Chapter 3: Submergence

"Good evening, and welcome back to our Wacko of the Week show!" the little guy with the big ears crooned.

The little guy, who was of course the radio moderator, sat at a table packed with microphones. Baggy and I were sitting at opposite sides of the table, exchanging grim glances. I cleared my throat and prepared myself for my first radio speech.

"Today, we have the continuation of last week's broadcast", the radio guy yelled, "when Mr. Presley told us his truth about Tolkien. With me in the studio there is Mr. Noeel Quickley, who has something to say in this matter as well. Welcome to the show!"

"Um-" I started, but the announcer cut me off.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Presley has dislocated a hip and can't be here to defend himself tonight", he said. "Instead, let's welcome his illegitimate stepfather, Mr. Winston Churchill!"

"Thank you, thank you", mumbled Baggy beneath a ridiculously huge cigar. He wore a chubby latex mask and had stuffed several pillows under his sweatshirt.

The announcer looked at me again. "Mr. Quickley", he yelled, "what do you have to tell us?"

The week before the broadcast had been extremely busy. I had written letters to the radio station. I had begged, and I had bribed people. I had found the guy who was originally scheduled for this interview and stole his trademark cucumbers. But finally, I had succeeded. I had managed to challenge Baggy to this radio duel, and now millions of people were tuned in, holding their breath for the final battle over Tolkien's legacy. And now the big moment had come.

"I think J.R.R. Tolkien is a great man", I started. "He was not a liar, not a racist and he certainly did not fight for Franco in the Spanish Civil War. Nothing that Ba... Mr. Presley told you was true. It was all lies! Filthy lies!"

Baggy answered with a cold glance. "Then why are orcs always portrayed as evil in his books?" he asked. "Besides, you look ridiculous with that beard."

I stared back icily and answered with a detailed character analysis of Shagrat and Gorbag, the Orcish anti-heroes of 'Lord of the Rings', proving that they were indeed depicted in shades of grey rather than as simply evil beings.

At one time during my five minutes of rambling, the temperature of Baggy's glance dropped below the freezing point of water. In the glass of coke that stood in front of him, the ice cubes stopped their slow process of melting. "But Tolkien was a racist", he said. "In 'Letters', when explaining the look of orcs to his readers, he likens them to Mongols. If I may quote from Letter 210, he describes them as 'degraded and repulsive versions of the (to Europeans) least lovely Mongol-types'."

"Your interest in orcs is astonishing, Mr. Churchill", I answered. "One could almost assume you were one yourself." I lowered the temperature of my stare accordingly. A small ice cap formed on the glass of mineral water I had been drinking from. The announcer closed the upper button of his shirt. I proceeded to explain the subjectivity of Tolkien's comment, expressed by the parenthesis. Then I explained the cultural background in which the comment was written, and pointed out that these letters probably were never meant for publishing, so their 'canonicity' could at least be doubted.

Small icicles grew from Baggy's eyebrows. Cracks formed in his coke glass as the beverage froze solid. The announcer put on a scarf and some gloves. "Oh, and about Tolkien's stance during the Spanish Civil War", Baggy hissed, "is it not true that Tolkien openly sided with the Fascists? 'Letters' explicitely states that he supported Franco against the communists."

"Now you are confusing things", I shot back. "Tolkien did support the conservative Catholic fraction in the war. That fraction had nothing to do with the Fascists. It was allied with Franco, but then again, Mr. Churchill, may I remind you who you were all allied with during the Second World War? Or your enthusiastic support for Mussolini during the 1920es?" I grinned triumphantly. I was winning, and Baggy knew it. The announcer tried to say something, but his lips were frozen together.

"I should not have dressed as Churchill", Baggy whispered below the threshold of the microphones. "But the Elvis mask was in the washing machine." The two glasses on the table exploded. Their icy contents seeped out and united in a mini-glacier that crept over the table. The laptop of the announcer was overwhelmed by the icy mass, and a colony of mini-penguins made their home in it. We had invented Linux. "Tolkien also said that orcs were-" Baggy tried to launch another round.

