Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by drunkymonkey
Thursday, 25 August 2005 |
“I say we shop now,” said Opop, unfazed by the carnage he had been part of.
“That’s a stupid idea,” grumbled Jim.
“Why?”
“Because of one simple reason,” sniffed Jim, “we haven’t got any money to shop with.
“Bugger,” said Opop sadly, “where did it go?”
“You spent it on that interrupted dinner,” grunted Jim.
“Can we get some more?” asked Opop, his eyes were transfixed on passing shops selling their ways, most precisely book shops, he had a want for knowledge Jim had never seen.
“I suppose we should go to the town centre and apply for some.”
The town centre was a mind boggling sight, in the middle was a giant pillar, reaching up into the sky, at the stop of the pillar was the statue of Bucketshire’s greatest hero, Claude the Psycho, he was noted for being manically depressed, mentally unstable and good with a sword, he lived a few hundred years ago, where goblins were led by fearsome leaders bent on destruction, he was one of the fore runners of the right again them, not caring about what happened to his life was a bonus, he literally couldn’t say no, ‘go attack that legion of trolls there Claude!’ ‘Rightio sir!’ ‘Claude, take on that Demi-God!’, ‘Consider it done sir!’
It was surprising then, that he didn’t actually die in battle, but from the shock of retirement. It’s said that although he had many regrets about his life, no one had any regrets about him. Apart from the fact he wrote poetry of course*.
To the left of the pillar was the government centre, a huge building, 12 storeys high, 800 metres long, inside was the office where Jim could claim some of the money that he had in Bucketshire, but of course now, it was heavily guarded.
They were about to enter the courtyard when a guard, 6’5, looking about 400 pounds, stepped in front of them.
“Where do you think you’re gong?” asked the guard.
“To the council building stupid,” smirked Opop, the guard glared at him, Opop wasn’t smirking anymore, he looked in pain; Jim was standing on his foot.
“Sorry about my cousin, his pet died today,” said Jim hurriedly, Opop was about to ask how Jim knew Ben had died when he caught on not to say anything.
“Good for him,” chuckled the guard nastily.
“Anyway, my dear chap,” Jim was putting on his flattery voice, normally brought into action when he didn’t like the person he was speaking to, but he was trying to get something out of them, “we are part of the fort’s great and noble defence against the invading armies, and we need to get into the council building to further this.”
The guard laughed, rubbed his abnormally large stomach, and stayed where he was, in front of Jim and Opop.
“Find anything funny?” asked Jim, irritated.
“Sure do,” laughed the guard, he seemed intent on being unhelpful, “you and your skin disease suffering cousin here think I’m going to let you in, and that’s hilarious!”
“You are going to let them in though, aren’t you Clive?” a voice came from behind; it was a woman’s voice, very stern it was, young, but one that knew exactly what is was doing.
“Oh, um, yes miss,” muttered the guard, he lost his laugh, and now was quiet.
The woman in question was clad neck to toe in armour, silver armour, it shined in the daylight, she had a long sword, longer than Jim’s at any rate, it looked dwarven, as in heavily sharpened and made by small men in caves. Her face was never what Jim would expect to see on a warrior’s face, true, it had a couple of cuts on it, but the woman’s eyes were dark, misty blue, he brown hair was flowing around freely, untied.
She didn’t look like she had killed many, but the way Clive looked at her seemed that she was a very dangerous woman, in fact, Jim thought that she had a face that said ‘if you even dare to look at my butt, it’ll be the last thing you do.’
“What did I tell you before Clive?” she said angrily, “no annoying VIPs! Once more and we’ll have to send you out for the goblins to practice firing arrows, and with all that blab you got,” she prodded him, “you’ll make tasty meal.” She turned to Jim and Opop, who looked stunned at her, “We’ve been expecting you Jim, follow me, bring your friend too.”
Jim nodded absently and decided to follow, while he followed her through the courtyard he wondered what she meant by VIP, Jim wasn’t a VIP, to suggest so would be madness.
He and Opop followed the woman through the door of the citadel, and what they saw was a surprise, they expected to see a long, stone corridor, with skeletons hanging from the ceiling and mad men cackling to themselves. Instead, they saw a huge hall, clad with expensive wallpaper and carpet, and full to the brim with various flags for different things.
“Shabby isn’t it?” asked the woman, yawning.
“No not really,” said Jim, looking all over, it was much better than his house.
“I suppose it’s alright for a second home,” she said. She led them into a room full of important looking people, all intoxicated with beer, “this,” she said, “this is the meeting room, can’t stay here though, I’m just giving you a look around, just so you what’s what. We’re heading upstairs for a chat with Grand Commander Farting Gnome.”
