past, as you know, is never over and done with. It squirms around quite a lot,

assuming now this shape, now that, depending on who is looking through the microscope.

It's a lot like organized religion--the infighting among curators is every bit as savage and

bloodthirsty as it is among priests.

Anyway, pilgrim scholars from exotic places and eras are often seen at the ROM, lining

up in processions and bearing tribute to the curators.

Adulation is one of the perks of the job.

There's an altar stone in the lobby, in front of a stock-market totem pole that features

various ancestral heads of corporations. Visiting scholars can sacrifice politicians here

before entering the museum proper and seeking counsel or an oracular pronouncement.

Vlod Dracula, by the way, the colorful mayor of Toronto, has figured out how to tax the

past, so caution is urged.

Anyway, even as Pharaoh Petrie Dish waited upon the ROM curators for answers to the

perplexing question--was he the correct Pharaoh or not?--he was forced to deal with other

issues.

There was no shortage of pressing issues in ancient Egypt, as you know.

"My wife doesn't understand me," he said to one of his concubines--Lovely Luba.

"Of course she does," said Lovely Luba. "That's why she keeps a stable of lawyers on

retainer."

Actually, Queen Klepto would have dissolved her marriage to Pharaoh Petrie Dish a

long time ago, by having him assassinated, were it not for his vast treasury.

Queen Klepto needed ready cash; she had a lot of expensive hobbies.

She was especially interested in beautifying the land. She had begun with her own little

portion of the land--her villa in Memphis, along with her other villa in Thebes, and her palace

in Vegas.

She also liked things that glittered and glimmered. Jewelry of all kinds attracted her, and

everyone who was anyone knew this. People just loved giving her expensive baubles.

Slaves in the gold mines only had to be told who they were toiling for and they'd settle

down and stop whining.

The alternative was lunch with the crocodiles.

Everyone in ancient Egypt loved Queen Klepto. People thought about her constantly.

They were especially interested in helping her in her perilous journey to the other world.

The land and the queen are one, after all.

But Pharaoh Petrie Dish was a party pooper. He'd decided that his queen's beautifying

projects were diverting scarce resources form monument building and agricultural pursuits.

In fact, there was a shortage of manpower, because everyone was busy amassing loot

for Klepto.

Temples lay in pieces in their open boxes, waiting for assembly. Peasants, taking

advantage of a temporary shortage of inspectors, drove their herds into the desert to avoid

taxes. They couldn't drive their crops into the desert, of course, so they disguised them as

weeds.

The land was suffering.

PD was growing desperate. There was hardly enough money to keep the quarries

going. Something would have to be done before Standard & Poor downgraded his debt to

junk status.

He couldn't raise taxes anymore, because his people hated him and were already

plotting rebellion. Everyone thought he was remote and unsympathetic.

The alternative to raising taxes was cutting costs.

But which costs?

"The military budget is enormous," said Lovely Luba. "You should downsize it and

maybe even privatize it."

Pharaoh Petrie Dish thought about his army and what a drain on the treasury it was.

Did they really need all of those expensive war chariots? Too much larking about in

chariots made warriors soft and lazy. The men needed exercise; marching would be good

for them.

Anyway, it was force of will that led to victory, not equipment. The French knew that--it

was the secret of their quick victory over the Goths in 1914.

Thus it was, the illustrious and battle-scarred Egyptian general, Crush Enemies, was

sacked.

Robert Arthur Smith - The Ducks of Doom vol. 4.pdf

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