I cut him off. "Winston, I think this show is over", I said.

"Not yet", Baggy snarled. "I have still some arguments left. Why do you think so?"

"Because", I explained, "the moderator is dead."

***

When I walked home from the radio station, I was in a triumphant mood. I had emerged victorious. I had defended Tolkien, washed his name clear from any slander. Baggy left me without saying goodbye, and as he hurried away in the opposite direction, I could hear a metallic sound at regular intervals. In his frustration, Baggy was probably kicking every streetlight he encountered.

The city was built on both sides of a river, and my way home led me over the main bridge. It was a clear and dark winter evening. Stars were twinkling above me, and below me too, as their light was reflected on the surface of the black, quiet water. A cold wind blew from the north. Far away, some wolves howled, and somewhere in the city, dogs barked in answer. A heated argument erupted between the wolves and the dogs on whether howling or barking was the correct sound to make for a canine. The wolves called the dogs spittle-lickers of mankind, and the dogs retorted with snide comments on the wolves' primitivity.

As I reached the middle of the bridge, the argument subsided. An uneasy, brooding silence fell. I, not caring about my surroundings, hastened on, until a loud and very unfriendly voice interrupted my thoughts. "Hey, Quickley", it shouted. "We've been waiting for you."

They were three. Three bulky shadows that quietly moved through the night. One stayed in front of me, blocking my way. One positioned himself behind me, making sure I could not run backwards. The third one intercepted me from the side. He stepped into the light cone of the street lantern, and I saw that he was a huge, muscular orc.

"What do you want?" I demanded to know.

"We heard you on the radio", the big orc growled. "You were trying to silence Bagronk."

"How do you know?" I asked. "He was dressed up as Churchill!"

"We know these things", the shadow in front of me said. He also stepped into the light, and I realized he was probably the twin brother of the first orc. The rather evil twin brother who always preyed on his brother's food and steroids rations.

"And we know you are Quickley", the third shadow added, the one from behind me. He was a thin, small orc with an unproportionally big hat. But to make up for his missing size, he wore a black karate belt.

"How?" I repeated, unable to think of any more clever questions. I stepped backwards until I could feel the cold metal of the bridge railing.

"Your shirt", the first big orc said.

"Oh", I mumbled and looked down at my breast, where the letters "Tolkien is a great man and Baggy is a liar!" were imprinted.

"Enough of that", the huge orc in front of me snarled. "You are a bootlicker of Tolkien, that liar and racist. You stand against Bagronk, the guiding light for Orcish freedom and justice. And this means you stand against us!"

"Um", I said. Despite the cold weather, I was beginning to sweat. "Um. I'm sorry, but you know... the truth is important, and-"

"The truth is", the small orc hissed, "you are making the life of orcs everywhere more miserable with your self-righteous words. Do you know where I work? As garbage man. I have a university degree, and I applied for a job in research. I didn't get it. 'You're an orc', they said. 'We know from Tolkien's books that you can't be trusted', they said."

"Well..." I said. I did not really know how to continue.

"And we're going to teach you a lesson", the first big orc growled. "You'll not slander us any longer." The second orc, the biggest of them all, lifted up his hand, which could easily have doubled as a snowplough, and balled it into a fist.

With a quick move, I evaded the first blow, as the orc jumped forward to hit me. The giant fist smashed against the bridge railing. The orc howled in pain. Metal splintered, and a big part of the railing broke off. As the other orcs prepared to join the fight, I stepped back again and lost my balance. I shrieked in surprise as I tumbled off the bridge. Amidst broken parts of the railing I fell. "Tolkien was riiiiight!" I howled while I made my way downwards. Then, with a huge splash, I fell into the river.

***

"Oops", the first big orc said.

"Ouch", the second one added and pulled a metal splinter out of his knuckles.

"I don't like that", the small orc mumbled. "We have just proven all his prejudices, haven't we?"