“Hold on, hold on, “ Jim said, worn out, they left the room and started heading upstairs, “I haven’t got a clue why I’m here for, I’m called up for service in the army, when I have ever been called before, a bloody dragon escorts me to Helm’s Deepend, and while I’m here I learn a little bit more about what’s going on, but then you enter the equation, tell me I’m a VIP, show me around the most important building in Helm’s Deepend, and still don’t tell me just what the Hell I have to do with anything!”
The woman seemed to consider this for a moment, and then cocked he head curiously, “what do you want to know?”
Jim was taken aback, he hadn’t actually prepared for this, “Well, I suppose knowing your name would be nice.”
“Okay then,” sighed the woman, my name is Keira, I am the high commander of the troops stationed here, I deal with the recruiting, the tactics and all that sort of thing.
“The Farting Gnome is the one in charge of everything, he is the one who controls diplomacy, trade, me, everything about Bucketshire, but the problem is, that he is getting old now, and needs more advisors, and that’s where you fit in.”
“What, I’m going to be an advisor?” asked Jim, he turned to Opop; he shrugged n disbelief.
“Yes,” said Keira, “you’re going to be advising him on prisoners, as you are a goblin executioner you will know about these things.”
“Oh,” said Jim, “there’s not exactly any skill in lobbing goblins’ heads off.”
“Agreed,” said Opop, folding his arms.
“There’s more skill to it than you know,” said Keira, “or maybe you do know.”
They reached the top of the stairs, and Keira pushed open the door to The Farting Gnome’s office, “I must warn you,” she said, “that in his twilight years Mr. Gnome has because a little eccentric, a lot of what he says is just rubbish, he literally doesn’t know when to give up, or when he’s beaten, or won, in fact, he doesn’t see to have any kind of sense of position at all.”
“I deal with them kind of people everyday at work,” said Jim.
There, in the office, was a chair that faced the window, the chair slowly spun around, and there sat a small bearded man with a red hat, green jacket, and boots up to his waist.
“I’ve brought the old China,” said Keira, who looked sideways at Jim,.
“Excellent!” Tally Ho old boy, I mean girl! Welcome boys to my lair, it’s where I hide from those blasted pixies who float around trying to stab me with cushions, the pain the pain! They hunt me down like a cow with foot and mouth*! Come; take a seat, finest skunk skin you know!
Jim and Opop nervously sat down, the seats didn’t look skunk skin, they looked more tiger skin, but they had the mind not to say anything, “Hello Mr. Gnome, honoured to meet you,” smiled Jim.
“Oh don’t bother talking in that bish bosh, call me Bozz Bozz Bozz instead, Harry for short, my, you’re an ugly fella aren’t you?”
“Sir, “ said Keira, looking embarrassed, “that’s not Jim, the one sitting next to him is.”
“Great Scott!” cried the gnome, “you’re right, he’s scrawnier than I imagined,” Jim thought that anything in the Farting Gnome’s imagination was likely to be mutated beyond human comprehension, “so, you’re my new advisor eh?”
“Yes,” said Jim.
“I’ve heard you’re very intelligent,” the gnome smiled, “must be really hard to chop a defenceless guy’s head off.”
Jim wasn’t sure whether this was a compliment or sarcasm, but he said “Thanks,” anyway.
“Of course, where you come from there’s bound to be loads of crime, so you need to be on your feet all the time, I would be, if I had any legs.”
“You do have legs,” corrected Jim.
“Good Lord,” said the goblin, shocked, “so I have, lucky that.” And then he stopped talking. Keira went over to him and checked his pulse.
“Oh God,” she said, shocked, “he’s dead.”
“That’s a bit of a bugger isn’t it?” said Opop. Jim kicked him.
Chapter 4: A Replacement for a Madman
“What do we do now then?” asked Jim with huge anxiety, The Farting Gnome was sitting in his chair, still with a stupid grin on his face, but probably more importantly, still dead.
“Bury him I suppose,” said Keira sadly.
“No, I mean later.”
“Eat,” said Opop.
“No,” said Jim impatiently, “I mean about the war, with The Farting Gnome’s death Helm’s Deepend does not have a leader. It was times like this when Bucketshire was the worst city in the entire world, it tried to be different, instead of Kings and Queens like everyone else, it tried to do one better, and have an election, the Commanders were chosen by the people. Which was all right in theory, but the fact was that when that leader came to die when there was a war on, there was no leader to replace him except for a long vote that could take weeks. Electing was out of the question.
