[Psst, Gud, I think you posted under the wrong user name.]

"Excellent" I declare after looking over the convention reports.

"Everything is running smoothly sir" says my assistant.

"Good. Has my speechwriter finished my keynote address?" I ask.

"Um......" says my assistant while showing a keen interest in the ceiling.

"Yes?" I ask.

"Um.......You see, the thing is....."

"Yes!?" I demand.

"You were....um....bumped" he says while showing a keen interest in the floor.

"Bumped!? By who!?" I demand.

"They've booked Death."

"Death!? Death!? That guy with the robe and the sickle? He isn't even evil, he's just, you know, inevitable." Being a firm believer in killing the messenger, I reach for my sword. Then I reconsider, it takes forever to fill the assistant job opening.

"I agree sir, it isn't right and you are much much more evil, but you know how many Death fanboys there are in the evil community." He explains in a soothing sort of manner.

I sigh. "Yeah. When am I speaking?"

My assistant looks over his clipboard. "1:00am in the 7th circle conference room, second day".

I nod, 1:00am is a good time slot for Evilcon. "Very well, are there any other events at that time?"

"Um....." says my assistant while showing a keen interest in the window.

"What now?" I demand.

"The thing is...."

Overheard in Sang Sacré:

"Lenny!"

"Phil! Long time no see. Buy you a beer?"

"Sure thing. Here for the con?"

"Yup. Pulling booth duty as usual."

"Still with Angmar Alchemicals?"

"Haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"They're in liquidation."

"No kidding? What happened?"

"It was the crash. After those two midget terrorists took out the Dark Lord, sales went into the privy. The high mucky-mucks panicked. They started adding new product lines helter skelter while cutting staff and raw material spending to the bone at the same time. And I do mean bone. We lost a lot of good sales staff to the cauldrons. Didn't work, of course. You can't grow your sales numbers when half your sales force is in the stuff you're trying to move. When they sacrificed three junior VPs just to make the payroll, I could see the handwriting on the wall."

"So who're you with now?"

"Tartarus Neutraceuticals. We're a new firm, but growing fast. Our CEO just got written up in Dunwich Business News."

"Sounds like you made the right move. How's the floor traffic?"

"Slow. Way down from last year. We're hoping it picks up some tomorrow after the keynote, but I have my doubts. Seems like a lot of folks are saying it's the recession, that companies are cutting way back on travel."

"Hey, it's a tough economy."

"Thing is, it's not really our best show. We'll do a lot better at Transdimensicon over in Lhasa, maybe pick up a couple of distributors on some other planes. We're here mostly to show the flag, you know, get our name out there."

"Well, it sounds like you're doing well... Damn, it's getting late. I'm moderating a panel on alternative materials use in ancient rituals at 8. Stop by if you can."

"Wish I could. I have to put in an appearance at our hospitality suite. Plus, I'm hoping some of Ruddygore Publishing's booth succubi will drop by."

"Okay then, buddy, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Thanks for the beer."

"Any time. Hey, drop by the booth if you get a chance. We're giving away coffee mugs shaped like Urns of Amarvia, and there's a raffle for an iPod Touch. It's number 1236, just down the aisle from Halliburton."

sporfle.

Good show, fellas.

"I'm opposite of who?!" I ask in outrage.

My assistant shuffles his feet and responds quietly. "The four horsemen sir."

"Oh, that's just perfect. I've heard that they are hinting that they'll finally release the apocalypse in 2012, so everyone will be at their panel. Bunch of publicity hounds, they've been hinting for a couple of millennium." I complain.

"Hey, remember how they had that Miller guy going?" Asks my assistant, obviously trying to change the subject.

"Never heard of him." I reply.

"Oh then, never min..."

"Who the hell comes up with these schedules anyway?!" I demand.

My assistant consults his clipboard. "This year it was Sauron in charge of the planning committee. He's had a lot of time on his hands recently."

Understanding comes to me at last. "Of course, he's still angry about my letter to Evil Weekly. I called him the most incompetent evil overload in the history of evilness."

"It was a good call sir. I mean look what..."

"Yes, yes, I'm a genius, nothing new there. Ah well, next year I shall have my revenge. Who is slated for the planning committee for 09?"

Another consultation of the clipboard. "It says Voldemort sir."

"Who's he?"

"Another has-been sir."

The wizard was very old, and although still remarkably spry for a man of his centuries, right now he was one tired old man. Truth be told, he didn't look much like a wizard, having eschewed the traditional robes and pointed hat for a Hawaiian shirt, jeans, and a tweed cap. The only clues as to his profession were the symbols carved into his walking stick, and the badge still clipped to his shirt pocket with the red ribbon hanging from it proclaiming him to be an honored panelist at the con.