"Is he dead?" the first big orc asked and peered down at the black surface of the river.

"No lifesigns down there", the second one said. "I think he's gone."

"Then let's get away", the small orc urged the other ones, "before anyone sees us. Remember, we've never been here."

Silently the three orcs slipped back into the shadow and disappeared. After a short while, the wolves began to howl again.

***

The impact had made me lose my conscience for a moment. As I woke up, I heard a howling in the distance. At first I blamed it on the wolves, but it sounded different - slower and more melodious. It took me a minute or two to realize that I was listening to the song of humpback whales. I was still underwater.

Which, I thought, raised a number of questions. First and foremost I wondered why I apparently had no trouble breathing.

Slowly I got up from the sandy river bed where I had been lying. I tried to brush the dirt off my shirt, but realized the current had already washed it away. Living underwater did make some things easier. The wild beard I had been growing floated all around me. Slowly I realized that bubbles of air must have been trapped inside it and were now gradually released, up into my nose.

I looked up. Far above me the surface of the water slowly undulated. I could not see through it. For all I knew the orcs waited still there, on the bridge, to finish what they had started. As oxygen apparently was not the problem, I decided to walk a few metres in the protection of the water.

It was a strange new world down here. All the debris of the town ended up here; everything that had been lost on the riverside or fallen off the bridges piled up at the ground. Slowly I tried to make my way out of the metal scraps and spikes that surrounded me, the remainders of the railing. To my surprise there was much more railing debris than what had come down with me. Apparently for years people had been falling off the bridge just like me, and the railing had been replaced again and again. Maybe, I thought, this was a place where certain elements of the city's society liked to get rid of rivals. I found several skeletons with their feet locked in concrete blocks, too.

Finally I broke free from the pile of rubble. Stumbling over the true skeleton of Elvis, the alien probes still wedged into his skull, I made my way downstream. Seaweed floated around me. Fish frolicked through the clear, cold water. Shipwrecks loomed to the right and left, an entire street of whose existence I had not been aware until now.

The longer I wandered, the more I became engrossed in the wonders of this underwater world. Soon I stopped thinking about the orcs on the bridge, about Baggy, about anything above the seemingly solid black wall over my head. After a while I became hungry, but as I just passed a school of lobsters, I simply grabbed several of them and ate them raw. I have always liked sushi, but never again I found a meal so pleasant and fresh. Soon the water got even clearer, the wrecks and rubble piles retreated and became less numerous, and the sandy road I trod on widened. I had left the outskirts of the town, where the river left its narrow stone bed and started to meander towards the sea.

I have no idea how long I stayed underwater. From time to time I let myself drift to the surface and held my beard outside to refill my oxygen supply. But I found the world above dull and uninteresting, just forests and beaches and ugly motorways. I knew eventually I would have to return to this dry world, where Mr. Syl waited for me with his cart of traffic lights. But I decided there was still time. Later I rescued a still well-filled oxygen bottle from a dead diver, and I stopped even these short visits. At one time a dim light seeped through the surface, as it became day above. Then, much later, night fell again, and I proceeded in the fairy light of countless angler fish.

The road widened even more, and huge shadows passed over me, ships heading for the coastal ports. Suddenly, I tasted salt, and I knew I had left the river and ventured into the open sea. Here the ground became more rocky, and I went steadily downhill, getting further and further away from the surface. Daylight returned once again, but as I walked deeper into the ocean, it faded to a greyish glow that hardly illuminated anything. So I did not see the enormous cliff I approached. "Bubble bubble!" I said in surprise when I tumbled off the continental shelf and, head first, sank down into the ocean trench.

There was a second when I worried, when I half awoke from the state of dizzy adventurousness the underwater wonders had put me in. If I remember correctly, these doubts occurred between a depth of 4.2 and 4.5 kilometres. But then my fall slowed down, and in the now complete darkness that surrounded me, I suddenly saw a light. Curiously I swam towards it, and then I beheld the weirdest thing I had seen in my entire life.

