Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by TheJackal
Tuesday, 30 August 2005 |
Approximately fifteen minutes after Harry’s unexpected visit, he found himself at the door to Grand Master Rubeus’ study. He knocked in mid-pant, while using the other hand to wipe some sick from his jacket, which had been lying on the floor, beside the bucket of sick.
‘Enter.’
Harry slowly opened the door and walked inside.
‘Er, hello your Excellency,’ said Harry, who didn’t have a clue how one was supposed to address a Grand Master.
‘Ah, Mr. Froop,’ said Brother Rubeus, looking up at the six foot two, nineteen stone frame of Harry. ‘Please sit down.’
Harry acquiesced.
‘You wanted to see me your Grace?’
‘Yes, that’s right. And please do call me Sir.’
‘Yes, your…Sir.’
‘Now, you’re probably wondering why I’ve summoned you here today, yes?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
To Harry’s complete horror Rubeus reached inside his jacket pocket for something. Harry cringed. He then almost ducked when he saw that Rubeus had a knife in his hand.
Ruebus had noticed,
‘This is a letter opener,’ said Rubeus coolly. ‘If I wanted you dead I could have had any of my men do it for me. Why would I bother to call you in here?’
Harry said nothing. He kept his eyes on the knife. Harry’s mind couldn’t ignore the fact that even though the knife’s primary purpose was letter opening, it was still sharp!
‘Well, Harry. Can I call you Harry? Today happens to be your lucky day.’
‘Is it?’ asked Harry. ‘Why’s that then?’
‘Today is your lucky day,’ continued Rubeus, ignoring the interruption, ‘because you are not only still alive, but you have also been chosen to be joint Head Executioner for tomorrow’s proceedings. You have heard about the public executions tomorrow?’
‘Yes, of course! But me? I mean, Old Grimshaw is much more senior. I thought he’d…’
‘Mr. Grimshaw will be there as well, but will be in charge of Brother Polix Maybury. And yes, Mr. Grimshaw does happen to be the most senior Executioner in Parlay City, but that also happens to be to his disadvantage. You see, the man is quite old, and I believe the job of Head Executioner to be the charge of the young. We wouldn’t like any mishaps now, would we?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Therefore you will be in charge of Jonah Nemoy’s beheading.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said Harry.
‘So you will be accepting this great honour?’ asked Rubeus.
‘Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir.’
‘Splendid.’
‘Gosh, I can’t wait to tell my mum. She’ll be so proud.’
‘And why shouldn’t she be?’ said Rubeus, leading the man towards the door. ‘I foresee a fine future for you.’
‘Thank you, Sir,’ said Harry again, and bowed three times.
‘Oh, and another thing, Mr. Froop,’ said Rubeus, just as Harry had his left hand on the door handle.
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Could you do something about that smell? We wouldn’t like it to become contagious now, would we?’
With Froop gone, Rubeus could relax. There was something about being nice to people that made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t his forte.
Nonetheless, he’d been forced to be pleasant to Mr. Froop because Rubeus simply didn’t trust Old Grimshaw’s ability to be the sole Head Executioner anymore.
And with the most important execution in the history of the Order taking place in twenty-four hours, Rubeus wasn’t taking any chances. He didn’t want a botched job with the axe.
‘Now,’ said Rubeus to himself, ‘to tell Grimshaw and John Wax the bad news.’
This prospect served to cheer Rubeus up somewhat for he liked delivering bad news. It was right down his alley.
John Wax slowly walked into The Brass Ass tavern, never keeping his eyes off the ground. He looked dazed but not confused enough to forget his sense of direction. John reached the counter, just stopping before bumping into it, turned left, and headed down to the smokier section in the back.
‘John,’ said Tom Harris from a table near the back of the room. ‘We’re over here.’
John looked up to where the others were sitting and almost trudged over to them.
‘So?’ said Tom expectantly. ‘What did he want? Lose any body parts?’
‘Erm…Brother Rubeus wants us to put on a thirty minute play,’ replied John in horror. ‘Tomorrow!’
‘Tomorrow?’ chorused the rest of the group together.
‘Why tomorrow?’ asked Tom.
