Prisoner of the Molepeople

Chapter 54 - Ann

But Duthbert beat me to it. Encouraged by the chants of the crowd, he got more and more into his victory dance until he slipped on fire extinguisher foam and fell out of sight.

Lenny and I glanced at each other, then we rushed to the spires and peered down. The fat king was sliding down the marble image of his own face, all the way to the tip of his snout, where he held on for dear life.

“Help,” he squeaked.

Lenny turned to me. “Should we help him?”

I looked down at the pathetic creature, at the vain, self-centered wretch. In his terrified eyes was something that reminded me of ...

Me.

“Of course,” I said, pulling off my shoes and socks. Leading the way, I carefully climbed down the statue's face, and Lenny followed. Soon, crawling on our front sides, we made our way along the snout.

Meanwhile Duthbert shouted, “Priest!”

In response, the casual voice of Father Jackothan hollered from below, “What is it, sire?”

“Tell your gods to save me!”

“You’re the head of the Bahboo church. Do it yourself.”

Beginning to slip, Duthbert cried, “Hurry up!”

Father Jackothan took his time in getting to his feet and raising his staff. “Oh mighty undergods, keepers of the deep, if it be thy will, save thine so-called anointed one from such a … poetic death.” He tapped his black staff on the floor, and the ballroom fell silent as people looked around for a miracle.

Duthbert continued to slip, and Father Jackothan hollered, “Apparently it’s not the undergods’ will.”

As Lenny held me from behind, I grabbed Duthbert's hands, his claws digging into my wrists. His massive weight was more than I could bear, and yet I held on … causing all three of us to slide. The fact that we were covered with foam wasn't helping.

Duthbert's wide eyes met mine. “Ask your god!” he plead.

I was speechless.

“Please, Ann.”

The whole ballroom had fallen silent.

“But I ...” I turned to Lenny. “You do it.”

“No!” Duthbert demanded. “You're the one.”

I didn't know what that meant, but as my arms were being tugged from their sockets, our bodies sliding off the edge, there was little time for discussion. Closing my eyes, I forgot all my shame and said out load:

“Dear God, I know I've been awful at times. And I'm sure you know how awful Duthbert has been. With a few exceptions, this whole nation is full of awful people, and I wouldn't blame you for letting us die.”

“Get to the point!” Duthbert demanded, completely dangling from my arms.

“As a queen of Molemania, I'm asking you to forgive us. Forgive us for the stolen power and cable TV. Forgive us for our pride and vanity. Forgive us for … no, I can't ask for any of this.”

“Ann!”

“Just give us what we deserve.”

And then we were airborne, a feeling I'd come to know well.

I threw my life away to save Duthbert? What's wrong with me?

Just then it occurred to me that I hadn't done my scripture study for the day. With only a moment to spare, I thought of Matthew 25:40:

Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

And then I hit bottom, slapping against something hard … and poky. Whatever it was, it sure had a spring. Looking around, I saw myself in the hands of a crowd of molepeople. Smiling molepeople.

They cheered.

Not far from me was Lenny, also lying in the hands of an adoring crowd.

Duthbert, however, was lying on the floor, which had cracked around him. No one had come for the heavy guy.

“Ow,” he said, trying in vain to sit up. Then, dropping his head, he added, “Thank goodness for royal healthcare benefits.”

The sprinklers were still raining down on us from above. Everyone was drenched and covered with cream, and dust … that is, mud.

As the crowd set me down, Bobbert approached me and asked, “Where’s the dynamite?”

“We put it out.”

“Yes, but where is it?”

“I don't know, why?”

“Because there's a lot of fire over there.” He pointed to the flaming presents table, which hadn't yet been quenched by the sprinklers. “And one can't be too careful.”

That was interesting, coming from Bobbert. But seeing his point, I turned to Lenny. “Do you have the dynamite?”

Lenny shook his head. “Duthbert had it last.”

The three of us turned to Duthbert, who was being helped up by Chuck and Willie.

“I dropped it,” he said. “Can you blame me?”

Bobbert's concern was validated when the flaming table exploded, taking out part of the statue with it. The force threw every last one of us to the floor, where we were covered with a spray of gravel, dust, and tissue paper. The reverberant boom faded away, but it was followed by the unsettling sound of cracking and crumbling. Looking up through the dust, we saw the Statue of Tyranny leaning forward. The entire room was trembling.

“Run!” I cried, leading the way in a mad dash to avoid being crushed by the falling edifice. When it crashed against the floor, sending chairs flying and smashing every table in its way, the ballroom was completely filled with dust.

Duthbert the Marvelous had fallen.