Mist Over Monticello (part two)
by Bevie James
The voice echoed in the cool morning air like the remains of an unattended campfire. “Why did you have to pick such a filthy place to retrieve the money?”
“What do you care? You’re levitating,” replied a husky voice.
The aged and bald old man in red priest’s robes looked around. His long white beard danced across his chest.
“True, but levitating takes energy. What if I want to rest?”
The man in the lime green suit with purple trim pointed his staff down. “Sit in the water.”
“Don’t like water. Makes me sizzle. So why here?”
“Yes. Water is blue. Blue will camouflage me.”
“This water isn’t going to camouflage you, Wafula. It’s not blue. It’s brown. Look at it! It’s filthy from your vehicles.”
“What’s wrong with vehicles, Mulogo?”
“They’re filthy, smelly things. Your entire planet is polluted because of them.”
“They get us around.”
“All the same, this water isn’t going to camouflage you. You would have to be brown.”
Wafula shook his fist at Mulogo. Sweat sprayed like an early morning mist. Mulogo threw up a heat shield to evaporate the droplets, but instead of a heat shield several lasers shot out from his splayed fingertips cutting through the trees and dropping several branches to the ground at his feet.
“Damn! Get those two spells mixed up every time.” He looked at Wafula. “You were about to say something?”
“Yes! I was about to say I was brown – until you turned me blue with your confounded magic. I ought to crush you.”
He stepped toward Wafula but slipped on the hill. Mulogo used the opportunity to levitate higher, out of Wafula’s reach.
“Ah, but if you throttle me who is going to change you back?”
“Can you? You can’t even change anybody else blue!”
“Yes. But there’s a reason for that.”
“Well. I don’t know. Exactly. I believe it has something to do with this planet. Perhaps it’s all the pollution in the air. It makes it hard for me to keep my head clear. I’m used to cleaner air.”
Wafula grunted his disgust and moved to take a place under the bridge. He sat down, heedless of the water. Hesitantly, Mulogo floated to the arch.
“You okay now?” he asked. When Wafula did not answer Mulogo came closer. He looked up nervously. “You sure you want to sit here? Look at that oil stain. What if it drips on us? Maybe I should zap it away?”
Wafula’s staff came down hard on Mulogo’s arm. He cried out in pain.
“Leave it be!” said Wafula.
“But I can clean that up in a trice.”
“No, you can’t! You’ll mess it up and turn me orange, or give me pigs ears.”
They sat in angered silence. Then Wafula spoke.
“He should have been here by now. You did get the instructions right with him?
“Of course I did. He’ll be here. It should drop over the side any moment now.”