At the deepest point of the trench, wedged between enormous rocks, stood a castle. I use the word 'castle' for lack of a better one, for surely in parts it was a rather clumsy copy of Schloss Neuschwanstein. But there were other architectural elements thrown in. I beheld a colourful bulbous spire like a Russian church over a grey concrete thing like a bunker from World War Two. Between Stonehengian menhirs the gigantous shape of an Aztec pyramid loomed. The light came from two huge lamps in the shape of Star Trek warp nacelles, which stood on the top of Greek columns.

The strange array left me speechless, and for a while I just stood there and stared on it. Then I felt something, or someone, tapping on my shoulder. Someone with very long, very soft fingers. I turned around and let out a frightened "Bubble!". Because directly behind me a man-sized jellyfish floated in the water.

I know, dear reader, that jellyfish in these days are small, mindless things that make a terrible salad and occasionally kill tourists with poisoned tentacles. These small creatures are somewhat comparable to poodles. Nobody who lives in a city and only knows these small, annoying dogs with their ridiculous hairdos would assume that they are descended from the proud, evasive, wild wolf. But they are, and so the small jellyfish are distantly related to the huge specimens of the deep ocean. Those surely have a brain and all other kinds or organs, though seldom in numbers which would be considered correct for a mammal. I only learned that this specific jellyfish had three kidneys when he boozed me under the table the first time.

But now the jellyfish was very sober, and from the look in his eyes I deduced that he was very angry, too. "What do you want here?" he asked and bared his teeth. Or maybe he had no teeth, and it was just a clever prosthesis made from small mussels.

"Bubble bubble", I tried to explain my presence and shrugged helplessly.

"Wrong answer", hissed the jellyfish and wrapped several of his tentacles around me. They were thin, but strong, and I could not escape from their grip. "Come with me", the creature said. "The boss will decide what we do with you."

***

The jellyfish led me to the gates of the underwater castle. We entered a small, dark chamber, and I looked over my shoulder alarmedly as a heavy metal door came down and locked us in. Then a loud hum distracted me. Artificial light flooded the room. Then the water level began to fall. Foaming and gargling the water streamed out of the chamber, until I stood in a dry room, my clothes and hair dripping wet. The jellyfish, propped up on his tentacles, did not seem to have a problem with that.

"Ugh", I said and spit out a few litres of water. "Bubh", I added and let a school of mackerels out who had sought refuge in my mouth. "Blgubhgugh", I finished my speech and spit out a Russian submarine which immediately hurried away to search a more secret and altogether more watery environment.

The jellyfish touched a switch with one tentacle, the other door of the airlock opened, and I saw the interior of the castle. It resembled the exterior in being a breathtaking mixture of styles and cultures. The creature pushed me out of the chamber, and I walked down a long hallway. Taking advantage of my improved linguistic situation, I tried to communicate with the jellyfish. "Who are you?" I demanded. "What is this place?"

"My name", said the jellyfish, "is Pseudonymus Roghater. This place is our hideout, the coordination central of our crusade."

"What crusade? For what? Against what?" I inquired.

"Shut up", the jellyfish answered. "I'm bringing you to the boss, and then you'll learn everything you need to know. In case", one of the tentacles still wrapped around me tightened suddenly, and I gasped for air, "in case he doesn't decide you're an enemy. In that case I'd be more than happy to torture you to death." He emitted an evil cackle, and I shuddered.

The hallway led us to a huge courtyard, then we climbed stairs and walked through another hallway. We walked through a door and found another hallway, which brought us to yet another courtyard. The castle was a labyrinth, and soon I had lost every clue of where I was. Strange people watched me as I walked by. The castle was inhabited by hundreds of people, and as far as I could see, the non-humans formed at least a sizeable minority. Finally, our journey ended at a huge oaken door. Strange reliefs were engraved in it, images which seemed utterly incomprehensible to me. The jellyfish knocked at the door, and it swung open as if it was operated by ghosts. I later learned that it was, but the ghosts had been nobody famous in life.