It had been a long day, and right now he wanted nothing more than to rest his legs and relax with a nice glass of port. At least, that was his plan when he placed his order at the bar in Milo's, then flopped down in a chair at one of the tables. If it struck him as unusual that a penguin delivered his drink, he didn't show it. He just took a sip of the port, leaned back, and closed his eyes for a second. Or maybe it was longer.

When he opened them again, he noticed another figure standing at the bar. The figure's back was towards him, but it was someone tall and thin, clad in a hooded black robe with a black leather valise hanging from its shoulder by a strap. The wizard took another sip of port, then closed his eyes again. It was only for a moment, because he felt a presence, and not the least little bit of a chill. When he opened his eyes again, he looked up to see the figure standing next to his table looking down at him. At least he thought the figure was looking at him. He couldn't make out a face under the hood, but there were two glowing blue sparks located where the figure's eyes ought to be, and they seemed pointed at him.

"MAY I JOIN YOU?" the figure asked.

The wizard had always found that there was nothing to be lost by being polite, so he indicated the chair across the table and said, "Certainly."

The figure sat, placing the valise upright on a third chair. The penguin arrived with the figure's drink, along with a bowl of ice cubes, then toddled away hurriedly. The drink was very orange, and appeared to have layers.

"If I may," said the wizard, "what is that?"

"A HARVEY WALLBANGER. I'VE NEVER TRIED ONE BEFORE."

A feeling tugged at the back of the wizard's mind. "You seem familiar. Should I know you?"

"PROBABLY."

He thought some more, then he snapped his finger, causing it to emit a brief spark of flame. "Ah! Now I remember. I saw your picture in the program. You're Death. You're here to give the keynote."

"AMONG OTHER THINGS."

"That's a bit cryptic, isn't it?"

Death shrugged, then plucked up some ice cubes from the bowl and wrapped the bony fingers of his right hand around them. "AH, THAT'S BETTER." He got up and grabbed a towel from the bar, wrapped his hand in it, and sat back down. "I'VE JUST COME FROM AN AUTOGRAPH SESSION, AND MY HAND WAS BEGINNING TO CRAMP UP."

"I can sympathize. I used to get asked for my autograph all the time. Now I'm just the old guy they put on the panels to add a little gravitas while the flavors of the month prattle on about mystical singularities and cybermagic and suchlike."

"THERE WAS ONE FELLOW HAD ME SIGN FIFTEEN PHOTOS, BUT HE ONLY WANTED THE FIRST ONE PERSONALIZED. HE SAID THE REST WERE FOR HIS GRANDMOTHERS."

"I hate to say it, but they're probably up on eBay already."

"YOU'RE PROBABLY RIGHT." Death shrugged again.

"So, you said you were here for other things as well as the keynote."

"I HAVE A FEW APPOINTMENTS TO ATTEND TO, YOU KNOW, THE USUAL."

"I guess you have to be on call pretty much 24-7, don't you?"

"YES, BUT I DON'T MIND. THE WORK IS OFTEN SATISFYING."

Death reached into the valise and pulled out an ancient-looking hourglass. The wizard could see only a handful of grains remained in the upper half. "Looks like this poor fellow doesn't have much time left. Anyone I know?" he said with a bit of a nervous laugh.

Death turned the glass to show the wizard the tarnished silver plate affixed to its base. The wizard put on a pair of reading glasses, and leaned forward to read the inscription. "Oh, dear."

"I'M AFRAID SO."

"But I feel fine."

"IT'S OFTEN THAT WAY." Death looked at the glass. "YOU PROBABLY HAVE ENOUGH TIME FOR ANOTHER DRINK."

"Sound idea." He looked around the bar, but the bartender was nowhere to be seen. "Drat. I wonder what happened to that penguin."

I BELIEVE HE'S HIDING UNDER THE SINK. HERE, ALLOW ME. ANOTHER PORT?

The wizard nodded, and Death got up and reached over the bar for the bottle, leaving a small pile of coins on the bar. Then he refilled the wizard's glass and sat down again.

"Thank you. Are you always this nice to your, er, clients?"

"WELL, I AM A FIRM BELIEVER IN QUALITY OF SERVICE. DYING IS CONFUSING ENOUGH FOR MOST BEINGS WITHOUT SOMEONE MAKING IT MORE DIFFICULT BY BEING DIFFICULT." Death paused for a moment, then continued, "BUT I DO HAVE TO ADMIT TO A BIT OF AN ULTERIOR MOTIVE." Another pause. "I'M AFRAID THIS IS A BIT EMBARRASSING. YOU SEE, I'M A FAN OF YOURS. "

"A fan?"

"I'VE ALWAYS ADMIRED YOUR WORK, AND I THOUGHT IT MIGHT BE NICE TO JUST CHAT WITH YOU. I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND."

"No, not at all. I'm very flattered."

"I'M GLAD. I KNOW THIS ISN'T THE BEST TIME, BUT..." Death reached into his valise again, this time pulling out an old, but well preserved spell book. "IF YOU WOULDN'T MIND?"

