Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by TheJackal
Monday, 19 September 2005 |
Brother Ron and Sub-Commander Polix were still fighting. Not in the physical form, of course, but with harsh, loud words. It had swiftly become a shouting match. Jonah Nemoy was uncertain how you actually won. Their voices just appeared to be getting louder and louder. Perhaps the victor would be the one still grasping the ability to speak, although with an inevitable bad case of laryngitis.
Ron had quite forgotten about his crossbow, which lay a few feet from him. This, Nemoy reasoned, was fortunate, as he’d hate for Ron to use the thing in settling an argument.
There were many acceptable circumstances where one could use weapons to win over your opposition, as Nemoy would be the first to admit: A marital dispute was always popular, since finding your darling spouse in bed with someone clearly not you, can make anyone see red.
Claims of inheritance was another case which sprung to mind, with there being no chance of your Brother-in-law robbing your father’s land from under your nose. So what if the Will clearly stated it was to be bequeathed to your sister and her lanky husband? You knew what Dad had really meant.
‘Okay men,’ said Brother Troy as his troops lined up behind him. ‘Now when I give the signal, I want you to enter that room. Now I want level heads; none of that blindly wielding swords at anything moving. Nine times out of ten you’ll only be killing a fellow Brother. So spread out, let the light guide you, and if the bastard is still alive: kill him.’
The instructions were straightforward. However, Felix could not help but notice that they were to “spread out”. This was clearly not “line up behind me”. He had much preferred “line up behind me” but it was too late now to skive off.
Captain Troy walked over to Gee. ‘Here, can I have a word? In private.’
Gee followed the Brother Reverent over to an alcove in the hallway. It appeared to once have been an entrance to the gardens outside but had long since been walled up. Perhaps, thought Troy, Master Rubeus did not want another door so close to his study.
‘Listen Gee, I want you to stay outside.’
‘But I-,’ said Gee before being interrupted.
‘Yes, I know, mate,’ said Troy. ‘I did not want to say this in front of the men, but just in case Rubeus manages to get through that door alive, I want you here, waiting.’
Gee understood, though he felt aggrieved not to be getting in on the action. He stayed put whilst Troy returned to the frontline.
The time had come. Troy raised his sword to indicate so. When he lowered the blade, they were off, running as quick as one could behind a group without stepping on heels.
Although Troy was first in, he did not carry a lantern. He did not want the inconvenience. Still, this was not a problem as Georgre’s lantern was still on inside, and the Brother-In-Arms behind Troy also brought light.
The first steps, quick at first, soon slowed to a complete stop. Troy aimed to take in his surrounding all at once. He turned slowly, a full 360 degrees. His eyes met the figure of Georgre, who was lying on the ground.
Brother Hinckley was still alive. He looked injured, but from the upturned seat, it appeared that the injuries had been self-inflicted after toppling over the seat. That man was mumbling away to himself, scared stiff.
Troy did not have time for fear. Now was the moment of action. Or was it? Where the hell was Master Rubeus?
Someone bumped into the captain, who in turn swung round his sword, and just managed to divert it in time, narrowly avoiding chopping off Brother Felix’s head.
‘Sorry, sir,’ said the stupid man. Troy wondered why he had such incompetence in his ranks. After all, he’d chosen the best ones! It was Brother Parthas who had been stuck with the crap soldiers.
Felix’s nerves were in bits. He had nearly been decapitated by his own leader and Rubeus was still nowhere in sight. It wasn’t as if the study were particularly large. There were only a finite places where one could hide.
A horrible thought struck Brother Felix. To his left was the door they had all just rushed through. Nobody had checked there, had they? Felix gulped. He put his sword up near the lentil, promptly pushed the sharp blade against the old door, and swung the door back.
It closed, not with a dramatic bang, but with a squeak. Rubeus utterly failed to be hiding there. A tiny part of Felix was disappointed; most of him, however, told that part to shut before he jinxed things.
‘Where the feck is he?’ asked Felix. Brother Troy was wondering the exact same thing.
‘Look, it wasn’t my fault, okay?’ shouted Ron. He could feel he was losing the argument but was damned if he’d let Polix win without a fight.
