Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by TheJackal
Tuesday, 30 August 2005 |
Keys rattled, one jammed into place, and the heavy door opened. The guard did not have to say anything; both knew it was time. Not as word was said as they were led thought the corridors up some flights of stairs, and out into the courtyard.
The crowd gaze off a tremendous roar when they were spotted. It was jolly exciting fun.
Nemoy and Polix were not having fun. They walked slowly up the path towards the gallows. Their heavy shackles made it quite hard to walk with any sort of proper rhythm.
‘POLIX, POLIX,’ shouted a voice from the crowd.
Polix looked over to his right to see where the voice was coming from. The person calling his name looked familiar.
‘Mick? Is that you?’
‘Yep, it’s me. How are you?’ said Mick.
‘How am I?’ thought Polix to himself. ‘I’m about to be executed by the Order and he wants to know how I’m doing! Bloody fucking marvellous, that’s how I’m doing.’
However, this type of response didn’t seem to be what Mick was expecting. ‘Well, I’ve been kind of busy lately,’ replied Polix eventually.
‘Yeh, tell me about it!’ said Mick. ‘My family is driving me crazy. So how’s the wife?’
‘Er…fine I guess, considering.’
One of the prison guards nudged Polix in the back, indicating that it was time to go.
‘Well, I really must head now, Mick.’
‘Got something important to do?’ he asked.
‘Yes, you could put it like that.’
‘Okay so. Say “Hi” to the wife for me.’
With that, Polix dazedly continued on his final journey. That had been the weirdest conversation of his life, including the time he’d that long conversation with some woman about how she liked to secretly watch birds for hours on end. It hadn’t been until she mentioned the word ‘ornithology’ that Polix had realised they were on a totally different wavelength.
‘Who was he?’ asked Nemoy to pass the time.
‘An old friend.’
‘Did he realise that we’re about to be executed?’
‘Don’t know. I suppose not.’
‘What does he think the large crowd is here for, then?’ asked Nemoy incredulously.
‘Mick has never been too bright on the uptake, I’m afraid,’ said Polix.
‘Nut job.’
Up ahead on the gallows, Harry was feeling quite nervous. It was a big day and he kept on thinking about how things could go wrong. The last thing Harry wanted was a half severed head in his hands.
Harry looked down on the large crowd, to where his mother was. She had a tear in her eye and could be heard to repeatedly say in a proud and audible voice: ‘That’s my son up there, you know. My son.’
Before the executions could begin, there was the obligatory live entertainment. It was usually used to rev up the crowd. Today, it would include a more political motive.
A rather small stage had been set up in front of the gallows earlier in the day. A vast, navy sheet was traipsed along near the back of the stage to allow for the actors to come and go unseen.
John Wax, leader of the Parlay Players, was wearing a ridiculously shaped hat as he walked out onto the stage. Someone smacked a large metal sheet with hammer to get the crowd’s attention. A gong would have been more effective but they couldn’t afford one.
‘LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,’ John shouted in a charismatic voice. ‘THE PARLAY PLAYERS DRAMTIC ENSEMBLE ARE PROUD TO PRESENT TO YOU “A MEDIATOR’S DUTY”.’
There was a furore of applause, which quickly died down. John moved swiftly off stage and the first Act began.
Twenty minutes later, they were well into the second and final act, and things were going quite well.
Before taking to the stage, Brother Rubeus had made an impromptu appearance to wish them well. Despite this, there was something in the way that the Grand Master spoke which left the thespians with the feeling that, if they were to mess up the storyline, then their immediate families would be soon be spending a pleasant afternoon picking out a suitable headstone for the deceased.
Perhaps it was Rubeus’ words of encouragement, or even something in the air, which caused the Parlay Players to perform the way the did.
Tom Harris led the way, acting his heart out as Carlo, and the crowd was responding to his passion. John couldn’t wait ‘til the big scene at the end, where Carlo had to kiss his beloved Lara goodbye and fulfil his duty as a Mediator by extinguishing her life force. They would need mops to clean up all the tears!
At that moment, right when things were going so well, Peter tripped on his dress. His technique was rather poor and wouldn’t have received more than a 3.2 from diving judges if there were any around.
He did manage to somehow hurtle himself almost off the stage completely. John groaned. So did Peter.
The audience laughed.
It was okay; the audience was laughing. They thought it was part of the story. Rubeus would know it wasn’t, that was true enough, but had he not said that they were to put on a good show? He hadn’t mentioned one hundred percent accuracy being part of the bargain.
Peter rose to his feet, his pride more bruised than his skin. He trooped on, quickly taking up where they had left off.
John finally breathed out.
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