‘What play?’ asked Grey Collins.
‘He wants us to do “A Mediator’s Duty” before the public executions tomorrow,’ replied John hopelessly.
‘But we’re crap at that play! You know that,’ said Grey.
‘I know we are but he apparently doesn’t,’ said John. ‘I told him that we weren’t solid on the lines for A Mediator’s Duty and perhaps he would be better off getting another act.’
‘Ooh, you did not say that to his face, did you?’ grimaced Tom Harris.
‘Yep. It’s true, ain’t it?’
‘And you still have all your teeth! What did he say?’
John took a moment to steady himself. The memory of Grand Master Rubeus’ reply was excruciating. ‘He smiled at me!’
Each of the men in the room gasped.
‘Can you still have children?’ asked Grey, patting John consolingly on the shoulder.
‘Yes, I can still have sodding children! After taking one look at the evil bastard’s face, I said that we could do the play. Otherwise, I’m sure I would indeed have lost something I’d miss.’
‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Peter Fillstacks.
‘Put on the play. What else can we do?’
‘What I want to know,’ said Tom, ‘is how come he picked us? I mean, everyone knows we’re just amateurs and only act in our spare time.’
The others nodded their heads to this statement.
‘I suppose it’s because there simply ain’t anyone else that can provide entertainment for half an hour,’ said Peter.
‘There’s Floyd Battersby,’ said Grey. ‘He can juggle.’
‘Yes, but only with two balls!’ said Peter.
‘Even I can do that,’ added Tom.
‘Yes,’ said John Wax, ‘the talent in Parlay is pretty dire. I mean, even Tom’s granny could juggle two apples.’
‘Well my granny is blind actually,’ interjected Tom.
‘Shut up,’ said John, giving Tom a bad look.
‘Look…it doesn’t matter about who else has talent in this dump ’cause we’re the ones he chose. That means we had better do a good job of it or else we’ll end up like that servant of his did.’
Everyone in Parlay City over the age of twelve had heard the story of what Grand Master Rubeus had done to one of his servants. Rubeus had made sure people knew. The group shuddered in unison.
‘Right. Now that we know what we’re up against, we can get down to some serious practice. Ye had better tell your wives to make you a few sandwiches because it’s going to be an all-nighter.’
Walking around unnoticed had not been a problem Gee. He still had his old black habit denoting membership of the Order of Mediators. Anyone wearing that soon fitted in with the locals in Parlay City.
Only the Order’s soldiers were looking for him, so the residents who serviced the day-to-day needs of Order, with everything from clothes to female companionship, would more than likely not care even if Gee’s face were familiar.
As for Brother Kalem Asphalt, he was still a member of the Order, and it soon became apparent that his rather prolonged absence had not raised a single eyebrow.
Apart from Troy, of course. The Brother Reverent had left the homemade tunnel in Sleepy Falls, calmly rejoined his men, and introduced to them two members of his squad.
Several of the keener eyed soldiers had noticed the new Brothers bore a remarkable resemblance to those who they looking for. These soldiers well gifted in the eyesight department, were also top of the class in the uptake stakes. They did not ask questions.
Accept orders, that was your job. If Salem Troy was happy, then you were happy. If he says we are off home to Parlay City, then hop on your horse and get going. A man asking awkward questions may soon find he cannot ask any others, as he now lacks the vocal cords to complete the transaction.
Once back in Parlay, Troy saw that things were heating up. Temperature was near boiling point and tomorrow’s executions seemed set for an overflow.
The double execution was something Troy was not surprised by. What had surprised him was the rumour that Polix Maybury had given himself up. Most rumours bore truth in the city. The damn fool probably thought Rubeus would spare him. How could someone, whose ranking had risen to the dizzy height of the Elite Ten, be so naïve?
Rubeus didn’t do mercy. Other people did, but not him. He preferred pain. And torture. And public showings of just how much he liked his preferences.
They needed some way to rescue Nemoy from the Grand Master’s clutches. Unfortunately, they also needed to catch Rubeus unawares to be rid of him for good. It was no simple task. To succeed, their timing must be perfect.
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