Shmugworth had made it very clear that he thought the ritual was a bad idea. And Chief Johnson had agreed. Of course, it was only now that they were about to begin that Shmugworth realized they had two very different ideas about why it was a bad idea. While Shmugworth thought that summoning the Fire Department’s ultimate weapon from a realm of unspeakable was prima facie a bad idea in the same way that visiting Eden was universally accepted as a bad idea, it was not what the chief had meant. Taidale had merely the ritual as a bad idea in the same way a teenager sees sneaking out at night is a bad idea (in that it could only be a bad idea if their parents found out). And, fortunately for the Chief and the rest of the Eden Fire Department, their parents were a very long way away.
“Well, at least she hasn’t found another font of fire destruction…” Shmugworth muttered to himself. The last one in the department’s possession had been destroyed in The Great Charity War, or so the annals wrote. Apparently its sacrifice had won a glorious victory against the scourge that was the Society for the Awareness of Elderly Boat Awareness. Hundreds had died that day.
Shmugworth entered into the basement, settled into the crowd of firefighters assembled in a circle around a chalk drawing filled-in with intricate designs. It reminded the Second-in-Command of a clock, with hundreds of fine interlocking parts. Place within the chalk circle was a set of keys, a french horn, and a horse’s skeleton. Placed outside of the chalk circle, besides the fire fighters, was Shugworth’s willingness to think about where the chief had found these things. There was no convincing her otherwise.
Chief Johnson entered from a small door near the back of the room, carrying two rather large canvas bags on her shoulders.
“Laundry is done. I need everyone to put on these new uniforms for the duration.” She said, reaching into one of the bags. Within minutes all of the firefighers, including Shmugworth, were wearing dark hooded robes with the letters “ECFD” embossed in hi-visibility reflective fabric across the back. Chief kept her hood down, and began to speak.
“This meeting of the Eden Fire Department has officially begun! Before we move into the meat of the agenda, I have several quick items to address. First, as is tradition, we begin with the traditional vow of destroyers of flame. Repeat your lines after I state mine.” Chief cleared her voice
“Repeat our lines after you state yours!” the firefighters said.
“That was not the beginning of the vow!” Chief said.
“That was not the beginning of the vow!” The firefighters recited the beginning of the traditional vow.
“Who has the power to stop wildfires?”
“Us! Us have the power to stop wildfires!” The firefighters chanted the beautiful, poeticm completely-grammatical line.
“And who else?” the highly stylized language rolled off of Taidale’s tongue.
“No one else!” the firefighters yelled.
“And why is that?”
“Because we burn em’ if they try!” The group of firefighters around the circle stopped twice (once with each foot) and spun 180 degrees away from the inside of the chalk drawing.
“And what else do we stop?” Chief Johnson asked.
“People’s purses from getting too full!” The firefighters’ collected voices grew louder.
“And why is that?” The chief pushed the department’s chant upwards through the growing crescendo.
“Because otherwise we’d face insolvency!”
“And what is our last promise?” The chief was yelling at the top of her lungs at this point.
“To fight and extinguish fires when reasonable, so long as we aren’t insolvent and the board of directors has approved our yearly budget!” The fire fighters once more, stomped twice (once with each foot) and spun 180 degrees towards the center of the chalk drawing.
Chief let the room fill with silence, allowing the emotional impact of the deeply beautiful traditional vow of fire quenching to really hit the hearts of the firefighters. She could see that Shmugworth was sobbing, no doubt from the songlike eloquence of the vow. When the crying from her subordinates had subsided, Chief Johnson continued the meeting.
“Alright, and the second thing before we can begin the agenda is very important: it’s Rowan’s birthday!”
The entire fire department wished Rowan a very happy birthday.
“Alright team, now, to the heart of the issue: The Eden Incremental Environmental Improvement Organization must burn.”
Many a “yes” and “uh, huh” and “she speaks the truth” and “I’m bored” resonated through the basement of the Eden Fire Department.
“Now,” Chief Johnson continued, “has everyone brought kindling? It is important that it is brought from the pages of your favorite book, or the demon absolutely will not bridge the gap between our plane and its own. So please, take out your kindling.”
Forty copies of The Sixty Seventh Edition of The Tourist’s Guide to Exploiting Traditional Absurdia were placed within the chalk summoning circle, each cultist firefighter careful to not disturb the delicate chalk designs the Chief had so lovingly drawn the night before. Lest they draw her wrath. Shmugworth begrudgingly put The Complete Works of Shakespeare onto the pile, although he hated to part with it in vain. He knew the ritual would not work without a font of fire destruction, but he did so anyway because pleased Chief Johnson.
“And now, for the final piece,” Chief Johnson pulled out a knife and walked to the center of the room, “a sacrifice worthy of the demon described by the annals.” The fire chief pulled a font of flame extinguishment out from thin air. Its red metal body was conical and sleek. A hose extended from its top, and it was adorned with a magical scroll that read (in a language all but indecipherable to those in the room):
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
FIRE DEPARTMENT OF NEW YORK
FIRE EXTINGUISHER INSPECTION RECORD
JANUARY 1970
FEBRUARY 1970
MARCH 1970
Chief Taidale Johnson shuddered in anticipation of the ritual. She had kept the knowledge that one more font of fire destruction existed for nearly two decades. She knew this day would come. Knew that one day the ultimate sacrifice would be required of her. And the Annals, seemingly, had expected it as well. In the fourth chapter of the Annals, in extreme detail, was the magical ritual that was going to win this new war: a ritual to summon an imp.
