Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

The Collegium, officially the Imperial and Royal College of Scholars, is a learned society set up in the former royal capital city of Graveburgh. Established by King Ethelred IV, the Collegium remained in Graveburgh even after Ethelred’s great-great-great grandson succeeded to the Imperial throne through his maternal line, becoming Emperor Joseph I in addition to King Joseph III.

While the Emperor-King now sits in his senior realm’s capital at Aldwych, the Colledium remains the preeminent scholarly society in the realm, outshining the Imperial and Royal Aldwych Society at every turn. Collegisters, members of the Collegium, are nominated by peer and hold their titles for life unless revoked, or for the life of their nominator and their descendents unto seven generations for immortal Collegisters. While membership is overwhelmingly human, the Collegium does differ from the Society in that nonhumans and women are allowed to participate and hold the rank of Collegister.

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“We don’t go to the old TBC anymore,” said Zhang with a shudder.

“Why not? I love me some Tennessee Broiled Chicken,” said Yan.

“First of all, it’s closed, so any chicken they have on the premises would be super deadly to eat.”

“Uh-huh, right, sure. And second?”

“Turns out there is a certain number of chickens you can broil on the premises before you get really haunted by dead chickens, and that TBC crossed it a while ago.”

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“Approach.” The voice was beyond cold, like two blocks of glacier sliding over one another.

“Elder sentient ice,” the supplicant said. “I would like something it is in your power to know.”

“I know all that has touched this ice in my millennia of existence,” was the reply. “Ask.”

“What was the CO2 level 27 million years ago?” the supplicant asked. “Was it over or under 300 parts per million?”

“Uhh,” the elder sentient ice said. “I thought you were going to ask a question about a wooly mammoth or an ancient frozen sword or something.”

“Nope,” the supplicant said. “It’s all climate questions. Do you know the answer, or do I have to get the core borer?”

“Oh, I know it! I totally know it. The answer might just, you know, take a minute or two.”

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“Should I be worried that wizard hat is wearing another, smaller, wizard hat?” said Su.

“No, no,” said Mungus. “It’s just Hatta.”

“You say that as if it explains everything!” Su cried. “I don’t know who Hatta is!”

“Hatta is a sentient wizard hat, of course,” Mungus said.

“And how did it get to be sentient? That sort of thing doesn’t just happen!”

“Retsopmi the Mage created Hatta by accident, okay?” Mungus sighed. “Is it really that important?”

“Well, if ‘Retsopmi the Mage’ created this ‘Hatta’ by ‘accident,’ why didn’t they ust uncreate it then?”

“Because it’s a magical sentient wizard hat and it’s quite capable of defending itself!” Mungus cried, exasperated “But it’s proven itself a very useful ally.”

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“Look, it’s the only way to heat anything up while we’re stuck here,” Nex said.

“It is a microwave that has been used for who knows how long reheating who knows what in a convenience store,” Xak replied. “No.”

“I’m sure they cleaned it. They’d have to if a Denebian used it. Come on.”

“You use it then,” Xak snapped. “You heat your food up in that plague microwave and watch your body’s chemical bonds dissolve in the throes of Dinobulan flesh-eating bacteria, while I’m happily starving to death.”

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Uncle Harvey had kept a log of incidents in his disco during its glory days, good and bad, and in preparation for the reopening Chris had been reading them aloud to Sam while the latter was working. Sam was slightly annoyed, seeing as Chris preferred to work in monklike silence, but wasn’t about to argue the point.

“Looks like in 1981 we have a bunch of notes for something Harvey called the Disco Triceratops Incident,” Chris said. “First in April, then again in June, with three in July.”

“Disco triceratops? Is that like a disco duck?” Sam asked.

“I dunno, but a “Pat” is repeatedly mentioned, so I guess they were the disco triceratops, or something?” said Chris. “Pat showed back up again. Wanted bygones to be bygones. Reminded Pat of disco trike. Pat apologized again. Remained firm. Felt sort of like letting Pat back in, but remembered last time. Never again.”

“Whoa,” said Sam. “Mysterious noodle incident stuff. What do you think it was?”

“Costume thing, maybe?” Chris replied. “Maybe a rhinestone triceratops jacket?”

