[Kvizee Doug and the crew are writing a blog in diary form that will in the future destroy the world. Doug has written the next entry — Naztko]

ENTRY 51

Uncle Utcoozhoo Arrives

I came into the living room. “Uncle Utcoozhoo,” I said, “this is a pleasant surprise. Would you like something to drink or a piece of garlic lime chicken?”

“No thanks.”

Chloë said, “Y’know, I think that ‘doth’ is third person, but ‘thou’ is second person.”

“Argh,” said Utcoozhoo, “modern English is hard enough, and ancient English appears to be only for thee, Chloë, if you would be the objective case, but you are strong like a nominative, and as I understand it, ‘wherefore’ means ‘why’ not ‘where’. So thou art not an object, but the subject of admiration by some Romeo (oh, that makes it an object?), fixated on red hair and the art of the hunt. Feed him love and his growling will turn into ferocious purrs in basso profundo, the roar of gratitude when the bosom of welcome is safely calm, romantic but real, and fun.”

Zawmb’yee said, “Oh yeah, and don’t blondes have more fun?”

“Well,” said Utcoozhoo, “you are already a ferocious spirit who has learned every lullaby that calms every hurt. Who could resist your song and gentle touch?”

“Huh, what?” said Zawmb’yee.

Utcoozhoo said, “Could you just let me be diplomatic and vague, please. You both are so intense. Cool it … I have good news …”

“Yes,” I said, “good news?”

“Zawmb’yee, I’ve gotten you and Doug a full pardon, so it’s safe for you to come back into the cave …”

“How,” said Zawmb’yee, “did you do that?”

“Well, it’s a little complicated: I have agreed to give a substantial number of ingot bars of gold, platinum, and palladium to Zusoiti from the Tzalbihuki on condition that she, personally, come out of the cave and open up a bank account in her own name. She has agreed to sell the metals herself …”

I said, “Isn’t that worth a fortune, and won’t it make her more powerful?”

“Well,” said Utcoozhoo, “it’s a gamble, but I’m counting on the fact that she knows nothing about the tax laws, and will be raising a lot of red flags — the more ostentatious she is in her spending the better. I’m pretty certain that the temptations of the up-top world will seduce her, considering how isolated she’s been as a dedicated hermit and cave person.”

“Gold bars?” asked Chloë.

“The Gods left a stockpile of supplies — an endowment, you might say. As Varishynahuki, guardian of the endowment, I can distribute it as I see fit, but it is a tricky business. We’ve spent years setting up sham mining companies and businesses to hide our true source of income. One must not tell the IRS that one has obtained gold from the Gods.”

Chloë said, “You can use any amount? … How much is there and …”

“It’s vast, but there are quite a few restrictions. For example, we are forbidden to drink or touch the waktalbup …”

Waktalbup?

“It means, ‘water with a heavy heart’.”

“What’s that?”

“Well …”

Zawmb’yee and I chanted a familiar tune, “Secrets are sacred.”

Utcoozhoo laughed. “Chloë, Zusoiti is a dangerous person. I don’t think you want to know too much. It is she whose thoughts and feelings you picked up at the Blue Attic Club. Just her imprints nearly overwhelmed you …”

I said, “Is this really going to work?”

“Probably not,” said Utcoozhoo, “but I have a Plan B … um…”

“What?”

“Well, first I want to say, Zawmb’yee and Doug, that you must vote in the coming elections for the Parliament and for the Grand Council. I’ve brought you some political literature, and I’ve written out my opinions for you to consider …”

“OK, but,” I said, “what’s Plan B?”

“We’ll vote her out of power if you can find a reliable source of scuba diving equipment. We’re going to need a lot of it, because a lot of the voters can’t hold their breath anymore.”

“Huh?”

“Doug, I think you can figure it out. You know, the Tzvaleubhoi. There are a lot of elders there on our side, but they must appear in person to vote.”

Chloë said, “I’m not following this …”

Zawmb’yee and I chanted, “Secrets are sacred.”

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