We entered and saw a huge wooden table. Several people were sitting at it, and several pairs of eyes stared at me. "The Board", the jellyfish said. The doors closed, the grip of the tentacles loosened, and the jellyfish sat down at the table behind a sign with his name on it.

There was no chance of escape, so I just stayed where I was and looked at these people. With the exception of Pseudonymus, they were all human, at least at a first glance.

First in the row sat a man with a black robe and hectic eyes. He had an old book in front of him, which he had been reading when I entered. I recognized the letters as Egyptian hieroglyphs. "Thy coming was not foresaid by the words of Seth, the words of Osiris, the mouth of Isis", he said. "The goat we sacrificed was like a key, but to what keyhole, if we cannot read the signs, will it fit? The writing on the wall was there, but none could see it, though its glowing was that of a thousand suns." I stared at the man and was about to ask what he meant, but I was not sure I wanted to know. Instead, I just read the sign in front of him. Horus Engels, it said.

His neighbour was a stout man who stared at me with an intensity that caused physical pain. "Qui est id creaturum?" he asked. "Will he adiuvare nos in strugglum nostrum?" I nearly laughed. I did understand Latin reasonably well, but this was just getting stranger and stranger. Harold M. Brzeznski, said his nametag.

Next to Brzeznski there sat an enormous female. Standing, she must have measured two metres or more - without her hairdo, which amounted to another metre. Her breasts lay on the table in front of her like the winners of the Annual Pumpkin Competition of Iowa. They almost completely covered her name sign, but with much squinting I was finally able to read the name Hecate Mensenlarger. "Now there's a fine-looking young fellow", she boomed.

The knight in shining armour next to her looked displeased. "Syre, I beg your forgiveness for ye uncouthness of ye wench", he said and nodded his head in formal courteousness. His sign read Sir Fmat de Trasque. "With thy help, we slay each foe who opposeth us."

I looked to the last person in the room, a young fellow whose most striking feature was his hair. It was made of tentacles. I assumed he was a jellyfish hybrid; only much later I learned that his mutations were the result of doping in sports. He had a half-empty beer bottle in front of him and was apparently more than a little tipsy. His sign read simply Armand. He gave me a friendly nod and a burp.

There was one more chair, but it was empty. Morambar Udunvagor, its nametag said in ominous-sounding letters. His was the only nametag in solid gold, with the writing glittering like thousands of tiny diamonds.

Suddenly a smaller door in the back of the room opened, and everyone rose immediately. "The boss", the jellyfish whispered to me. But I hardly listened. My attention was drawn to the newcomer like a magnet. He was tall, or maybe not physically, but his shadow seemed to tower above him. His face was dark, but his eyes burned with a red light that seemed to pierce my soul. I am not sure even today, but I think he was half Balrog.

The newcomer, who obviously was Mr. Udunvagor himself, gave me a benevolent smile. "Welcome, Mr. Quickley... Noeel", he said. "We have been waiting for you."

"We have?" Pseudonymus asked, irritated, but a glance from Mr. Udunvagor silenced him.

"And how do you know my name?" I dared to ask.

"We have heard your radio interview", the impressive man explained. "We think you are a worthy defendant of Tolkien. You will fit right in here. For this too is the purpose of our existence, the reason for this hidden castle. We are the guards of Tolkien, the keepers of his wisdom. We wage eternal war against those who slander or ridicule his writings, who defile them with humour or in earnest."

I listened in awe, my mouth open. All my life, since my friendship with Baggy broke down, I had been alone in my adoration of Tolkien. I had nearly given up hope that I would ever find a soulmate. And now it had been revealed to me that here was a whole castle, an entire army built for just this purpose. A great joy overcame me.

In front of Udunvagor, I fell to my knees. "Command me, Master!" I yelled. "Let me join your cause!"

Udunvagor smiled upon me. "Then I welcome you in our ranks, Noeel", he said.

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