The Vagary Tales Read online

cries of fear, the fun sorta wore off. I was still game, but Charles had other ideas. Something down deep in Charles was broken, but he showed up to school every day and I would swear it appeared that he was wearing a cape or donning a set of shining armor. I think Charles wanted to be a hero.

  Maybe that was why he chose to solve crimes, stop burglaries, and catch Mayor Johnson cheating the fine citizens of Marchville. Maybe it was his need to prove his dad wrong or finally get his mother's attention away from the daytime soaps and Facebook. Whatever the motivation, Charles had plans for those undies. He had plans for me, too. Of course, friends help friends in need. Charles needed desperately to make things right.

  If I had known then what I know now then I would have hid those stupid underwear from him. Perhaps that way he never would have dragged me into it all. Of course, then I would never have met the President or the love of my life.

  You see, Katy Tippins wasn't the most popular girl. I probably would never have noticed her, honestly. She never sat near us at lunch. She was a grade older, so we had no classes together. Plus, let's face it, at twelve, I was pretty pimple-faced, backward, awkward, and not interested in girls in general. Not that I didn't notice or wasn't curious. I just wasn't interested.

  It all started with the janitor. I know, I know: cliché, right? It wasn't that Mr. Shurtz was an evil ogre or anything. Charles just wanted to get even. Mr. Shurtz had taken a pocket watch he had found in the bathroom. It had belonged to Charles' grandfather. Charles had brought it to school for a speech and left it on the sink.

  Mr. Shurtz had claimed "finder's, keepers." I am sure now if we had just taken it up with Principal Vickers, the misunderstanding would have been cleared. But, no. We were kids and kids think more in terms of vendettas, really. So, we stole it back.

  For the next week, Shurtz would give Charles and me a wide berth and stare at us furtively. Charles made one his best decisions and never brought the watch back to school. He put it back in his father's keepsake box where it sits to this day.

  That incident just made Charles bolder. I had little to do with the theft, but I knew of it, kept watch in the gym to see if Shurtz ever showed, and never mentioned it until now. Well, except, I might have bragged about it to Katy. You can't blame a guy, can you?

  With a renewed fervor, Charles set out to right as many wrongs as he could. He read the paper, watched the news, and kept his eyes on the bullies at school.

  "We can't catch them all," I would remind him.

  "I'm just waiting for the right one," He would reply. He seldom spoke. When he did, it was with conviction and determination.

  What happened next would solidify my involvement until the end of our adventure.

  I saw an article in a local magazine that listed the three most committed crimes in our county. They were theft, vandalism, and domestic violence. I showed this to Charles and his eyes lit up.

  "Pick one," he said.

  "What?"

  "Pick a crime. This way we can narrow our focus."

  I chose theft.

  The next day, Friday, Charles came to school carrying a piece of rumpled paper that had been folded so many times, it appeared to be falling apart. It was an ad he had run in the Marchville Gazette for the last three months offering detective services.

  "I got a hit!"

  "You got hit?"

  "No. Someone called off of my ad!" He was practically beaming.

  "Are you wearing the underwear?" He was running funny. He sometimes did that if the underwear were bunching. They were incredible at making you disappear but at the cost of chafing.

  "No," he said. He sounded guilty.

  "So, who answered the ad?" I didn't expect much. It would probably be a dead end, I figured.

  "A guy named Fred Tippins called. He said his pie shop has had some pies come up missing in the last few weeks. He wants us to investigate." He said this with a huge grin and so much pride on his face, I thought he would spontaneously turn into Donald Trump.

  "O-kaaay."I wasn't as excited, obviously.

  "Well, I thought we could go over there tonight. He said he is closed on Saturday and Sunday, but some of the pies have disappeared on the weekend."

  "Speaking of disappearing, are you planning on using the Magic Underpants for this one?"

  "Of course."

  That night, we sat on a wall overlooking the street across from the pie shop. A sign said "No loitering." We ignored it. I sat there with my mom's cell phone held in my lap. She is a great mom, but overprotective sometimes. It turned out that it was a good idea to have the phone.

  Around eleven that evening, a bunch of guys showed up at the front of the store on bikes and skateboards. They were high schoolers. I didn't recognize any of them. They all looked shady, to me.