“How about if we just appoint a leader?” asked Jim.
“That’s the best course of action to take,” agreed Keira, “but who would replace him?”
“How about Rodger?” asked Jim.
“The Incredibly Hairy?” asked Keira, Jim gave a nod, “a lot of the army don’t like him; I can’t see him being very popular.”
“Harris the Bright Purple?” asked Jim.
“God no,” said Keira anxiously, “he just reckons that shouting is the best way to get past a problem.”
“What about Pete?” asked Opop, “he seems level headed.”
“We could,” said Keira, “but personally I think that that’s a bad choice, dragons don’t take anything too seriously, mostly they’re just here for the laugh.”
“So we’re stumped then,” said Jim.
“This is no good, we need a strong leader, it can’t be human, for humans are too much into surrendering, it can’t be dwarves, because many people despise them for their general shortness and beard growing skills, can’t be dragons, because they wouldn’t take it seriously enough, we’re going to have to find a leader,” said Keira, rattling her fingers against the desk.
Most people of Helm’s Deepend attended the funeral of The Farting Gnome, various noblemen and politicians of Bucketshire turned up, and the amphitheatre was playing host to the event. The Farting Gnome always said he wanted to be buried underneath his office, but everyone he talked to about it appeared to be deaf or had to rush off to an appointment with the dentist, and so he was cremated rather quickly.
Stepping up to speak in the centre of the amphitheatre, while the coffin of The Farting Gnome lay there, Harris the Bright Purple typed a tear from his eye, “You know,” he said, or more precisely shouted, “The Farting Gnome was a great inspiration to me, and I dare say to the rest of us, he will now be up there with the Gods, talking about his stamp collection, letting air out of his bottom every now and then and he’ll remember us, perhaps not quite as fondly as we’ll remember him.” There was some coughing from the back, “But he probably loved us all, I know he certainly loved us more than his damned pixies that he always went on about,” there was laughing at the back, “Shut up!” Harris shouted loudly and angrily, “as I was saying, we will miss him both as a friend as a leader and hope his successor rears he head soon!”
And off he went, to sit back into his own seat, and then Rodger (accompanied by a few jeers and tow fingered gestures) stood up and took to the podium, “Good man, good man, very few like him, was loyal literally to his death bed, and anyone who didn’t like him wasn’t liked by society, yes, he made a few off key decisions, like selling half the gold in Bucketshire’s vaults to Saint Fred’s in return for bug repellent, and recruiting kids into parliament was equally questionable, but I’m sure he had good intentions. We should not be talking about his mistakes,” Jim thought it sounded as though Rodger didn’t mention anything, “no, we should be celebrating his death, I mean, life, yes, that’s it, life, good man, good man.” And he sat down.
There wasn’t else much said, a few other noblemen stood up and said highly respectful things about a man they had only met once or twice, and the body was entered into the fire.
What happened then was strange. The fire seemed to glow green, as though someone was wrathful, the coffin turned bright red, it seemed to pulse instead of melt, veins appeared on it, but they didn’t look organic veins, indeed to call them veins would be mislead, it looked more like lightning. The general consensus in the amphitheatre of this was that normally this didn’t happen, this looked like a bad thing, and when the spirit head of The Farting Gnome appeared from the smoke, this feeling was confirmed. The smoky head turned to the funeral director, the one who came up with the idea of the Gnome being cremated, he looked at him hard, and the director bowed his head, “You may well do that!” said the smoky head of The Farting Gnome, “Bloody incompetent fool, I said I wanted to be buried! May pain come of you!” And then, in a flash of light, and large bang everything returned to normal and the coffin went through.
There was silence around the amphitheatre for several minutes, the funeral director looked very embarrassed with himself, and it seemed clear that Rodger the Incredibly Hairy looked incredibly annoyed.
After a while, and as there was no one would order the people out, Keira stood and told everyone to clear off. She held Jim and Opop back from going though. “We’ve still got work to do,” she said, “we still need to find a leader.”
“Can’t we have dinner first?” asked Opop.
“No,” Keira said, “Now, we’re going to have a look around outside Helm’s Deepend, see if we can find any travellers, heroes, noblemen, anyone like that. Understood?”
“Mhm,” Opop moaned.
The trio were just coming out of the fort when a scruffy haired man, came out following them. His eyes were green, the same shade as the grass, his hair was short and black, straightened to the front. He wore black Chain mail, furry brown boots and had a short sword and a bow.
“I wish to join you,” he said deeply. Keira regarded him with a cautious look
“Who are you?” she asked harshly.