An imp is the most dangerous of demons, for it has a refined body of metal that cannot be slain by sword, nor bow, nor first, nor disease. Thou shalt not dally in the same room this beast breaths, for its very breath is capable of killing a man. It is said that the imp’s very being is powered by a fire of such great power that, to touch it, would no doubt kill a man. It is said that an imp itself can bring dark clouds to the sky, and that its very existence is poison. One shudders to think of the plane such a foul, dark, evil creature inhabits. Which makes it perfect for the destruction of 503c’s, LLC’s and LLPs’. To summon an imp, one must…
“Light the torches of charity! The ritual begins!” Chief Johnson commanded.
***
Shmugworth couldn’t believe what he was seeing: Chief Johnson had found one. An actual font of extinguishment. In the flesh. And she was going to sacrifice it to win a war.
I can’t let her. Shmugworth thought. How can I stop her?
Shmugworth imagined saying “no” very loudly, but decided that would be unwise. Afterall, he didn’t want Chief Johnson to hate him.
With the fonts of charity lit, the room was quickly filling with smoke as the fire fighters began to chant the words of the order’s sacred vow. Chief Johnson grabbed a torch from one of the fonts, and set it down on the pile of books. Shmugworth watched as The Complete Works of Shakespeare was caressed by flame.
“Repeat your lines after I state mine!” Chief chanted the traditional vow of fire fighters.
“Repeat our lines after you state yours!” The firefighters returned.
Chief Johnson grabbed the French Horn, and dropped it into the pyre of quality literature. If anyone was to survive the ritual, no art, nor quality literature, could be present. Or so the Annals commanded.
“That was not the beginning of the vow!” Chief said.
“That was not the beginning of the vow!” The firefighters recited the beginning of the traditional vow.
The fire chief grabbed the set of keys from the circle, and threw them into the pyre of quality literature, and French Horn. The keys were said to momentarily unlock the seals that separated Absurdia from the plane of demons.
“Who has the power to stop wildfires?” Chief’s voice rose in a fury.
“Us! Us have the power to stop wildfires!” The crew responded.
I could extinguish the pyre. That would certainly stop the ritual. Shmugworth thought. But then the Chief wouldn’t want to eat dinner with me anymore, so that wouldn’t work.
“And who else?”
“No one else!”
“And why is that?”
“Because we burn em’ if they try!”
Shmugworth was stumped. How was he going to stop the ritual? It was seriously going to be such a bad idea.
I could wipe away the ritual check drawings, that wouldn’t make the chief too mad. Shmugworth thought, right as flames erupted from the chalk of the summoning circle. The second-in-command grunted at his misfortune. Seeing that there was no way he was going to stop the ritual, he figured it best to complete it. The Chief would hate him if he killed all of them.
No more lunch with the Chief after that. Shmugworth thought. And that simply would not do.
“And what else do we stop?” The Chief unleashed a primal anger.
“People’s purses from getting too full!” Shmugworth joined in.
Chief dragged the horse’s skeleton into the pyre, for, according to the Annals, it provided power to the demon.
“And why is that?” The chief pushed the department’s chant upwards through the growing crescendo.
“Because otherwise we’d face insolvency!”
Chief lifted the font of flame destruction by the hose, holding above her head with her left hand. Her right hand had a rotisserie knife with the words “THE HOUSE HUSBAND” written on its handle in black sharpie. Shmugworth smiled. He had given that to her as a holiday gift, and she was using it! He thought the Chief was even prettier than normal when she used THE HOUSE HUSBAND.
“AND WHAT IS OUR LAST PROMISE!?”
“To fight and extinguish fires when reasonable, so long as we aren’t insolvent and the board of directors has approved our yearly budget!”
And with that, Chief Johnson leapt into the pyre of quality literature, and stabbed the fire extinguisher through the heart with THE HOUSE HUSBAND. All at once, every flame in the room extinguished, and the room filled with coughs, smoke, ABE powder, and shouting.
“Did we do it?”
“Holy shit, is she dead?”
“cuaduhiqldwq- I can’t breath!”
Shmugworth quickly lit a match to look for Chief Johnson.
Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.
The smoke cleared, and the demon lay on the ground on all fours. It’s eyes were ablaze with anger, and he could hear it growling like a rabid dog. Worst of all, he could see the Chief encased in its stomach. Oh, how awful! Terrible. Without thinking, Shmugworth charged, ready to die. How dare this beast eat his future wife! How dare it! He broke his knuckle as he punched against the beast’s stomach, and recoiled back away from the silver, armor-plated beast. The annals hadn’t lied. It truly was an unstoppable demon.
He was about to cry, when he realized that Chief Johnson wasn’t afraid, or in pain from inside the beast’s stomach. In fact, he could hear her laughing maniacally, like a sixth grader whose parents finally let him hold a knife for the first time.
Chief Taidale Johnson opened the door, and stepped out of the 2018 Silver Subaru Imprezza with bloodlust in her eyes.