‘Oh, well that is all right then. Everything is sorted. I feel so glad that you pointed out it wasn’t your fault.’ Polix was taking sarcasm to a whole new level.
‘It was only my second week,’ asserted Ron. ‘I wanted to tell someone we were a man short but Gee said there was no time, and that we would have to do it on our own.’
‘So why didn’t ye then?’
‘Well, things got tricky. We couldn’t agree on who should die.’
‘Ye still should have chosen,’ insisted Polix. ‘Nobody would have cared too much if your decision were slightly incorrect. It’s better to have the wrong dead person on your hands, than have the right one still alive.’
‘Hey! That’s me you're talking about,’ said Nemoy. ‘I care, and I’m not some joint of meat you can throw away because it ain’t fresh enough for you.’
‘It is nothing personal, Nemoy. It’s our job. It’s our life. It is what we are here to do. Without the Order of Mediators, the Realms of Stavromula would be a place crawling with dead people; not in the ground where they should be, but waltzing around looking for someone to stitch back on their heads, and searching for the guy who knocked it off. Furthermore, there are far more deceased than alive today, let me assure you.’
‘And you will all be soon joining their ranks, now won’t that be nice?’
Ron was first to cock his head towards the voice, soon followed by Polix and Nemoy. It was hard to focus on the face of the speaker as the sun was shining behind him, dazzling the eyes. But this is not matter much; the voice would be instantly recognisable across a crowded marketplace.
‘I thought you would be dead by now, Rubeus,’ said Polix simply.
‘I could say the exact same for you,’ replied the slouched figure. The Grand Master was a shadow of his former self: covered in blood almost from head to toe, he looked like the walking dead of which Polix had forewarned. In this present form, Rubeus would not have looked remotely scary or threatening, if it were not for the large crossbow he cradled in his hands. Ron’s crossbow, as a matter of fact.
Polix cursed Ron over and over in his mind. Then he stared at the weapon. Nemoy, still lying on the ground, seemed shaken. Ron had his eyes closed, or perhaps it was due to the sun.
‘It is a nice weapon, isn’t it?’ said Rubeus after noticing Polix’s interest. ‘Two arrows, for twice the fun.’
Polix Maybury did the math in his head: There’s three of us versus one of him. He’s only got two shots, so even if they both hit the target, one of us can jump him.
Brother Polix thought some more about this before editing his thoughts: Sure, there are three of us, but Nemoy cannot stand up, let alone jump. And Ron would sooner run away than attack.
‘You know, it is rather amusing that I should find you three here. I mean, half of my own bloody army is after me; the whole city seems to have run off to hide; and yet you are all here, as if waiting for the hunter to finish what he started.’
‘You did not start anything,’ said the Polix defiantly. ‘It was Brother’s Ron and Gee who messed things up in the first place.’
‘Ahaha. You really think so, do you? I would suggest you have a candid conversation with Jonah Nemoy here. But then again, you can’t, ’cos you’ll be dead in a minute.’
Polix looked down at Nemoy. ‘It’s true,’ said the Chosen One. ‘He set it all up. Even set fire to your house, so that you wouldn’t turn up.’
‘You bastard!’ roared Polix, moving towards the Grand Master.
‘Now, now, sir. Hold that temper of yours. We wouldn’t want this thing firing off of its own accord. They can do that, you know. Very temperamental weapons.’
‘How did you manage to slip away, anyhow? Brother Salem Troy is a damn clever guy.’ Polix needed to stall Rubeus whilst he thought up a plan. The Grand Master, not being stupid, knew what the Brother was up to, but his vanity overcame him.
‘Yes, he is. But like any good man, his eyes can deceive him. Right about now they will be storming my study, thinking I’ll be lying there waiting. Conversely, if they pay enough attention to fine detail, Troy will see that the trail of blood stops at my door and does not continue on inside. I even placed some blood on my door handle to give the appearance of my entering, but what I really did, was take the secret exit just outside my door, in a little alcove. It looks just like an old exit to the grounds outside, long since walled up. In reality, if you place your hand in the top left corner, the wall swings neatly around.’
‘I always knew you were a cunning bastard,’ replied Polix.
‘Thank you. I did think it was rather good.’
