Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by TheJackal
Thursday, 01 September 2005 |
Pulling the shortest straw, the game of kings. Or did they play chess? No, it was the Gods who played chess, wasn’t it?
It did not matter whomever it was that normally played chess, thought Georgre Hinckley, or who used the straw, because today they were using it.
Brother Troy really had had a masterstroke of inspiration to think this up. Georgre wondered how he did it.
And it was such an honour for Georgre, a lowly Brother-In-Arms Fourth Class, to hold the straw whilst everyone picked their piece.
It was terribly exciting. Nothing terribly exciting ever seemed to happen for Georgre. In fact, the most interesting thing he could think of was his name.
Georgre; it was an unusual name. Perhaps not interesting, per se, just unusual. Georgre had started out life called George. His parents were happy with the name. But due to a nurse who either could not spell properly or had overheard the name incorrectly, the tag placed around the baby’s arm included the extra R.
His parents could have changed it back, of course, but they were rather partial towards Georgre. It was different and sounded posh.
And so, while Brother Georgre Hinckley held the straw which would decide someone’s faith, he felt terribly excited. This sense of excitement was closely matched by the tension gripping the soldiers.
Troy had gone first, forever leading the way. The straw piece he drew was of medium length, so that was okay.
Every now and then, there was an audible gasp of relief as a Brother-In-Arms drew a long piece.
You also got the grunts and curses under the breath as one pulled forth a small piece. No-one knew exactly how small the smallest piece was. Some sod could have in his palm right now, or it could be still up for grabs.
Presently, there were only three men left to go. Gee plucked out a promising looking one, which turned out to be fine.
Georgre Hinckley was now sweating something terrible. Nobody had really noticed. Concentration was focused on the two remaining bits. Georgre would be last to go. Technically, he did not get a proper go, as he would be taking whatever was left.
Brother Davis marched forwards, showing more confidence than he truly had. He hesitated momentarily, and picked. It was long.
Now everyone fervently ogled Georgre’s hand.
‘Go on, open it man.’
‘Yeah, hurry up,’ said another who had a small one.
Georgre acquiesced, slowly opening his palm. The last remaining piece of straw was tiny.
The men cheered; Georgre whimpered.
‘Well then, Brother Hinckley. You have volunteered, I see,’ said Troy.
The Brother whimpered again in reply.
‘Good man. That’s the spirit.’
It so happened that Nemoy did not have long to wait for help to arrive. It came in unexpected terms.
‘Though you’d be long away from here by now?’ said Nemoy to the figure looming over him whilst casting a long shadow.
‘So did I. Got half away across the courtyard before even looking back. Then I realised nobody was chasin’ me,’ said Polix
‘Did you see what happened to Rubeus? I saw them attacking him but then the crowd blocked my view.’
‘Yeah,’ replied Polix, ‘Brother Troy and Gilbert Adams headed after him. Landed a few shots on the money as well with a crossbow. Must have done some damage.’
‘I hope so. He had the most evil eyes I’ve ever seen.’
‘They would have got him there and then, but the cunning bastard used a dead body as a shield. He made it into one of the buildings but was bleeding heavily.’
Nemoy, who was now sitting up, spotted a familiar face in the distance. ‘Here comes Ron.’
Brother Ron Stevens sidled up towards the two. He had a large, double-barrelled crossbow it his hands, preventing him from moving at a normal pace.
‘Why do you have that,’ asked Nemoy curiously.
‘I’m a wanted fugitive in these parts so I’m not taking any chances.’
‘Isn’t that a bit much though,’ said Polix Maybury. ‘I mean, we’re all wanted fugitives. You don’t see me and Nemoy here lugging that stuff around.’
‘Yeah well, I bet ye must have daggers or something,’ Ron retorted.
‘Nope,’ said Polix. ‘If I had one of them, I’d have bloody well cut off my bonds earlier and escaped!’
‘And the best weapon I could use to scare someone off is show them my ankle,’ said Nemoy.
‘Why, what’s wrong with it?’ asked Ron.
Nemoy showed him.
Brother Ron flinched in sympathy. ‘That’s nasty.’
‘You know,’ said Polix jokingly, ‘that might actually work if you showed it to an unsuspecting aggressor. I know I don’t like looking at it!’
The mood of Brother Georgre Hinckley had not picked up since last we heard from him. If anything, he was even more depressed.
Why me? he thought. Of all the people that could have chosen it, none did. What were the odds? They must be astronomical. The Gods must have it out for him.
Georgre tried to think of what he had done to annoy the Gods. More precisely, what he had done lately.
It wasn’t fair, he knew that much. He’d have accused them of cheating but he had chosen the straw. Hmm, maybe that was their game. Get gullible auld Georgre lulled into a false sense of security, and then do a switcharoo with the straw.
No. You’re getting paranoid, man! You did not leave the straw out of your hand.
Flip, I’m right!
Georgre looked around at the other Brothers. He knew there was no getting of this one. Even if news came through right now to him, of a phenomenon involving a new type of deadly, flesh-eating disease located exclusively in his family home, Georgre doubted the Brothers would have left him go.
Someone thrust a lantern into his lap. Georgre was currently sitting down as his legs had given way after he had volunteered. His head was swaying back and forth, almost as if he was in a deep meditative trance.
‘Okay, Brother,’ said Troy kneeling down beside him. ‘It’s time you got going.’
The way he said it, Georgre knew his captain’s confidence in him surviving through the hour, was slim.
Both Brothers stood up and Georgre dusted himself off. Then he picked up the lantern. It was not too big and surprisingly light.
As he walked towards the door each of the Brother’s bent their heads in a sort of ‘Guard of Honour’. Some muttered words of encouragement to their comrade. Those who had been wearing hats, removing them.
‘Oh Gods. I haven’t even gone in yet and they already think I’m dead.’
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