“Now THAT would be a find,” Sam laughed. “Let’s hope Harvey confiscated it.”

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“We will take you to The-really-surprisingly-safe-castle,” said Lord Mungus.

“Wait, what’s wrong with the castle?” Maiden Su’Gnoma said.

“Nothing wrong with it,” Mungus replied. “It’s really quite safe.”

“It’s just…” Su said. “The name The-really-surprisingly-safe-castle seems a little specific, like they’re trying to hide the fact that it’s not very safe.”

“Su, it is a very safe castle. Built on bedrock by Retsopmi the Mage and hand enchanted stone by stone with spells of protection and shielding.”

“Then why call it The-really-surprisingly-safe-castle?” Su said. “Why not ‘Fort Impregnible’ or something?”

“Because Retsopmi the Mage was really bad at naming things!” Mungus snapped. “He named his ultimate magic wand the Very-powerful-spell-stick! Now are we going to the castle or are we going to wait for another wave of abductor harpies?”

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“Oh great pizza sage,” Peter began. “I wish to order the perfect pizza for my gathering, one which will please everyone.”

The pizza sage, seated upon his great stone pie, replied without opening his eyes. “Order multiple pizzas, my son, one half-pizza for every guest who expresses a strong preference and an additional half-cheese as a contingency.”

“Uh, yeah, I don’t want to do that,” Peter said. “I want to order ONE pizza.”

“Describe to me your friends’ preferences, and I will tell you the perfect order,” the pizza sage said evenly, eyes still closed, with no sign that he was upset after Peter rejected his firest suggestion.

“Okay, so I like classic pepperoni and cheese, but Tandi is a vegetarian, Cooper is a vegan, Alf is a pescatarian, and his girlfriend Britney is a Republican who refuses to eat vegetables or cheese substitutes.”

“Holy shit, boy,” the pizza sage said, evenly, eyes closed. “There is no pizza that has ever existed or will ever exist that can fulfill those criteria. You need to go to a taco bar or something.”

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The rub is that no one either inside the village or out thought to question why O’Doul persisted in carrying a rotten and inedible potato. They each assumed, wrongly, that it was a simple meal that had spoiled and just another sign of his sad fall from grace since the accusations.

What no one understood or heeded was that O’Doul was a man both brilliant and utterly vengeful. In seeing the response of his town, his home, to the accusations, he had broken. He had vowed that, if the town would not warm him with friendship and brotherhood, it would warm him as it burned to the ground.

Not literally of course. He couldn’t afford, in his destitute state, the fuel required for a good arson, and it would be traceable. Instead, he had acquired a blighted potato from Kilkenny and carefully exposed it to the seed potato stores that the town kept. Up to that point the blight had largely spared them, but the subsequent crop failed utterly, as did the next. O’Doul’s revenge—which could not be traced back to him, at least not in an official capacity—was so complete that within five years the town was barely a village, having been so denuded of people that abandoned buildings and roaming livestock outnumbered the living.

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“I have figured out,” Jerd proclaimed, “how to make waffles.”

“Oh, please, share with us,” said Nacluv. “Considering you’re fed the same mush as the rest of us.”

“Happily,” Jerd said. “For the batter, simply grind up a Type 2 nutrient cake and mix with water. I’ve got the exact ratio written down here if you want to try it. That will approximate a true waffle batter.”

“Of course,” said Nacluv, eyes rolling.

“Then, a pair of standard metal boot treads, fresh from the sterilizer,” Jerd continued. “They can go right back in afterwards, too, making cleanup a breeze.”

“And to cook it?” Kowe said, smirking.

“Put the unit in a plasma conduit during a purge cycle. Clean, even heating means a perfect waffle. You can even use this schedule that I made up to determine the proper purge cycle for the waffle consistency you like. I prefer crispy, so I use Cycle 8.”

“Most important question, now,” said Kowe. “What about syrup?”

“Oh, that’s the easy part,” said Jerd. “There is a small amount of sugar syrup in Extract 32a. Just keep boiling it and you’ll eventually get a very viable syrup equivalent.”

“Sounds like you have it all figured out then,” Nacluv said. “Congratulations.”

“Not quite,” sighed Jerd. “I still need to find a good plate, fork, and knife. Those latter two are super-contraband.”

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