“ I am a Rogue,” he said, looking straight ahead, “ I came to Helm’s Deepend to do my bit for humanity. I hear you’re looking for a leader?” he added conversationally.
“That’s correct,” she said disapprovingly.
“You’re feisty aren’t you?” smirked the rogue.
“Only to criminals, “ she said shortly.
“Anyway,” coughed the rogue, “this will be hard you know, finding a leader, not many will want to take the throne of a city in peril, I suppose it’s a blessing, The Farting Gnome dying, we would have never won with him in charge.”
“Look here you~” she Keira started angrily.
“You can come,” Jim said, butting in. The rogue smiled.
“Who put you in charge?” asked Keira, her face a personification of ‘no one dares make decisions that I don’t like.’
“I put myself in charge when you were too narrow minded to accept help,” Jim said as kindly as possible, Keira looked shocked, and then sulked.
“He’s not a thief, trash, kind of person who is ejected from society,” she said quietly.
“I’m sure he is,” said Jim, “but at this precise moment he is one our side,” Jim before turning to the rogue, “and what would your name be?”
“My name I do not want, you choose my name,” said the rogue, smiling unpleasantly at Keira.
“How about…” Jim started.
“Muttley,” said Opop quickly.
“Why Muttley?” asked Jim.
“Kind of sneaky,” said Opop.
“Is it?”
“I think so.”
“Okay then,” said Jim, scratching his head, “come along Muttley, and you Keira, don’t sulk.”
They had been walking for a short while; Opop and Keira were exchanging views on whether cattle could be used in war.
“What do you mean by that?” Keira asked, confused.
“Well, you could ride them,” Opop suggested thoughtfully, “into battle, they’d be used for the normal soldiers of course, while the good ones and Calvary got horses.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Have you ever been kicked by a cow?”
“I… no, I haven’t.”
“Well it damn well hurts I can tell you!” said Opop, feigning limping.
“Yes, but,” started Keira, “it’s hardly...natural is it?”
“Well, that’s just the way you think,” said Opop carefully, “if I was the leader of an army I’d make sure that they were all mounted.”
“But that would be disastrous against spears,” grunted Keira.
“You reckon cows care about spears?” asked Opop.
“Well I haven’t really thought about it, but now I do,” she coughed, “yes, I do think they would be bothered, it’s a sharp weapon, it can kill if you run straight at it, they’d rather eat grass.”
“They’d like a bit of excitement.”
“Not like that though,” Keira said, she looked at Jim as if to say ‘where did you get him?’
“Well I suppose you could always get normal people to throw stuff at the spearmen and try to kill them.”
“What, while cows ran riot?”
“Exactly,” smiled Opop, he was being perfectly serious, that was scary.
Jim was trying not to listen to his inane ramblings and instead tried to find out a little bit more about Muttley.
“So, been at Helm’s Deepend long then?” he asked conversationally.
“As soon as I found out a war was on.”
“So where are your normally?
“I travel,” Muttley grimaced, “all over the world, been to Idlewind, Rompton, Saint Fred’s, Bignim, Eldergo, Scooterland, Greendown even Zipbarbaque.”
“Or, so you don’t stay in one place?”
“Not for more than a week,” Muttley sniffed, “I don’t like staying, I could be seeing the world, and I’m missing out on everything the world has to offer if I stay in one place.”
“Most people find it more comfortable if they stay in one place, I know I was. Stps me from getting worried about other places”
“I’m the opposite of that, I hate the worries that staying in one place brings, don’t ask me why, I suppose in my line of work it pays to keep moving.”
“What city did you like the most, out of the ones you’ve visited?” Muttley thought about this for a second.
“For a business point of view, Bignim, it got me the most money, but I hated it there, everyone seemed so false, all these lanterns that flash different colours, people just did what their play heroes did, what their music heroes did, it was just…soulless I suppose. I didn’t like it.
“But if you were asking about what place I liked the best to spend time, I’d say Rompton, it’s a huge city, but it has such a tight community, it’s strange really, I like it. Everyone knows each other, if I ever stopped being a mercenary,” Keira shoot him a nasty look, “I’d want to settle down there.”
“Why are you a mercenary?” asked Jim.
“Number of reasons,” said Muttley, “the main being that is it’s one of the only things I can do travelling, don’t get me wrong, I don’t work for bad people, I make sure the people I work for are good people, who want me to good things, but decisions on whether someone is good or bad can be hard to get right.”
“Amazingly,” added Jim sadly.
