Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by TheJackal
Sunday, 28 August 2005 |
A loud pounding on the door had awoken Nemoy suddenly. He hadn’t taken the interruption to his sleep too well and tried to drown out the sound by putting a pillow over his head.
Unfortunately, the annoying thudding continued and Nemoy was soon forced to give up ignoring it.
‘What?’ asked Nemoy agitatedly.
‘Sorry to bother you so early,’ said Boggs the barman through the door, his deep, baritone voice travelling clearly through the thick bedroom room. ‘I thought you’d like to know something about your mysterious attacker. I can tell you later if you want?’
‘No, no,’ replied Nemoy. ‘I’m awake now. Come in.’
Nemoy sat up in bed and tried to make himself comfortable as Boggs entered the room.
‘So what news are you talking about?’
‘Well, I’ve just had a very interesting conversation downstairs with John Stern, who’s one of our regulars,’ said Boggs. ‘I happened to mention to him the story you told me last night. Well, John thought it mighty interesting because he just came from Martlet, which is a town situated near the border of Farder Realm. Apparently, a guy matching the description of your attacker asked John for directions some time yesterday afternoon. According to John, the man asked him how he could get to a village called Sleepy Falls, which is in eastern Farder.’
‘Sleepy Falls? Never heard of it,’ said Nemoy.
‘Not many people have. It’s just your basic farming village. There’s nothing special about it.’
‘So why would he want to go there then?’ asked Nemoy.
‘I couldn’t tell you. Alls I know is that’s where the guy wanted to go. If you still want to find him, then your best bet is to go there and see what information you can gather.’
Nemoy agreed with Boggs’ suggestion and quickly got out of bed, jumped into his pants, threw on a jumper, and was on his way.
The sun gleamed weakly from behind the interspersed clouds. It looked like rain was due again. Still, the promise of another downpour could not dampen Ron’s spirits. He was already damp enough. Ron had spent the previous night trying to sleep in a field in the middle of nowhere, and apart from a few scant hours of rest, the only thing he had to show for it were his extremely wet clothes. Needless to say, he wasn’t in the best of humours as he neared the town of Sleepy Falls around noon.
Ron trudged on wearily, feeling rather sorry for himself. He kept wondering why these things happened to him. Wasn’t he a nice guy? As far as Ron was concerned, Fate was a bastard, and was out to get him for some reason.
All of a sudden, Ron’s dejection subsided, for he spotted a sign up ahead which read: “Sleepy Falls 1km”
With that, Ron burst into a run.
‘Only one kilometre to go,’ he told himself, over and over again. ‘One kilometre.’
Sleepy Falls was not the most aesthetically pleasing of villages, but its inhabitants didn’t care much about that. They had more important concerns, such as getting their crops in before the weather got any worse. The downpour the night before had taken them by surprise because the rainy season wasn’t expected for another two weeks. As a result, most of the villagers were frantically working in the fields when Ron arrived.
Ron looked around, puzzled. Where had everyone gone? The place looked like a ghost town. Eventually, Ron came upon a young boy of around nine, who had slipped away from work for something to eat.
‘Hey, you,’ shouted Ron at the boy, who was at the top of the street.
The boy stopped, intrigued by what the man wanted. They didn’t get many visitors at this time of year.
‘Hey,’ said Ron again, running up the street. ‘Can you tell me where a Mr. Adams lives?’
The question hadn’t had the effect that Ron desired. The boy opened his eyes wildly, as if scared by something. After about ten seconds the boy managed to speak.
‘That way,’ mumbled the lad, pointing towards the end of the main street. ‘Top o’ the hill.’
With that, the boy ran away as quick as he could. Ron didn’t know what to make of it, but at least he had found out what he wanted to know. Ron had found Gee at last.
Salem Troy ignored the screaming. He’d heard the sound of agony many times and this occasion was nothing special.
Despite his deceivingly insignificant appearance, Troy was an important man. He presently held the second highest rank in the Order of Mediators, but it wasn’t just this position which gave him the power that he held. Unlike Grand Master Rubeus, who ruled solely on fear, Troy also commanded his men’s respect. This could have been for many reasons: Troy was a Brother Reverent. This title alone demanded respect. But Troy was also fair to his men, an increasingly rare quality in a Mediator of such high ranking.
Presently, Troy was helping a man to remember some useful information by means of rigorous encouragement. He was very good at helping people remember things.
‘Have you recalled anything yet?’ asked Troy, with a hint of menace in his voice.
‘Yes, yes,’ replied the man, who had been hanging upside down for the past twenty minutes.
‘Alright, cut him down then,’ Troy ordered.
The men cut the ropes and the bartender fell to the ground, whimpering. Blood was ebbing from three separate wounds in his back, and from a fourth on his forehead.
‘Now then. What can you tell me about a man called Nemoy? We know that he stayed here last night. Deny it again, and I’ll see that you get the hot poker in your eyes next time, instead of your back.’
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