Boom.

Boom boom.

The bugle screamed with renewed vigour as a fast, ominous drum beat rolled across Mount Butt's florpadorps. It wailed and howled, crying in pain as an untalented musician blew with all her might into its slobbery, metal rectum. All around, starry people hooted and hollered, praising the Stars, the Constellations, the Constellator, and in one instance, Andy Buckley's Discount Robe Warehouse, which was having a special at the moment and needed some good promotion.

Phoenix was getting nervous, now. There were too many things going on at once for him to be able to carroty chop them all. A deadly knife point examined every inch of his body - something he wished he was doing with the Constellator, funnily enough - and he felt, for the first time in a very, very long time, that he might actually have approached this quest in the wrong manner. You might even go so far as to say that mistakes were made, but Phoenix wasn't quite at that point yet. It did seem awful hopeless, though, which was a real buzzkill when it came to being hopeful. But ... adventurers didn't die on altars atop mountains and florpadorps and whatnot. They died in a blaze of glory, bullets flying all over the show, swords swinging, axes twirling, people screaming. It was the way to go. Some historic adventurers had gone to great lengths to ensure their death was as big as possible, even starting full-on wars between regions. There was a reason that the Overlords had moved in to Mal's Murderborough up north a couple years ago - it went from unthreatening wine country to craterous, irradiated battleground in less than a week! And Sandra Bulletface had gone down in history after that. She'd also gone down in a ball of flame, but then, that was the idea.

Boom boom boom.

Boom boom boom.

Boom boom boom.

Oh shit, thought Phoenix. An increase in tempo was never a good thing. Especially seen as how, at this very moment, the Constellator was making all kinds of weird whooshy noises with her mouth, waggling the dagger over the alter and speaking in what could only be described as tongues, for it was no real language.

Ideas, Phoenix panicked, think of ideas!

The Constellator's eyebrows knotted together and she stood, feet apart, in the centre of the altar's side edge. She took a deep breath and raised the dagger aloft, clutching it tightly with two clenched hands.

Boom boom boom.

Boom boom boom.

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

Phoenix desperately wished he was high. Then he could just shut his eyes, smile dopily, and go dancing with Mr Pumpernickel and the unicorn. OK, maybe not the unicorn right now, but Mr Pumpernickel was a family-friendly sort. So long as he didn't get into the grog. Phoenix wriggled once more, with feeling, hoping desperately to reach with grasping fingers into his pocket, searching for the bonkerberries.

Wait, he thought. Bonkerberries, that's it!

An idea raced through his head at the speed of flight, which in Phoenix's experience, was often very bloody fast. How did he not think of this before?

The Constellator looked at her adoring followers, her face serious. "Behold! For it begins!"

" 'ONKER'ERRIES!" cried Phoenix, thrashing madly in his restraints.

The dagger wavered.

" 'ONKER'ERRIIIEEEEES!" he yelled again, his speech cracking with sobs.

The Constellator gave her raisinous old companion an uncertain glance, but he was as much at a loss as she. One of his bony fingers scratched at the scalp under his hood, and chunky white flakes trickled past his head.

" 'ONKER'ERRIES 'OO 'ASTARD, 'ONKER'ERRIES!"

Her eyes scanned Phoenix with a mix of pure fury and complete confusion, and the Constellator carefully reached down with her dagger and unhooked the rope, now soggy with spit and tears, from Phoenix's mouth. He spat noisily, a spray of saliva fountaining in ichory globules into the air, and drew in fast, nervous breaths.

"Ifyoudon'tsacrificemeIwillgiveyousomethingbetterthanyouevercoulddream!" Phoenix cried, face red.

The Constellator frowned again, then nodded at someone out of Phoenix's field of vision. Shortly after, a hand flew in and slapped him straight across the cheek.

"Pull yourself together, man!" she growled. "It's only a bloody sacrifice. Now what in the Stars is thee babbling about? We've all got things to do and you're not the centre of the ruddy universe."

Phoenix, face stinging, gasped loudly, wrangling his breath under control. He needed to compose himself, clear his thoughts so that he could turn his witty banter back on. He needed to be an adventurer, not a pansy-ass sacrificial goat-lamb creature. A sacrificial glamb. Oh boy was Phoenix glad that Sandra Bulletface wasn't here to see all of this. Why she'd be so embarrassed for him she'd probably erupt in a fireball all over again.

"If you cut me loose, mighty Const- mighty leader of the Starry Place," Phoenix said under a few more deep, calming breaths, "I will give you something that will unleash a power like you've never experienced."

At last, the Constellator flashed an emotion that wasn't some brand of disgust, displeasure or disapproval. "What in the Stars could thee doth possibly have with such a power? You are but a Grubby Chef."

Phoenix shook his head as best he could, given the circumstances. "You have to cut me loose before I will reveal my secret, but I can tell you that it will let you talk with..." he paused for dramatic effect, "...the Stars!"

The crowd gasped.

The one-armed man apparently called Roger dropped his bat.

The old sultana collapsed in on himself like an Old World deck chair.

The Constellator looked flabbergasted. But then angry. Very, very angry. Furious, even. "How dare you speak of their name with such heathen tongues!" she screamed, pressing the ornate dagger firmly into Phoenix's neck. A bead of blood welled on the edge and fled down the length of the blade. "How can a mere mortal speak'th with thine Constellations? 'Tis lunacy!"