“Yeah, I just want to make individual people’s lives better, if there’s a fascist mayor head of a village I’ll kill him, if there’s a mansion full of so called noblemen living the high life when people are outside dying from hunger, I’ll steal from them.”
“Very irresponsible!” said Keira loudly.
“To you, it might be,” smiled Muttley, “but to me it’s something that has to be done. I’ve done a few bad things in my life sure, and most regard me as scum, but I need to help people, and I need to help myself.”
The conversation would have gone on, was it for the group reaching the feared ‘Fearful Forest’, a harsh, unnerving never ceasing scream came from deep inside, it was gut wrenching. Jim looked at the tips of the trees; they looked plastic.
“Here we are then,” said Muttley, seemingly to himself.
“The Fearful Forest,” said Keira, she gulped.
“What’s the story about this then?” Jim asked impatiently. Keira was just about to speak when Muttley started explaining.
“It used to be a part of the old amusement park of Helm’s Deepend,” he said gravely, “but when the trolls were sacked and the park close down, this park, which used to be perfectly safe, turned utterly nasty. One night, a girl from a nearby village wandered into the forest, where mutated cows ambushed her, they ate her whole, but her screams remained as a reminder to all who dared wonder in.”
Keira, who had been rotating her finger round her ear during Muttley’s explanation, said, “And to believe that you have to be stupid.”
“Lucky I don’t then, otherwise I would be laughed at the world over.”
Keira smirked, and said ‘you already are.”
“Keira?” Jim said shortly.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
The trek through the forest was unbearable, bill boards for various clothing companies were on the side of the tracks, they hadn’t been touched in years, this place was totally and utterly abandoned, it was like the air itself had given up and packed away. The trees looked down on the group with their painted faces, a stuffed owl looked at them sharply. On the ground numerous sweet wrappers littered the mud. Opop regarded the place with keen interest, not particularly sure whether the place was safe, but still curious to look at everything twice.
Keira and Muttley hadn’t looked at each other for a while, the tension between them was something that could very well melt butter, and after it had done that it would at least have a go on the anvil in the corner. Muttley regarded Keira as a well off snob, and Keira regarded Muttley as a law-avoiding tramp. It was all getting on Jim’s nerves, Opop didn’t seem too bothered, but that was probably because Opop was used to arguing and cold shoulders.
What was strange about the forest though, was the fact that they didn’t actually feet anyone hostile, true, the noise probably drove anything with a decent set of ears away, but at this time of year (i.e. Simon trying to take over the world) there was normally a lot more rebels and people who thought that dictatorship was just something an aspiring writer with no hands went around in. True, they followed their ideals, but it didn’t mean they knew what they were.
After a while, Muttley spoke, “Keira?” he said softly.
“What do you want?”
“You know how you’re a strong warrior?”
“Correct, what do you want?”
“Well, why don’t you try and rescue that girl?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said sternly.
“What’s ridiculous about it?”
“We don’t even know if there is a girl there.”
“Well there’s certainly screaming, what else makes screaming the loud?”
Jim came out of his deep thought he was having, “What are you two going on about?”
“He’s trying to get me to go investigate the screaming,” said Keira.
“And she won’t do her duty,” smiled Muttley provokingly. Well, thought Jim, at least they’re talking.
“My duty? My duty is to protect Helm’s Deepend!”
“Exactly,” said Muttley satisfactorily.
“Exactly what?”
“You’re putting Helm’s Deepend in danger by not going to see what is in there.”
“Idiot,” she muttered, and then walked off in the direction of the screaming.
“What the Hell?” asked Jim, looking sharply at Muttley, “she could be killed!”
“She’ll be back in a minute or two,” sighed Muttley, lighting his pipe.
“How do you know that?” Jim demanded.
Muttley shrugged, “Instinct.”
“Instinct can go terribly wrong, now let’s go find her.”
The screaming stopped.
“”Now!” Jim shouted anxiously.
“Okay,” Muttley said calmly. He, Jim and Opop walked quickly through the forest, avoiding the cardboard cut out ghouls that had populated the forest thus far.
They came to a clearing, there was Keira, but she wasn’t alone.
“Baa!” said the sheep happily. To call it a sheep would be like calling a mansion a shed, it was huge, impossibly so, three, maybe four times bigger than your average fully grown sheep. Beside it an old clock lay, smashed, on the ground.
“Um,” Jim started anxiously, but Muttley cut in.
“People, meet Erwin,” said Muttley, going over to the sheep and patting him approvingly, “he’s the thing I get around on.”