"Oh, my," the wizard said as he ran his fingers over the leather binding. He opened the cover and scrawled a brief inscription on the title page which he then signed with a flourish. "This always was my favorite." He handed the book back."

"IT'S ALWAYS BEEN MINE, TOO."

The wizard shook his head. "It's a shame, you know. I was so looking forward to attending your keynote address."

"WELL, I DID WANT TO RUN THROUGH IT ONE MORE TIME TONIGHT TO MAKE SURE I'VE GOT THE TIMING DOWN. IF YOU WOULDN'T MIND..."

"Well, I do appear to have freed up some time on my schedule." he said with a wry smile. "I'd be delighted."

"SHALL WE?" The last grain dropped.

Death and the wizard's spirit stood. The wizard looked back at his body. "There's a money pouch inside my cloak. Best leave it on the bar as a tip for our wee penguin friend."

(Just sitting here, my mouth open a little, smiling and reading.That was lovely)

Finding a parking spot at Evilcon is never easy, everybody parks across the lines. I pull the Matador wagon into a place between a sleek red dart of a spaceship and a menacing black spiky spaceship before a hovercraft can take it.

"Big crowd this year." Observes Hans.

"All the better for the vendor booth. I really feel good about moving some merchandise this year." I tell Hans as I pull out the Evilcon badges. Like usual they have the name in big bold text with the alignment below in less big bold text. I hand Hans his badge.

"Chaotic neutral" Hans reads off the badges. "Seems fair."

"Good for business too. Nobody trusts the evil vendors and nobody thinks the good vendors are going to sell anything worthwhile at Evilcon. Neutral vendors are where it's at and these guys practically sell themselves." I gesture to the back seat where two robots are seated. They look like a couple of guys in bulky chrome suits.

Hans looks back at the robots. "Aren't there some legal issues with the Cylons?"

"Cy...what?" I ask.

"Cylons. You based them off the TV show right?"

I look back at the robots and look at me with their oscillating red dots. "No idea what you're talking about Hans. My 800 series was based on a movie, these guys are originals."

"But...they look..." stammers Hans.

"Like winners." I finish his sentence for him. "I mean what is the biggest problem that any evil genius overlord has to deal with?"

"Heroes?" guesses Hans.

"Nope." I reply wisely. "It's inadequate minions. The number one reason for overlord failure according to World Domination Daily. The other good thing about selling robotic minions is that we don't have to set up the booth." I turn back to the back seat. "OK guys, set up our booth on spot 417."

"By your command." Reply the robotic minions in unison as they exit the Matador. Hans and I also exit the wagon and take in the impressive vehicles around us as the robots extract the booth components from the back of the wagon.

I look from the shiny nearby vehicles back to my Matador. Yes, it is fusion powered, but an old AMC doesn't quite look as impressive as the spaceships, hovercraft, airships, and airplanes around it. Maybe I'll get the Matador repainted before the next Evilcon.

It had been one of those days. I'd spent much of it at the con, lugging far too much stuff around in my backpack while walking the exhibition hall. Now I was stuck on the Roubidoux Street trolley next to some moron with an exhibitor's badge who wanted to know if there were any good places to eat in Sang Sacre. All I wanted to do was go to the bar, pour myself a Yeungling, and maybe stick my feet in a bucket of ice water.

I got off at Van Dyke Park, and cut through the park towards Macunado and the bar. As I rounded the bandstand I saw flashing lights ahead, and a second later realized that they were attached to the ambulance parked in front of the bar.

Inside I saw the EMTs working on a guy. Phred was nearby talking to Ragman from the Watch, so that's where I headed.

"What happened?"

"Some old man from the con," said Ragman. "Looks like his heart gave out."

"Yeah," said Phred. "You might know him. The ribbon on his badge says he's some sort of honored guest. Asa... something."

"Wait... Asa Violet?" I looked closer at the guy on the floor.

"Yeah, that's it."

"Damn." Yup, it was him.

"You know him then?" asked Ragman.

"Not personally, but I was a fan. Asa Violet was a wizard, an alchemist, an author... Spell books, histories, fiction, you name it. He was truly a renaissance wizard. He wrote a bunch of books on alchemy—Principia Alchemica, The Sceptical Alchymist, The Alchemical History of a Candle, Arsenic and Gold Trace, Romancing the Philosopher's Stone... It's a great loss."

"Don't you mean Romancing the Sorcerer's Stone?" asked Phred.

"Hollywood changed the title. God knows why." I reached into my backpack and pulled out my well-thumbed copy of The Golden Book of Alchemical Experiments. "I got this when I was a kid. I was hoping to get him to autograph it."

I sighed and put the book back into my pack. Then I looked around. "Hey, Phred?"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Where's the bird?"

---

You know what's weird? For all that's happened in Milo's over the years, we'd never had a customer die before. So it goes...