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She could just scream! Or kick something. In fact, she booted a wastebasket halfway across the kitchen floor. It landed upside down, trapping little Nkima underneath. The monkey had been asleep by the stove when all the commotion began. He poked his nose out from beneath the basket, saw that Tarzan's she was in one of her moods again, and gently settled back amongst the coffee grounds to wait out the storm.
Jane clenched her fists into little balls. Oh, she was so mad! Her flush had deepened to nearly purple. A tear streamed down her usually flawless cheek.
Dejah Thoris walked in with another load from the dining hall.
"Goodness, our chieftains can certainly put away the grub," the Princess of Helium was saying. "You must give my kitchen slaves the recipe for that -- what do you call it? -- 'baked horta.' "
Jane took the plates and, stomping toward the sink, heaved them in. They crashed loudly. A huge ladel flipped up through the air and landed with a thud on the overturned wastebasket. But there was no sound from underneath -- little Nkima knew better. Besides, he'd found a half-eaten banana to munch.
"Jane, dearest!" cried Dejah Thoris, rushing to the Baltimore belle's side. "What in the name of Blaspheming Issus is the matter?"
Lady Greystoke gratefully accepted the silk hanky that the princess offered, gently dabbing at her tears. She let fly with a honk that cleared her sinuses, shaking the windows into the bargain.
"You keep it, dear," Dejah Thoris said when Jane had tried to return the crumpled hanky. "But tell me what brought all this on? You were fine but a moment ago!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jane sighed. "I'm ruining Christmas for everyone. And you've all come so far. I'm in a perfectly horrid state."
Tarzan's mother, Kala, hulked into the kicthen. She passed Jane without a glance, going straight for the 'fridge and yanking a live rat from the lettuce crisper. She returned to the dining hall without a word to the two women.
"My cooking is much too overdone for her boy," Jane explained to Dejah Thoris. "It stunts his growth."
Dejah Thoris nodded understandingly. Mother-in-laws could be very exacting. Although she'd never met John Carter's mother, she'd heard tell of how frustrating it could be to compete with a boy's first love -- Mommy.
Thuvia had once commented rather cryptically on the subject, Dejah Thoris recalled. But, for the life of her, the Princess of Helium couldn't imagine what Ptarthian maid meant. Dejah Thoris had no intention whatsoever of interfering with the little trollop's marriage to Carthoris.
"The dung heap in the living room isn't deep enough, or fragrant enough, for a good roll," Jane continued, sniffing. "Lord knows, I've tried to make it just right. I know both Tarzan and Kala enjoy a good roll in the dung every morning. I could just die, when they find it lacking."
The Princess of Helium couldn't think of an appropriate response, so she gently patted Lady Greystoke's shoulder, and was rewarded with another honking sob.
"I think the boys are going out for more beer," Dejah Thoris soothed. "Come back to the living room for some girl talk with the rest of us."
Jane nodded dejectedly, following the princess. She paused to look out the window and gasped.
"Oh, dear," she said, and then called out: "Mr. Philander? Could you come into the kitchen, please?"
Presently, Samuel T. Philander strolled in. He was carrying a squirming rat by the tail.
"Your mother-in-law suggested I might enjoy this as an after-dinner snack," he informed Jane. "But I really couldn't eat another bite."
He handed the rodent to Lady Greystoke, who put it back in the lettuce crisper.
"Mr. Philander, I had asked you to keep an eye on Papa," she said. "You know how impractical he is."
"Of course, my dear. He's in the den, playing billiards with some of the other guests."
Jane pointed out the kitchen window. Following her gaze, Mr. Philander saw his childhood chum in the backyard. Professor Archimedes Q. Porter, clad in tails and top hat, was riding an ostrich toward the setting African sun.
"Oh, my," Mr. Philander said, dashing out the back door.
No one seemed to hear the question. Gangsta rap, which Tarzan couldn't stand, filled the den.
After a moment, Tarzan threw back his head and let rip with the victory cry of a bull mangani. Everyone was immediately all ears. The jarring sounds from the boombox were abruptly switched off.
"Napier and Abner Perry left to get a few more cauldrons of beer more than an hour ago," Tarzan said. "They should have been back."
The other guys shrugged. Nobody had seen "Wrong Way" Napier since he'd set off for the Waziri village after dinner. It was just a short jaunt from the Greystoke Estate. Not far at all.
"He could be in Capetown, by now," suggested Ed Burroughs. "You know Carson."
Everyone knew Carson, all right. He'd once set off for Mars and wound up on Venus. With Perry as a guide, the two could be anywhere on Earth -- or under it.
Tarzan sighed, nudging John Carter.
"Wanna make a beer run with me?" the Lord of the Jungle asked, stubbing out a cigarette and downing the last of his brandy.