“A sheep?” asked Opop, unconvinced, “mustn’t go very fast, and it’s huge, I reckon a horse would be better¾” Opop stopped when the sheep gave him and angry look, it blew out of it’s nose warningly. Funny, Opop thought, Just like a bull.
“It’s a bit different from that,” smiled Muttley, “it’s got something very special about it for a start.”
“It can fly,” said Keira, she was in a daze, never the less, Jim knew she was serious.
Muttley nodded, half in agreement and half in shock, “How did you know?”
“I… I used to own it,” she gulped, eyeing it suspiciously, as if she thought it wasn’t the same one.
“Bloody Hell,” Muttley muttered.
“I know,” she smiled weakly, “I used to love it, when I was young, in my teens, but then one day a criminal gang came and stole it, knocked it out with a brick to the head, and then ran off with it, my Dad couldn’t do anything, I was asleep, I only found out next morning.”
“Looks like I got revenge then…”
“How?”
“Well you know this criminal overlord?”
“His name was Al.”
“Yes, well he was one of my hits, these frightened townspeople in some village not far from Rompton were complaining about him all the time, he owned the law practically, got them to take bribes and not spot crimes, well I got fed up with this and killed the bugger, made my escape on this sheep,” he patted it gently, “been partners in crime ever since.”
Keira looked monumentally disgusted at the thought of her sheep partaking in crime, “I trust you have been keeping him well?”
“Of course,” he smiled.
“A flying sheep?” asked Opop, confused, “I suppose that makes it a better deal…” He was ignored.
“Hang on,” said Jim, getting up to speed, “what was the screaming then?”
“The clock,” said Muttley, pointing to the pieces of clock on the ground, “ I used it so people wouldn’t wander into the forest. I got some wizard down south to enchant it for me, it worked to…”
“Clever,” said Jim.
“Anyway, I was think we could use it for flying around to find a leader.”
Keira made a gurgling sound, “Do we have to?”
“What’s wrong with doing it?”
“Well, I’m¾”
“Scared of heights?” asked Muttley.
“Yes,” she sighed.
“Hang on,” said Jim, “you used to own a five metre tall flying sheep, and you’re scared of heights?”
“Well, yes.”
“This is silly,” said Jim.
“Agreed,” said Opop.
“Do you think you could defeat your fear of heights just for one days while we try to save thousands of people being killed?” asked Muttley sternly.
“Yes, of course,” said Keira.
A couple of minutes later, they were in the air, Opop was lying on his front, watching the world below him, Keira sat staring at the sheep’s face, it’s look determined, it knew where it was going, and it wanted to get there. Muttley sat, he was cooking, the sheep didn’t seem to notice, and then there was Jim, deep in thought, his mind a wash with all the different things he had seen. Firstly, he was being considered a VIP, now this confused Jim, because he didn’t recall ever being important, merely a cog in a republic shaped machine. He hadn’t actually ever said anything worthy of merit (in public anyway), and the most he had ever been famous for was being on the 2nd page of the Bucketshire Telegraph in a story about a goblin that had escaped from death row and was now proceeding to run as far a way from death as possible. Jim was the scapegoat.
He sighed sadly, he hadn’t really made much of his life, he didn’t have many friends at school, he was also too serious to laugh that much, and so people avoided him as a certain outcast. His job was quite shameful too, no matter which way you looked at it. But there he was, asked to the chief goblin advisor at Helm’s Deepend, of course h took it, he didn’t really have much of a choice, he would do anything to make sure Bucketshire was safe.
“Um, what’s wrong with your skin, if you don’t mind me asking,” he heard Muttley say.
“Oh, it’s asthma, very common in Scooterland,” replied Opop quickly.
“It is, is it?” asked Muttley shortly, “I’ve been to Scooterland, and I didn’t see anyone with…what you’ve got.”
“Oh,” said Opop, “well, there’s an epidemic of it now, terrible, they tried to get me to stay, they’re trying to quarantine the place off, so I escaped before they could put the barriers up.”
Muttley gave him a suspicious look, it occurred to him that this Opop bloke had something to hide, and that he wasn’t telling the truth, he would make sure he found out, there could be a reward…
“Sausage?” Muttley called over to Jim, “just cooked it!”
“Yeah, alright,” Jim smiled, “thanks!” The consuming of the sausage was not an important event in the history of Eggsic, needless to say that it smelt like pig, tasted like pig and went down like pig. Still, it cured Jim’s nerves for a while and stopped him being hungry, “where about’s are we now?” he asked.
“We’re coming up to the Rich Continent* now,” said Muttley, “and then to Idlewind, if I was you I’d confront Ian, get him to send one of his cronies over to Helm’s Deepend, it might not be much, but it will do.”