  I heard Charles catch his breath and then he was gone. He must have jumped down, because I could see the bushes in front of the wall lean away. I crawled back over the wall and peered down at the scene. I had no idea what Charles meant to do.

  Then, as the boys lifted one of them up to a tall window on the dark side of the shop, I saw what Charles had planned. A bright flash pierced the night. It was a camera Charles had brought from home.

  Bathed in the light, we could see the five boys. The one at the window had his back to the camera, as did one guy that was looking on, his skateboard propped against his leg. But the other three were looking right at Charles when he snapped the photo.

  Blinded, the boys yelped and dropped the guy who was climbing in the window. My mouth dropped open.

  Soon, Charles was beside me, grabbing my arm. I saw the underwear bunched in his hand.

  "Come on!"

  I watched, mesmerized, as the boys gathered themselves and shone flashlights out into the inky darkness around the shop. I took one look at Charles and grinned. I was hooked, but I didn't know it yet.

  That was how we met Katy. Fred was her dad. When Charles brought the photos to him Sunday afternoon, Katy was there. I couldn't take my eyes off her. To make things worse, Charles wouldn't take credit for catching the pie thieves. When Mr. Tippins asked about the circumstances surrounding the photos, Charles looked over at me and I guess he saw me staring at Katy.

  "Well, Mr. Tippins. My brave cohort here, Mr. Todd Wallace, was the one who took the photos and risked his life," he said dramatically. I heard Katy sigh, a sound that to this day makes me weak in the knees.

  "Well. I suppose I owe you boys my thanks. You are welcome to pick out two pies to take home with you." He reached into his back pocket and extracted two five dollar bills. "The least I can do is reimburse you for your time, though. I believe ten dollars was the fee we discussed."

  "Yes sir," Chuck said, proudly.

  I got the blueberry and Charles got the strawberry rhubarb with a meringue topping.

  The police visited the boys that next week. One went to jail a year later. We had nothing to do with that. Their parents just paid off their tickets after each had been identified. The first one squealed and ratted out the boys who had their backs to the camera.

  They each swore that they never saw who took the photo. We heard it through the grapevine that the police credited Mr. Tippins with taking the photo with a special lens. We all had a good laugh at that.

  After that adventure, Katy joined us. We were inseparable.

  We solved crimes, implicated the Mayor, found lost items, discovered the nuances to capturing video and photos without a flash, and never broke a bone or got a black eye. Oh, and Charles got his revenge on the Coach. We never had to climb the stupid ropes in gym class anymore after that.

  I suppose you want to hear more about our adventures. Maybe how we found those magical underpants in the first place. Or what we did that earned us an audience with the President. Well, I guess there is a time and a place for everything.

  Three Gifts from the Queen

  The last time Asher had b
een to the palace, the guards had been relaxed and permissive. They had even joked about Asher's entourage. Now they seemed tense. Captain Michels was kind but abrupt.

  What was most disturbing was the silence. No bickering, no banter, no orders, no stamping of feet, no shuffling of sabers or halberds. The hall rang with the echoes of the quiet chanting of the Chosen.

  Incense burned in sconces on the walls. The tapestries and art seemed dark, sooty. The deep burgundy tile of the hall was a dark highway leading to the blackness inside. Asher glanced back at the Captain. He frowned, wondering if maybe he should re-think this visit.

  Queen Vizara was still distraught, even after all these months. Yet, she had summoned him, and he had traveled more than a hundred miles at her beckon. His men stood outside, nervously awaiting his return. Something about the Kingdom of Baerdoon seemed soured. Its former glory was dimming just months after the death of King Vizara.

  Couervan and Samuel, the king's sons, were not qualified to ride the royal stallions, let alone sit upon the vacated throne. Asher cursed his luck. He felt he was walking into a trap. He paused in the hall, weighing his options. He shook his head and continued down the hall toward the darkened chambers.

  He was stopped by an attendant just inside the arched entry. Asher knew of Xavier from his previous visits. Xavier was stuffy and presumptuous, but capable and loyal. He dressed in formal attire: hose, half-pants, a tight vest with a shirt with ruffles at his chest, a gold earring, and a small, pointed hat. He carried