‘You did all this?’ asked Ron, as if he had just awoken from a dream and was finding it hard to keep up with the conversation. ‘You’re the reason why I’ve had continuous nightmares for the last thirty years? I’d wake up in boiling sweats feeling guilty because of what you did?’
‘Well, one does like it when his work his admired,’ said Rubeus haughtily.
Ron erupted lie a cannonball. Just like the round lump of metal, Ron was harmless on his own, but with the newly found fire ignited deep in his core, Ron shot forwards and barrelled into the Grand Master.
Rubeus had not been expecting it, nobody had. Nevertheless, you did not become ruler of the Order of Mediators without reflexes to die for. Or rather, reflexes to live for. His finger automatically pressed the trigger, like some inbuilt code of instruction.
The arrow sprang out from the bow, heading dead centre for its target. By the time it reached, Ron had moved position slightly. It ripped though his eardrum and out the other side. Ron would never hear again, but for the moment he was concentrating on the future eligibility to breath.
The Brothers rolled wildly along the ground, arms wrapped around one another, finding for any inch of advantage. They were moving Nemoy’s way. In order to avoid being swallowed up in the brawl, he had to shakily get to his feet via scurrying up onto his knees.
Brother Polix was amazed by Ron’s ability to fight like a dog when the need arose. Perhaps in was the inner nature inside of everyone that told you when times got tough, the tough got going, or else got the shit kicked out of them.
Ron was doing well with the kicking. He was all too readily available to get the boot in if a gap of unguarded body arose. Then there was the biting. Nemoy was seen at least one clinching of teeth when Rubeus had found, to his horror, that Ron took offence to grabs at his neck.
It was difficult to know who was winning. Both were losing blood but that did not seem to be slowing them down. Admittedly, if Rubues had been in full health and had his full quota of lifefuid, Brotehr Ron would have been dead in seconds. But Ron was a dogged fighter. He fought dirty, the only way he knew how. Rubues had become accustomed over the years, to ‘civilised’ conflicts of opinion, for a given value of the phrase. In his world of political discord, all plotting was done in secret, and no-one would dream of raising their hands. That was what assassins were paid for!
A flurry of arms, the use of a well-guided knee, and suddenly Ron was free from the entanglement. Instantly, he had risen to his feet, scooped up the crossbow, and aimed it at the Grand Master.
For the merest of moments, Rubeus froze, and them he was moving again. He grabbed Nemoy while simultaneously slipping a dagger into his hand from somewhere on his person. The weapon was placed at Nemoy’s throat, leaving no doubt as to Rubeus’ intentions.
Now it was Ron’s turn to freeze. He hadn’t dreamed things would turn out like this. In his nightmares, Rubeus always won, but not like this. Depending on the night, Ron was made to suffer excruciatingly from various weapons of torture, ranging from disembowelment to being forced to eat his own severed limbs.
After breaking free from Rubeus’ grip, Ron had begun to think he might actually win. Now…well now it was transpiring like his nightmares.
‘Drop the weapon,’ screamed Rubeus from behind his hostage. ‘Drop it, you stupid little man, or I cut the jugular of pretty boy here.’
Ron did not know what to so. Rubeus would do what he threatened; you could see so in his eyes. Yet, if he did, Ron would have a clear shot. Ron could live with Jonah Nemoy’s death on his ands, but not with Rubeus’ life.
A glint of light caught the corner of Ron’s eye. He followed it a saw its source: Rubeus was slowly slipping another knife from his left sleeve. Ron was sure of its quality fro throwing and had no intention of being a statistic.
The crossbow’s second and final arrow moved like lightning. Its terrible wonder demanded your respect. Almost as soon at its journey had begun, the arrow struck Nemoy’s chest. A roar erupted from him, like the thunder which was always running full speed to catch up with its faster cousin.
Perhaps the only person more shocked by what Ron had just done, besides himself, Polix and Nemoy, was Master Rubeus. The Order’s supreme ruler looked down at his own stomach and released he wouldn’t be holding the post much longer.
Rubeus fell in slow motion, like a grand old tree in the forest succumbing to an almighty storm. Nemoy, not quite attached to the hip but with the same effect, fell with him, hitting the ground first.
The world was silent, waiting for someone to speak, or politely cough. A splutter of blood from Nemoy’s mouth was all he could manage.
It was enough.
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