Then, the huge city of Idlewind came into view, or rather. Part of it did, it was huge, massive, the biggest city Jim had ever seen, the buildings looked the finest in the world, there were buildings built out of white marble looking important and governmental, there were buildings made out of huge stone slabs, radiating greatness, temples to the various Gods of Eggsic stood out, their stain glass windows shining brightly and proudly. It was a far cry from Bucketshire and it’s wooden houses and relatively small size.
They landed softly on one of the landing circles with the ‘D’ in it, and hopped off. “So,” Jim said, rubbing his hands, “we need to get to the citadel then.”
“I’m just going to have a look around the city,” said Muttley, “got some things to do. You go ahead, thy wouldn’t let someone like me near the citadel anyway.”
“As long as you don’t partake in any criminal activities,” said Keira sternly; “you can find yourself with a sword in your head if you’re not careful, rogue.”
Muttley gave Keira the smile that she hated, it was a mischievous smile, and one that said both ‘I’m not up to no good’ and ‘I am up to no good.’
“You really expect me to do anything against the law?” he smiled, “and even if I did, I could easily escape, never been caught doing anything wrong once I haven’t, strange, everything thinks I do…”
Keira gave him a piercing look as he went away, she completely disapproved, but, as Jim said, he was on her side, so she might as well.
“Nice place this,” said Opop, looking at the white marble building nearest to him, it was labelled ‘Customs.’
“Brilliant place, love the architecture,” said Jim. He eyed a black building quite far off, it was at least four hundred metres tall, and gave the impression that the person who made it wanted everyone who saw it feel the overwhelming sense of dread, it suck out like a sore thumb.
“That’s the citadel,” Keira said glumly, “horrible isn’t it? Ironic really, biggest and best city in all of Eggsic Idlewind might be, but it’s got the worst centre.
“Yeah,” muttered Jim.
They went into customs, it was strange really, Jim had seen two new places today, met lots of new people, seen two people die, been put in a government office, and now he was being searched for drugs and the like.
“Clear,” the bald man searching him said, “you can go now.”
Jim, Opop and Keira all came out of the office and walked into one of the street’s of Idlewind, this particular street was called Insertion Street, as it was one of the main entrances into Idlewind*.
All around them fat people wearing lots of jewellery and expensive clothing went past, everyone spoke posh, like they had a spear up their backend, forced laughing, dodgy silences, bad jokes, basically everything people with lots of money do.
“They’re giving me funny looks,” said Opop angrily, “why are they giving me funny looks?”
“Why do you think?” Jim asked, “you’ve been pai¾diagnosed with asthma, people are bound to pay a passing interest.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like it,” sighed Opop.
“I’m sure you don’t but it’s just part of being disabled, it’s not right, and it shouldn’t happen, but it does.”
The citadel wasn’t so far off now; it gave an even greater sense of gloominess, Jim got the impression that it had been the site and cause of many a bad day, “What are we actually going to do once get there?” he asked.
“We’re going to tell Ian that we need a new leader, and he’s going to give us one.”
“Oh.”
“What,” said Opop, “one of his cronies?”
“I suppose so, yes, he won’t be radically important, not like one of the heads of Idlewind, mostly just some trading standards bloke, they’re boring, yes, they’re not inspirational no, but that’s not the point, they are a leader.”
“They are some who think that leaders have to earn the right to be leaders, they can’t just say ‘I’m a leader’ and hope people will agree, they have to know the people that they are dealing with.”
“Well, yes, but tell me, who in Bucketshire is like that?”
“Good point.”
They had reached the gates of the citadel now, there were forty or so guards standing around, trying to look strong and noble and tough, they weren’t fooling anyone.
Keira approached the gates, a small man with a beard stood in her way; it was a dwarf.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you in lassie!” he bellowed, rather louder than necessary.
“Stand aside dwarf, I have came from Bucketshire to request help.”
“Oh, Rightio then, sorry about that!”
“Miller!” a voice shouted, it was from the mouth of another dwarf, one that looked much older than the one that had hitherto stood before them.
“What sarge?”
“You’re supposed to ask for ID you fool!”
“Oh, bugger, sorry about that,” he turned back to Keira, “here, you got any ID?”
“Yes,” said Keira, taking out a card from her pocket, Army Commander, see?”
“Oh yes, thanks you, you may pass.”
“Miller!”
“What sarge?”
“Ask the other two for ID too!”
“Oh, right, sorry Sarge, you two got ID?”
