Un2talented (Book 3 of the Un2 Series)

“What does he mean by ‘Pandora time’?” Dorian whispered to Cadence. “Is he talking about the music service or the bracelets?”

“I’d guess that he’s talking about Pandora from mythology. You know, the one with the box.”

Dorian looked puzzled.

“According to the story, she opened a box that she wasn’t supposed to and released all kinds of bad stuff into the world.”

“Why would you name a bracelet or a streaming service after that?” Dorian asked, still puzzled.

Gary and Cadence shrugged.

“I can tell you one thing. We’re witnessing a ritual that certainly doesn’t involve pixies.”

Cadence pointed at the enormous earthen pottery that the tall one was wheeling into the cave. Six pieces joined together to form a single contour. A large terracotta-colored urn anchored the pieces. It stood at least two heads higher than the henchman and could probably hold three of him inside of it, four if comfort wasn’t a consideration. Glossy black figures danced about its base. Looks of anguish and pain were etched into their faces. These dancers were being controlled by barbarous antagonists. The tormentors were spaced evenly around the pot’s circumference, each positioned beneath one of the five remaining vessels that were nestled under the neck of the center pot. The smaller urns were coated in a black glaze except for an icon that remained the reddish-orange of the clay. The five pots were identical in shape and size, but each bore a different symbol. The whole grouping of vessels was crowned by a single lid and lashed together with leather straps and golden buckles.

“Does this go someplace special or can I park it anywhere?”

Shorty flipped a few pages into the book and then flipped back and forth between passages. Confident that he had found the correct diagram he stated a somewhat assured “Right there will be fine.”

Lanky set about securing the barrow that carried the pyxis by first rotating and locking the hubs on the wheels. Next, planks were pulled from beneath the cart bed to form access ramps to all the pots. He returned to the lectern to review the diagrams.

“Next step is to mount the ewers into their gimbals,” The tall one read aloud.

“English, please,” Shorty sighed.

“Based on the drawing I would say it means we should put those black jugs into those metal spinny thingies.”

The henchman returned to the pots and unlashed the leather thongs. “We’ll need those later,” his cohort reminded. “And remember, the jugs go in specific spots. Match their symbols to the symbol on the, um, spinny thingy.”

“Gotcha.”

The leather straps were sufficiently stowed, and the lid was set to the side. Lanky climbed onto the platform and pulled at the first ewer. It moved slightly and then slid back into its receptacle. He applied a bit more force on his next attempt and it moved a bit more, but not enough to clear its compartment.

“Was that Pandora chick some kind of Amazon or something? These things weigh a ton! Come over here and help me.”

“Sure. Have one of those things slip and crush me. I don’t think so!” Shorty shook his head. “Go get muscle boy out of his cage. We might as well put him to use as long as we’ve got him.”

Lanky momentarily disappeared from the view of the trio and then reappeared leading a beefy specimen of a man. He was dressed solely in white linen harem pants, not counting the leash that he was tethered to and the hood that cloaked his head. His hands were bound behind his back and in turn to his ankles. One of his hands was taped and partially wrapped in blood-spotted gauze.

“Leslie,” Gary whispered aloud. He started to stand but was pulled back down by the others.

“He’s calmed down a bit, hasn’t he?” Shorty commented.

“Surprising what an hour or two of pharmaceutically induced sleep can do for a man.”

“How’d you get him to put on the fancy pants?”

“It was easy. I just took his clothes during his nap time. He didn’t have much choice unless he wanted to parade around buck naked!” Lanky chuckled. He turned to address the man at the end of the leash.

“I hope you are going to behave when I remove this hood because if you don’t … “Lanky pulled a small black remote control from his pocket, aimed it at the man, and depressed a button. The prisoner juddered and hunched forward. Lanky released the button and the man fell to his knees.

“And that was set to three. This sucker goes up to ten.”

A low growl formed in Gary’s chest.

“Gary,” Cadence cautioned. “We can’t do anything for him right now and they need him. Please wait. There’s bound to be a better moment when we can help him.”

“I don’t like this,” Gary groaned. “Besides, I don’t have much time before I go canine. What help will I be then?”

“Probably more,” Dorian chimed in.

“What do you mean?”

“Gary, you are one hell of a guy but not very intimidating. But dude, when you are a dog you can be downright terrifying! How much longer before it’s dog time?”

Gary checked his phone. “Maybe a half of an hour or so.”

“Let’s watch what happens. If things start to go bad, we can try to help him, but I think we would have the advantage with you in dog mode.”

Gary looked to Cadence. She nodded in agreement.

Lanky pulled the hood from Leslie’s head. He pushed down on Leslie’s shoulder. “Stay down while I untie you. If you try anything, I will fry your ass!”

Leslie remained docile during the unfettering. Lanky took a quick couple of steps back aiming the remote at the shock collar.

“Don’t try anything funny, Conan!” Lanky laughed at his mockery.

“Hey, he does look like Conan! You gonna be a good boy, Conan?” Shorty reiterated.

Leslie was okay with his close friends affectionately calling him Conan, but these weren’t friends and there was a considerable lack of affection.

“What do you want from me?” he grumbled.

“You need to take those black jugs off of the wagon and put them into those metal spinny-thingies,” Shorty directed.

“Do you mean the gimbals?”

“Spinny thingies, gimbals, whatever.”

“And make sure the symbols match!” Lanky added.

Leslie rose and walked up a plank to the first ewer. He looked over to the pair at the lectern and pointed at the black vessel. They nodded. He gripped the jug on either side and slid it up and out of its saddle as if lifting a toddler. He descended the ramp and approached the first gimbal. The symbol matched the one on the jug. The pair mated in a specific fashion. Once the jug was inserted the gimbal clicked into a locked position.

“One down, four to go, Conan!” The henchmen poked.

Leslie bit his lip and continued with his task. One by one the other vessels were removed from the central pot and mounted to their corresponding gimbals. Lanky scanned the book in front of him, tracing the diagram with his finger.

“Next, fasten one of those leather straps to each gimbal and then run them up over those pulleys.”

Leslie threw the straps over one shoulder and walked to the first gimbal. It had a knob that extended a few inches from its backside. Leslie pulled a strap from his shoulder. One end was finished with a buckle that had a keyhole-shaped slot in its center. The opposite end finished with a hook. He slipped the buckle over the knob. The parts aligned like puzzle pieces. He walked to the gazebo and stepped up onto its half-wall and then looped the strap over the polished disc allowing the weight of the hook to pull it taut. After repeating the procedure four more times the gazebo looked more like a Rube Goldberg machine than a centerpiece for a rose garden.

Leslie could tell by its shape and size that the lid to the pyxis was the final piece of the rigging. He suspended it above the open well using the hook ends of the straps without being directed to do so. He smiled at his mental acuity and looked to his captors for a sign of approval.

“What?” Shorty snipped.

“I hung the lid. That was the next thing, right?”

“Did we tell you to hang the lid?”

“No, but . . .”

“No, but nothin’!”

Shorty snatched up the remote and sent a jolt through the collar. Leslie steadied himself by grabbing onto one of the gazebo’s pillars.

Lanky leaned toward Shorty and whispered, “The lid was the next piece.”

“Eesh! Should I tell him I’m sorry?”

“I don’t know. It might make you look weak. Honestly, I kinda felt bad after I zapped him. Not to mention the finger thing earlier.”

Shorty thought for a moment.

“Um, hey, you were right but don’t do stuff without us telling you. Okay?”

Leslie grimaced and looked up. Shorty mouthed “I’m sorry.”

“We aren’t cut out for this,” Lanky whimpered.