"Lunacy, no! Truthacy! Cut me loose and I shall show you."

"I don't believe you. The sacrifice shall continue!"

"WAAAAIT!" Phoenix squealed. "If you forego a chance to speak with your Starry godpeople, how will they ever forgive you for wasting the opportunity? You sacrifice me and you will never know if it was true or not. You cut me loose and I'll prove it.'

Silence.

The Constellator stared at him in disbelief. Her face burned with fury, but then the old man stepped forwards. Or rather, he grunted and swore until he'd managed to unfold himself again, and then he stepped forwards. He raised a shaking hand in a calming motion, but seemed nervous to actually come into physical contact with the Constellator. Well, no loss for Phoenix, because he had no such objections, even now after all this sacrifice business. A little one-on-one would do Smack-dab-Starry Place relations some good. Especially with Phoenix at the helm. The Constellator locked eyes with the old man, exchanging one of those looks that said a thousand words (but yet neither party really knows what the other is saying), then glanced up at the smog. The Cloudy Wall, or whatever.

Phoenix seized the moment. "If I cannot prove it, what is to stop you from knocking me out again? You have nothing to lose."

Her lips curled, her eyes still locked smogward. Then, after a moment's thought, she brought them down on Phoenix and narrowed her gaze at him, as if looking for any sign of deception that might make the decision easier. But Phoenix's face was a picture of innocence, as it so often was. Her lips curled a second time.

"Fine, you will be tested. Someone cut him loose!"

Finally! Phoenix was freed by a couple of starry nobodies and he slowly rose up, swinging his legs off the giant stone bed so that they dangled over the side. Groaning with absolute pleasure, he twisted his torso until all the bones in his back clicked and popped, then twisted in the other direction to repeat the same. When he curled back, he was face to face with an angry Constellator.

"The proof, Grubby Chef. Before you are opened to the Tears of Acid."

Phoenix smiled. "Of course, oh loveliest of lords. Of course."

He rummaged in his jacket pocket, the fear of death wandering away humming a tune as if it were never there in the first place. Fear of death? What fear of death? Pfft, the situation was under control the entire time, or so Phoenix would tell people one day. The tears were all for show, you see.

Smack-dab's adventurer was quick to find the berries he had so cheerfully pocketed away what felt like days ago (because it was), buried until now in the dust and lint of his pockets. He gently blew off some particularly stubborn particles and offered a juicy red morsel to the Constellator.

"This divine berry is called the bonkerberry," he began, "and it's renowned in certain parts of the Waste for transporting the user's mind to the place of the gods. A trader from a far-off land gave it to me many years ago and told me, on pain of death, never to show anybody, for its power is so great. Should it fall into the wrong hands..." He let his voice trail off, shaking his head in silence.

She frowned at him. "Doth I like like the wrong hands?"

He looked back at her, the leader of a mad cult, surrounded by hundreds of adoring, loyal servants who would be willing to walk into hellfire if it was her bidding. He remembered the wild attack on Smack-dab earlier, and the violent, frightening tales Bert had told of their history. He saw it all in a second, then said: "Of course not. I believe I can trust you, mighty and wonderful lord. Take the berry and chew on it a few times. Let the saliva flow around it. You'll be going to the Stars in seconds."

The Constellator hesitated, holding the berry in front of her eyes, twisting and turning it to see all sides. She sniffed it, then licked it, then glanced at Phoenix one last time. He smiled and beckoned her on.

Her eyes narrowed and, finally, she popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly.

"It taste'th like crap," she said.

"The taste is not the point, brave and beautiful Constellator."

Encircling them, an entire village of onlookers, straining to see what was happening, whispered, "Constellatooooor..."

Then, rather suddenly, the Constellator collapsed.

The crowd gasped.

Some people are graceful when they collapse. They fall like a carefully controlled building demolition, where first the knees go, then the waist, then the torso, shoulders, neck, and, finally, head. Each body part hits before the prior, softening the blow of the overall landing. It's graceful, elegant, the feinting drunk swan equivalent of a fall.

This was not one of those falls.

The Constellator didn't just feint. She gave the appearance that some crazy Waste surgeon had just invented a device to remove all her bones at once, activated it, and then not stepped in to catch her. She just sort of toppled, straight down, in a garish pile of satin and stars. There was even a loud slap as she hit the cobblestones, and then absolute stillness.

Phoenix paled and something vaguely resembling a croak escaped his mouth. He glanced nervously at the crowd, then at the VIPs.

They stared back at him.

"Err..." he started, "this can happen sometimes. Bit of a drastic reaction, but she'll come back soon, I promise."

From behind, the one-armed man whose name Phoenix had already forgotten ran hurriedly in and held his last remaining hand in front of her mouth. He too tried carefully not to directly touch her, but instead felt for her breath. Her face was pale, and then so was his.

"I feel'th no breath."

Phoenix smiled quickly and scanned the crowd's faces.

And then ran for his life.

* * *

Oh that Phoenix - he's at it again! See why I love him so? He's just .... just so stupid. It's a lot of fun to figure out how things should go wrong for him.

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