Abney Park's The Wrath Of Fate by Robert Brown Read Free Book Online

“She really should be included.”
    “What? Jean Paul is going to hold the rope,” I was baffled. “It needs to be someone strong enough to…”
    “She could do Kristina’s part,” Tanner volunteered, while Lilith stare at me defiantly, hands on her hips.
    Still baffled, I said, “Yeah, but Kristina cooks. This plan needs someone who cooks, and Lilith doesn’t…whoa!” The cabin was slowly starting to tip. The portholes along the left side were filling with pink sky and white fluffy clouds, and the on the right, hills.
    “Little to the left,” uttered Tanner. “And perhaps level it off as well, Captain?” He caught a shot glass just as it rolled off the bar, and stuck it in his waist coat pocket.
    “Yeah, that’s just fantastic piloting…” Lilith jeered, and stormed out.
    “I got it, I got it…” I glanced out the periscope that substituted for a front window on this lower bridge. The Ophelia also had a flying bridge on deck, but this was less windy, and therefore afforded easier reading. “It looks like we are nearly there anyway.” I grabbed a brass handle on the ceiling, and yanked it down. There was a far-off wooshing sound, and a sickening drop. Far below in the endless acres of dirt and prairie grass, a small diner could be seen slummed like a beaten dog, with a flickering sign post reading, “Momma Chiffon’s House Of Lard”.
    “I heard you’re looking for musicians or something for tomorrow night.” Lilith had come back in, and stood facing me as if nothing in the world should have my attention but herself.
    “Not ‘or something’, but yes, we are looking for musicians,” I said, trying not to make eye contact with her.
    “Well, I dance. Beautifully. Mesmerizingly. I can dance while you play behind me – as my band.”
    “Thanks, but we aren’t really looking for a dancer. Honestly, at this point, we are just trying to be as close to what is expected of us so we’ll get paid. I’m not really trying to make a bunch of big changes, this is just the easiest way I can think to get $500 for groceries for the crew.”
    She stood glaring, so I asked, “Do you sing?”.
    “I’m sure I can,” she said.
    And Tanner added, “I’m sure she’s a great singer!”
    “Well, we can try that, in moderation, if you really need to help.” But I was beginning to realize this girl was going to be trouble.

    A few minutes later, a small bird sitting on the roof of “Mamma Chiffon’s House Of Lard” watched as the sky filled with a massive copper-colored Zeppelin, covered with patches, rust, dangling ropes, and emitting regular puffs of steam and smoke from various vents and chimneys.
    From somewhere under the dangling ship-shaped cabin – a mismatched composite of what might have been trailer homes, submarines, part of a Victorian glass green-house, and what must have been the original navel construction – a hatch opened. Out of it came a rope ladder on which hung Jean-Paul. Upon reaching the roof top of the diner, he thrust a long greased hose down the kitchen chimney and started feeding it in yard by yard.
    Down in the kitchen, Mamma Chiffon was barking orders at the new cook she’d hired the day before. “Girl, ain’t nobody driving this highway gonna order a frilly thing like that. These people want chicken fried steak. They want waffles and mashed potatoes, they ain’t gonna be ordering your high falooting pastries! I mean, what’s this crust made out’a, layers a’ wax paper??”
    “Filo,” corrected the girl – tall, knobby-kneed and pig-tailed. It was Kristina. Behind her back, she stealthily grabbed the greasy hose, and guided it into the fry vats – all without Momma Chiffon noticing. Once the hose was in the grease, and as soon as Momma turned her massive behind toward her, Kristina gave three tugs on the hose, and quietly headed toward the back door.
    The large slurping noise went unnoticed (as it was hardly out of place in this restaurant) and the vats began to