Pub quiz night had been awful.

The depressive funk that had settled over the town had so thoroughly distracted the teams that even the simplest challenges weren't getting the proper response. I tried making the questions simpler ("Adder's venon and myrrh are two components of what common five ingredient potion?"). I tried making them impossibly hard ("Name the starting nine of the 1995 Mariners after Ken Griffey Jr went down to his wrist injury, and which one had the gift of parselmouth?"). At the end of the night, the Wizards Who Didn't Give A Damn had 30 points out of 200. They won. And I barely had enough to keep the pub's lights on.

I sent the help home and closed up alone. No one was going to show, not this evening. I was worrying about too many things: whether the pub could last with the increasingly entrenched ennui, how to deal with a toddler who was already showing signs of being super-gifted at magic, why it suddenly smelled like hydrogen sulfide.

Him.

Ancalagon.

I wheeled around. I hadn't seen him since that fateful day in 1998, when he obliterated half the team before I could drop a high-test protection charm. I have to say that the Derbyshire trolls were awfully crafty to block the way to the Sphere by gold and gems. Ancalagon took one look at that, and suddenly he was no longer part of Task Force Olive, and the rest of us were toast.

After that, I refused any spec ops work with a dragon on the team. And here he was, sitting in my pub.

"You still have any beer?"

"Weren't you a Glenelvish sort?"

"Yeah, but I need a beer. Ministry's banned it."

Crap.

"Why should I trust you? Last time I saw you...."

"Yeah, look, I'm sorry, but.... Look, I'm a dragon, and dragons and treasure...."

"Yeah. So, why you in town?"

"Working for the Ministry."

"That really makes me want to sell you a beer."

"Hey. OK. Tell you what, make it Glenelvish."

I turned and moved to try and find the bottle on the lazy susan on the shelf above the bar. I turned it 180 degrees to the left. Normally, I'd turn it 90 degrees left, just to make the beer non-alcoholic for family events and AA meetings. 180 not only removes the alcohol from the beer in the building, it turns it into nothing but colored water. The bottle of Glenelvish, of course, was on a different shelf.

Later that evening, when the Ministry thugs came around to confiscate the beer, they fought for three hours with the usual riddles, defenses, and giant hops that protect a bierkeller, only to find they had reached a keller with nothing but kegs of water.

The Magick of Adolph Coors was worth the gold I laid down for it.

And then, of course, one of them had to get huffy, saying how she was going to take me down and the family was going to be sold into slavery and they'd never find my body -- and then she bumped me.

Sadly, she didn't even have a chance to scream as a keg floated up and turned her body into a bloody stain on the floor.

The rest of the thugs stared, then got the message that it was time to leave posthaste when the giant hops started closing in again.

That's the nice thing about a 200 year old pub -- the protective magic comes pre-installed.

This just in. The Mayor has issued new regulations banning the sale, possession, and consumption of beer. The ministry of happiness has announced they they will begin enforcement immediately and will be confiscating all of the beer in the city.

Laugh tracks, I could deal with.

Wanton death and destruction, I could deal with.

"Hector, while you're up get me a beer, would you?"

"Uh...no."

No? My wroth is great.

"And why not?"

Hector is sweating so heavily it's visible through the thick carpet of night-black fur that covers his entire body. "There...isn't...any."

"So go buy some."

"There's none...in...Sang Sacre."

We'll repair the roof later. For now...there is all-too-sober smiting to be done.

"How goes the new ban Malphas?"

"Very well sir, there was some resistence at the Folly/Wal-Mart but they were just using guns, so they weren't able to hurt the ministry members. We lost a ministry member to crushing, but with the new pod nursery in the dungeon we now grow two ministry members for every one lost."

"But what about the beer? Is the ban holding?"

"Yes. There are some suspect blackmarket location, but the ministry expects to deal with them quickly."

"Excellent. My vengence should be felt." I take a moment to enjoy the vengence. "Now what else is on the agenda."

Malphas takes out a folder. "Evilcon sir. The city is hosting it this year."

I smile. "Ah Evilcon, how many events have they requested I attend."

Malphas shuffles his hooves. "About that....um....they has been a change."

"What!? What change."

Malphas swallows. "They ended up getting Voldemort at the last moment, so they replaced you on some panels."

"Voldemort! He's nothing compared to me. How many panels did he replace me on?"

"Um....all of them si......" Malpas trails off distracted by his death as I split him in two with my sword.

Dammit, I've been bumped from Evilcon and a now I need a new city manager. I hate Mondays.

Wal-Mart is out of beer? It IS an evil organization.

Enough is enough and enough is too much. I fly above the city, my coat like big grey bat-wings about me (that touch of wizardly drah-ma and whatnot).