“They are with me,” said Keira quickly, “they’re associates.”
“Oh well then¾”
“Miller!”
“What now?”
“No ID, no entry!”
“Okay sarge, I forgot, sorry people, I can’t let you two in.”
“Damn,” said Keira, “Look, you’re just going to have to look round the city, sorry about this, meet back at Erwin okay?”
Muttley was making his way around the city, he had been the Idlewind many times before, he knew where the best shops were, where the local gangs were (like the notorious Almost Silent Assassin’s People Conclusion Society, a group that spanned the world of Eggsic, and was very efficient in killing people who other people wanted to be killed. Muttley had almost became a victim once, back when he was just starting out, at the age of sixteen, he battled them off though, it would take a really good assassin to kill Muttley, and one with lots of patience.
He stopped at an alley, looked into it, tried to see if they were any shapes hanging around, and then walked in. Idlewind may have been the biggest city in the world, but it was also full of crime, novelty crime, and organized crime. The drug trafficking in Idlewind was notorious, people often inhaled substances that you wouldn’t dream of. Highly dangerous, such a drug was Sheeplish, you inhaled it, and within minutes you had turned into a sheep, you had to spend the rest of your life being chased round a field by a dog with bad breath. The Idlewind authorities had done much to try and stop drugs going around the city, but they came up with the notion that people who fell victim to turning into a sheep probably deserved it*.
Muttley could spell drugs being burned, he walked quickly but calmly down the alleyway, avoiding the looks of homeless drug addicts, their mind twisted from all the abuse their bodies had been given. One made an effort to sell Muttley something, within seconds he was finding life with a broken leg very difficult and painful.
Muttley stopped at a door and knocked harshly.
“Who is it?” said a croaky voice from inside.
“It’s me Atmis,” said Muttley, “Open up will you?”
The door opened a bit, while the man inside surveyed the person outside, when he had determined that the man outside was a friend; he opened the door wide.
“Grot,” the man smiled as Muttley stepped in. The man before Muttley was a short man, who resembled a snake, slimy, his skin looked scaly, he looked about twenty, and yet his eyes showed that he knew a lot about the world.
“Don’t call me Atmis,” Muttley said impatiently, “you know I never keep the same name.”
Atmis coughed, “Sorry, but you know, I think you should consider a permanent name, I men, it’s not really fair is it? You’ve been in this business six years and not a shred of recognition, people talk about five legends, and they’re all you.”
“Which is good,” said Muttley, he looked around the shop, it hadn’t changed, it was a weapons shop, full of swords, shields, bows, lots of other devices of death, it was well away in Idlewind, hidden, and yet one of the most visited shops in the world.
“What’s your new name now then?”
“Muttley.”
“Muttley?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds sort of sneaky…”
“I think so.”
“What have you been doing for the last six months?”
“Oh, you know,” Muttley muttered, he picked up a sword from a cabinet and threw it up and down, catching it each time, Atmis always hated this part, he always thought Muttley would drop something, “things. Killing foul beasts, freeing women from towers, god knows why anyone puts them up there, I’m helping out at Helm’s Deepend at the minute.”
“Where?”
“Helm’s Deepend, fort just outside of Bucketshire.”
“Is there?”
“Yes, Simon is off to war again.”
“That’s new for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I never heard that Simon had been invading again.”
“Have the newspapers not been full of it?”
“No, and I always get all of them, I make sure none of your lot have been captured.”
“Strange,” said Muttley, he slammed the sword down on the table, “bit naff that sword, anyway, why are people outside for, they’re all drug addict.”
“Oh well, we needed some custom.”
“Not from then you don’t, tell them to get lost, and if I see them again I’ll gut every last one of them.”
“I have a business to run here!”
“I know you do, and that’s why you should keep that kind of scum away.”
“They’re not scum!”
“They are, what have the rest of your customers said about it? What about Igor the Dustbin Hands?”
“He… stopped coming.”
“Because of them?”
“Yes.”
“Do yourself a favour mate, get rid of them.”
“Okay, okay,” Atmis muttered, “anyway, you interested in any of these bows? Got that fresh from Rompton.”
Muttley gave the bows a quick glance; dwarves were crazy for making their wares look good, they would decorate their bows with things doing stuff to other things not deemed appropriate for young children, the bows were in all colours, purple, pink, green, and the strings had been painted silver.
“I prefer my stuff more modest.”
“Well, I have to keep up with the competition.”
“Of course, I’m going for a drink upstairs okay?”
“Okay, hopefully you’ll be so drunk when you get back that I can sell you something really bad...”
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