John Carter unbuckled his belt, and with a flourish threw his sword at Tarzan's feet.
"Where the noble Lord Greystoke leads, know that John Carter, Prince of Helium, will follow," said the Warlord of Barsoom.
Tarzan rolled his grey eyes, picking up the sword. It was the tenth time this afternoon he'd had to buckle Carter's belt back on his hips. It was cute when he'd asked the Warlord for help carving up Horta. But since then, the oaths of loyalty had become more frequent -- increasing exponentially with every shot of Southern Comfort that John Carter downed.
"You coming, Paul?" Tarzan asked D'Arnot.
The Frenchman's gaze was preoccupied with the slender form of La, whom he'd caught sight of through the doorway. She was reclining with the other women in the living room, engaged in animated conversation with Tarzan's mother.
"Another time, perhaps, Jean," D'Arnot suggested. "The heart of this Frenchman demands I direct my attentions elsewhere at the moment."
D'Arnot ran a hand through his thickly gelled hair -- all the rage in Paris these days -- and sauntered toward the living room, wiping his hand on the back of his pants.
"Git a load offa dat slick, horny frog," commented Billy Byrne, chalking his billiard cue. "Wot a gink. Chasin' skirts like dat ain't nuthin' but a pain in da keester. Somebody oighta moidalize da bum."
"I tank it blow purty hard purty soon," added Sven Andersson, who was the only one who could understand a word Byrne ever said..
Billy nodded somberly, expertly blowing dust from the tip of his stick. He eyed all the swells in the room with suspicion, and then lined up his shot.
"A splendid machine," the professor was saying. "I really must get myself one of these motor cars upon our return to dear Baltimore."
He revved up the "motor car" and took off at breakneck speed through the underbrush. Mr. Philander doggedly followed, panting all the harder.
Ghek and the rykor were the only ones in the front yard. The other guests had gone inside after a disasterous game of badminton, in which Korak the Killer had lived up to his name after a controversial call by Rapas the Ulsio, who'd been acting as referee. The less said about that incident the better, because it rather marred the Christmas spirit on the ranch for an hour or two.
Ghek gazed reflectively on the lengthening shadows. The day was coming to an end. He watched as Tarzan's dog, Terkoz, playfully sniffed the butt of Woola, John Carter's calot. Woola emitted a startled growl, then turned on Terkoz -- apparently ready to tear the cheeky Earth hound to ribbons.
After a bit of biting and slashing, the two mutts continued dashing about the yard, playfully. Ghek was amused. When Woola approached the table, the kaldane, on a whim, lowered himself to the calot's back. Then Terkoz and Woola were off again, Ghek enjoying the ride.
Pamba the rat suddenly dashed onto the lawn, and immediately the calot and dog were barking and growling like maniacs and chasing down the intruder with a frenzy. Ghek, startled, could only hang onto Woola's back for dear life as they plunged into the jungle.
It looked like it might be a long, wild ride.
It was a cash bar, however, and the Waziri behind it was hauling in a tidy sum, even if the tips were non-existent.
Gathered here was the evil organization known as ERBCOF (Enemies of Righteous Burroughs Characters and Other Farts). They had one goal: The violent downfall of Tarzan, John Carter and others of their ilk.
The annual meeting was starting to get off-topic. Nicholas Rokoff banged his gavel loudly before order could be restored among the assembled fiends and felons.
"No more talk of the Second Amendment!" Rokoff bellowed. "Much as we criminals love the right to bear arms, I'm sick to death of hearing about it! Write your Congressman or something if you're upset that your rights are being chipped away. But don't disrupt this forum any more!"
Phaidor raised a graceful arm, but the chairman shook his head before she even spoke.
"I'm afraid there will not be time for a 'quick romp between the sheets with Carter' before we cut off his stinking head and feed it to the fishes," Rokoff advised her. "I thought this motion was thoroughly discussed and rejected two hours ago?"
"No, it was tabled for later debate by Comrade Kerchak," Phaidor explained. "It's later now, isn't it?"
"I believe the intent was for the matter to be brought up again at next year's meeting," suggested Jubal the Ugly One, who cast a questioning glance with his good eye in Kerchak's direction.
The ape grunted affirmatively, then pounced on a grub that had crawled up the leg of the table he was sitting at.
"That's settled," said Rokoff. "Now then, to the business at hand: How do we get that bastard Greystoke?"
"And Carter!" shouted Matai Shang, with a disapproving glance at his daughter.
"Yes, yes, the Virginian, too," agreed Rokoff. "We'll get the whole bloody lot of them. I happen to know that every single one of our enemies is spending the weekend at Tarzan's ranch upriver..."
Sinister laughs broke out. Kerchak tossed the captured grub into his mouth and ground it between his teeth. The ape's belch of satisfaction echoed throughout the hall.