"CITIZENS OF SANG SACRE!" I bellow, my voice echoing across the city-scape. "SINCE WHEN DO WE LIE DOWN LIKE PATHETIC PLACID POODLES WHILST OUR BAR-TAPS RUN DRY? WHERE IS THE CITY I KNEW AND LOVED? ONE DEDICATED TO TRUTH...TO JUSTICE...TO BEAUTY AND LIBERTY...TO INTOXICATION AND WANTON ABANDON?!

"RISE UP SANG...SACRE...ITES? SANG SACRE-ANS? WHATEVER! JUST RISE UP! FIGHT THE EVIL THAT INFESTS THIS ONCE-PROUD CENTER OF DEBAUCHERY! RISE UP! FIGHT THE OPPRESSIVE MADNESS THAT ROBS US OF OUR BIRTHRIGHT!

"RISE UP, I SAY! RISE AND FIGHT THE SOBRIETY!!"

When Ancalagon told me about the orb, I shook my head.

"He doesn't know what he has you guarding, does he?"

"I don't think so. And that's what is shocking to me. Isn't he supposed to be evil?"

"Yeah, I guess a mini-Voldemort."

"Except without the fear and trembling from his minions."

"Or the competence."

"Or the intellegence."

"Or the ability to do anything other than command the stupid."

Ancalagon smiled. "Voldemort. I did some freelance work for him back in '80. Remember when St. Helens Academy blew?"

"Yeah, it took what, 3000 wizards to convince the normal population that that volcano had gone off."

"I had to do some time-travel work. Cause some earthquakes. All part of the Gentlewizard's Agreement."

The Gentlewizard's Agreement. About the only time the minions of evil had to work with the minions of good to cover something up that would have revealed true magic to the non-magical, who would have then sicced the normal armies on them. Of course, the magical would have won in one form or another, but the loss of life would have been in the billions. And thus, the story the world saw and heard was Mt. St. Helens blowing up.

I smirked. "Voldemort. Now that's evil. Too bad we have a five-and-dime evil running things in this town."

"And he has me guarding that orb."

"He has to know what that thing is, what it can do..."

"...what it's done."

I shook my head again. "And I bet he thinks it's just controlling the weather and making everything gloomy."

And so, standing there over the pulped remains of a Ministry minion, I had a lot to consider. The beer ban would hurt business, but business lately was pretty awful, anyway. The Ministry might come after us, but the layers and layers of magic in the inn would protect me, just as it had protected all the other landlords of the last 200 years. And even if they were to get me or the rest of the family, the inn would take its revenge in some cruel and heinous fashion.

Far more frightening was the prospect of that orb being in this town, even if protected by some joke of a life-size D&D game.

There had to be a way to protect this town from what was coming.

And then, it all came together in a flash. Someone else would have to go down into that dungeon and get that orb, but I could certainly buy some safety and thumb my nose at authority at the same time.

That afternoon, after the lunch rush, I had the waitresses post a big sign in the front window:

WE HAVE BEER

And with a little help from Adolph Coors and John Courage, I put a little blessing on the beer. I couldn't wait for the Ministry of Happiness to try and figure out what I did to mess with their poor minions' heads.

From Sang Sacre Harold Classified Section

Petty vengence can be so limiting, some days. I want so much to smite the Ministry of Happiness, smite, smite, smite. Sang Sacre is the only place in this country I can find decent beer. But I can't do all that much. It's like the difference between hard-core porn, and a bit of bodice-ripping smut. Smite, smut. Smut, that's IT!

I flick my wrist, and several thousand cheesy romance novels replace the data files of Ministry of Happiness computers, filling their hard drives like the rampant shafts of the Fabio lookalikes fill the heated womanly cores of the previously unfulfilled girls in the books.

With no city manager, I have to get my status report from Mary from the ministry of happiness. The status report has been written out on a paper with some sort of pink floral pattern.

Dear Aeshma,

Things are going great at the ministry of happiness! We have had some computer problems...

I look over at the dull grey box in my office that I have been told is a "computer" wondering how one has problems with something that just sits there.

...but the new files are really cool! Things in the city are fantastic, you are the best mayor ever, deserving of great respect!!

I nod silently, yes I do deserve great respect. I start to think this Mary may be qualified to be the new city manager.

As per your new regulations, all beer in the city has been confiscated! There is one bar still advertising that they have beer but ministry officials haven't been able to find anything but water on the premises so maybe that don't really have any! We will employ a spy to make sure!

Mary

Well, everything seems to be going smoothly. I still need to have somebody make the arrangements for Evilcon with that stupid Voldemort guy.