Chapter 2

Having come down the long hallway and passing through the men’s locker room and showers, Jack opened the door to the pool deck. “Immediately across the way, Intern, is the exit from the Women’s locker room and showers. The second door down is the poolside exit from the health spa. The spa has another entrance/exit inside for guests who do not want to leave the security of the building. Got it?”

“Got it,” Intern said. “The building blocks the sun reaching the pool deck until what hour?”

“Ah, good question, grasshopper,” Jack said, knowing the reference would go over the man’s head. “Somewhere between 9:30 and 10:00, the sun will start creeping up the pool deck. These hours between sunrise and full sun are the most dangerous time to be on the deck. Nighttime creepy-crawlies are mostly shy and flee at the slightest disturbance. The predators who remain or emerge at dawn are the most likely to attack instead of fleeing. We have not lost a guest yet, but we have had to ship back a couple of human personnel for further treatment.”

Intern froze in his tracks. He looked around the cleared deck of poured concrete, which Jack knew would be clear and free of hazards. Jack cleared his throat and cocked his hips and crossed his arms.

“You are looking in the wrong places,” Jack said. “Look at the piles of stacked sunning beds; there are plenty of hidey-holes. The roof of the bar cabana is also a common place for the pouncing predators to lie in wait. Then there is the yellow line before the last run of concrete that leads out into the gardens. Think semi-sentient venus-flytraps on scorpion bodies that can leap a fair distance. Stay behind the yellow line until full sun. We have a team of trained orcs that clear the area before we unlock the pool area to guests. Those orange cones indicate they have been here and swept the area.”

“Do you trust them to be thorough” Intern asked, still frozen in place.

“They’re harvesting their breakfast,” Jack said with a laconic smile. “No one wants to skip breakfast, especially orcs who consider the greater world a non-stop buffet. They get their rendition of a tasty breakfast, and we get a safe and secure environment; everybody wins. Don’t come out here at midnight for a skinny dip, no matter what your companions promise.”

Intern swallowed. Seeming to remember he was standing with his supervisor, he drew in a deep breath and slowly dropped his shoulders. “Orange cones means safe to walk,” Intern said. “Got it.”

Jack walked out to the pool and stood by the steps. “The water is treated like any other commercial pool; it has the same chemicals, the same test kits, and the same schedules. Magical creatures don’t like chlorine or bromines much, so they tend to avoid the water. However, we have accidently imported mosquitoes, and they tend to huddle at the circumference of the pool at sunset where they are safer from the local predators. They will eat you alive, and here in the Twilight Lands, we speak only in the literal sense. Let’s walk out to the yellow line.”

Jack led the way around the pool, staying as far away from the shrubbery as he could. “Under this service cabana on the right side is a large standing vase containing umbrellas for the guests in case they want shade when they walk through the gardens. However, there are also several large walking sticks, each one-and-a-half to two meters tall. As an employee, you must carry one of these sticks when you walk through the gardens. You bang the ground with it every couple of feet, warning the creepy crawlies to stay away. Typically, you only need to worry about them in the early morning. Once the sun heats up the landscape, they disappear. Do you play baseball?”

Intern nodded that he did.

“Good,” Jack said. “If you see flying snakes coming at you, then hold the stick like a baseball bat and swing big. Don’t whiff. You don’t have to aim for the head, you can hit the middle of the body because they are delicate, going down quick from a medium-sized blow. Even a soft blow will knock them off course. Hand me a stick and take one for yourself.”

Jack hefted his stick and twirled it a few times in his hand. “All of our walking sticks have been certified by one of the local shamans as kosher.”

Intern gave him a funny look, “They’re Jewish?”

“Shorthand, my apologies,” Jack said. “They’re agnostic pagans, for the record, I’m pretty sure but don’t quote me. Use only these sticks because they don’t carry curses. The locals carry staves that you only touch with their permission. Also, you don’t pick up anything in the fields or the forests because any object could be cursed. In fact, these sticks are prepped for enchantments if you are magically capable of wielding them. We will test your potential later.

“See that flat blue stone at the edge. If you hit it two times with your stick, it will summon our groundskeeper, Burpee-Do. We do not let our guests wander the gardens without an escort. Burpee-Do or one of his children always guides our guests on the property. Not only do they provide running commentary, they act as bodyguards. They’re dwarf elves, and as a magical people, they are adept at weaving magic like the gunslingers of old would shoot from the hip. It’s said they can bring down a full-grown olliphantus at two hundred paces without breaking a sweat.”

“Olliphantus?” Intern asked.

“Think of a double-sized elephant with tentacles and a predator’s taste for organ meat,” Jack said. “During rutting season, they’re unmanageable.”

“Is there hazard pay included in this employment?” Intern said, gripping the stick tightly with both hands.

“Phsst,” Jack said, dismissing the comment with a wave of his hand. “There isn’t an olliphantus within a hundred kilometers of here, probably. Anyways, interns are a dime a dozen. We do pay a death and dismemberment benefit for all our employees though. Ah, our guide has arrived.”

A dwarf standing no taller than one of the walking sticks appeared from between a clump of bushes. Several earrings dangled from each of his pointed ears. There were grey hairs in his goatee and his black hair was pulled back in a bun. He was dressed like any farmer one would find in Southeast Asia.

“You rang, Paleface,” he growled.

Jack turned to Intern, “One of the former interns introduced them to spaghetti westerns in the employee lounge. He thought he was doing a cultural exchange that would bring understanding and empathy between our races. Now, I’ve got to deal with this shit every day.”

Jack swirled the stick in his hand. “Cut the crap, Burpee. I’m already running late, and I’ve got a new intern to break in and train before he accidently offs himself.”

Burpee looked Intern up and down. “He looks strong and healthy. Would he be interested in buying one of my daughters? Excellent bedwarmers on cold, desert nights. Special, this week only, I guarantee the best daughters in the county.”

“Ignore him,” Jack said to Intern. “No one sells daughters in the Twilight Lands or in the Magic Lands for that matter. His wives keep his balls locked in a magic canister next to his bedside. If he behaves during the day, they let his balls out for the evening.”

“He has multiple wives?” Intern asked.

“I have four wives, Intern,” Burpee-Do said. “We have four sons and seven daughters. Don’t believe everything this paleface says. My wives are always satisfied, my children are happy, and I hold great honor in my tribe with the magic we generate. Plus, I’m getting a higher rate of return on my real estate investments than you can imagine in your fondest dreams.”