Hero´s Manual 6

[bending_sickle]

Chapter 6: Of the Garden Variety

The next day, Vicky was back in the garden, furiously (and laboriously) redigging last night’s hole.

“What are you doing?” said Quasi, leaning over his shoulder.

“Plotting.”

“The roses need more light, then. And those tulips are too close together.”

“No, not that. My next move, that’s what I’m plotting.” Vicky stood up slowly, bracing his aching back, and turned to Quasi. “How do you know about-” he began, but something in Quasi’s face stopped him. He started digging instead.

“Have you gone mad, lord?” said Quasi after a moment’s reflection. The garden was full of holes and small piles of moist earth. Dying plants huddled together in the mud.

“I’m plotting what to do with The Foe,” said Vicky, gesticulating at the muddied spade and empty pots.

“This pink one?” teased Quasi, toeing a rose, mindful of the mud.

“No, you idiot! Hero!” Vicky stood and paced between the holes, his apron swishing and billowing about him dramatically (but not as dramatic as a cape). “My next move with Hero.”

“Oh, what, are you moving in with him?” Quasi said, pulling his foot out of a treacherous hole. Then he added hopefully, “You won’t be needing my services then-”

“No!” squealed Vicky, stumbling backwards into a hole and crushing an aspiring tulip. He scrambled back out, further muddying his Villain Apron. “Don’t be ridiculous. Your services, as few as they are – and are you sure you don’t want to reconsider...” Quasi shook his head violently. “You’re services are highly valued,” finished Vicky with a hopeful smile.

Trying to keep himself from retching at the (thankfully evaded) proposition number 328, Quasi said, “So why are you planting-”

“Plotting!”

“Master…” Quasi shook his head sadly.

Vicky took hold of his shovel again and began digging. “I’m plotting,” he began, not noticing that he was throwing earth onto Quasi. “This is what we do.” He began another hole, stubbornly ignoring Logic as she danced the samba in a green tutu. (Note: Logic doesn’t have to be logical herself. The poor thing tires so easily, and it’s such a dull job, and you wouldn’t believe how hard it can be to wake up to yet another day of forcing yourself onto people like a drunk, albeit articulate, prostitute.)

“We are the villains,” continued Vicky, “There are some things we must do, being The Enemy, the Creatures of Evil – wait, no, that’s you.” Quasi grit his teeth, hoping Vicky’d not heard the latest gossip. “No, that’s not you either.”

Damn, though Quasi. Broke another tooth.

“The point is,” huffed Vicky, “I plot. Eggo I’m busy. Why don’t you go and polish something. Or overstep some tea.”

Such disregard for his master’s personal safety shocked Quasi: he must be really focused to mention “polish” without screaming. Then he reconsidered what Vicky had just said.

“Eggo?”

“Yes, you ignorant fool! I plot, eggo I’m busy.”

Quasi decided to leave things at that, and slunk away quietly, dragging his feet to clean them of mud and plant corpses. He managed to restrain the urge to shove his master back into a hole, or throwing a potted plant (or perhaps a bulb would be better?) at him. Reaching the patio table, he again miraculously restrained himself from throwing a particularly heavy dictionary at his master. It sat next to The Villain’s Manual, Taking over the World in Forty Days, and The Beginner’s Guide to Plotting. The dictionary was a revised 8th revision, 15th edition (which really makes you wonder what sorts of mistakes the other editions had, and why the editor still got paid, and whether someone, somewhere, got a thrill out of seeing a corrected, brand-new, hot-off-the-press revised dictionary. Or not, of course.).

Instead, he sighed and went inside. There was sure to be something to polish, as his master had callously suggested. Oh yes, polishing. Methodically. Repeatedly. Soothingly.