In Defence of the Realm - Three Shots

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The gnome's head reached two feet, and a long, bell-tipped hood brought him up to Dastardly's waist. Beer bottle bases were strapped to his eyes for spectacles.

'Waory also left some cash if you can use it.'

The gnome jumped to grab the pouch. The freelancer dropped to his knees and followed Nuff-Sed behind a compost bin that hid the entrance to his basement. Dastardly wished he had the courage to tell Nuff that the Regent and Waory were watching him but suspected that he already knew, and was probably watching back.

Under the low ceiling were ten inch tables with sheets draped over various contorted shapes. On the farthest side of the room, where Dastardly would not fit, Nuff-Sed unveiled a set of brass legs.

'For this price, I would offer them very little. But for Dastardly, my friend, I will allow the use of these human-sized Mercurial Boots.'

In the alley space Dastardly could stand up and try on Nuff-Sed's contraption.

'They generate torque from air pressure and body heat so you can continue to accelerate.'

'I can run fast?' clarified Dastardly.

'And far.' said the gnome. 'If you take the road north you can keep going for hours without fatigue setting in. Just try to slow down in the woods so you don't splat on a tree.'

'I don't know what I can do to repay you, Nuff.' Dastardly jogged on the spot, each step lifting him higher than usual.

'Don't mention it. Business is slow, what with it being illegal...' Nuff paused. 'Aha, that's it! I knew there was something else.' He went back inside for a second. The gnome reappeared with a sheath, containing a sword that was small for the freelancer and almost too heavy for Nuff.

'Watch and learn.' He removed the sword and balanced the blade on his shoulder. Pressing a button on the cross-guard produced a sort of aiming stock as the other side popped out into a miniature crossbow.

'The actual mechanism contains three bolts, as much as I could fit in.' Nuff gnomehandled it back into its scabbard before holding the same button to hide the additional weapon.

'Doesn't that seem a little wind-up?' Dastardly intoned.

'If you are referring to clockwork, Dastardly, I must say I find nothing wrong with such a technology. Yes, the sword contains springs, but that is it. There are no gears, no ratchets, no motors.'

'Alright.' But it wasn't alright.

'That's it, customer. Don't hesitate next time someone gives you money to grease my palms, either, every little bit helps.'

The discussion was finished. Nuff returned under his house and Dastardly returned to a barren apartment up the road to pack for the country. There was not much else to do then but try out the Mercurial Boots, so he wandered to the edge of town. Not like the cities of the real countries around them, the buildings on the plains became fewer between with mathematical reliability, so the edge was where the freelancer decided to start running.

He was going stunningly, passing over land at speeds faster than any horse, until he tripped over a campsite.

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In Defence of the Realm - Two Initials

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Dastardly Medieval had been many things: a wandering bodyguard, a private investigator and a bear to name a few; but he'd also been in danger, peril and prison. At present he was none of these – he had absolutely nothing to do. Inside a coffee shop down town of the Land-Regent’s castle he began reading the Plains Times, the only periodical published in this boring little country. Between a robbery at an archaeological dig and the gnomes flouting their inappropriate aircraft over the border, he found what he wanted. The church had half a page asking for low cost protection on a pilgrimage to the south. Before reading any more however, Dastardly felt a prickle on the back of his neck. He turned around to see Waory.

'Hullo, Mr Medieval.'

'Waory? Why are you –'

'No time to waste, Mr Medieval, I am here to tell you about the Land-Regent's mission.' The faux-domo took a seat across the table from Dastardly.

'First, tell me if I want to accept.'

'You have no choice. He said to give you this if you weren't sure,' Waory passed over a crumpled note. The handwriting was all too familiar.

Remember our little arrangement? I believe you still owe me.

- S.R., Land-Regent Elect

'This can't be serious.'

Waory gave him a knowing look.

Dastardly's voice wavered. 'And now he's the ruler?' He had never thought of the man as the ruling type.

'Shall I continue, or allow you to take it up with the Regent himself?'

'No, no – I think this will do.' The freelancer handed the note back, focusing all attention on not quivering.

Waory took it and described the plans.

'The ruling body of the city, that is he and I, are concerned with recent events over the mountains.'

'I need to sneak into the Clockwork City?' the freelancer said. He had dreamt of the ways it could be possible.

'No,' Waory grunted dismissively. 'We understand you have a friend with access to gnome technology, a friend whom we are happy to ignore at present. We would like you to contact this friend of yours and ascertain a way to reach Hox in less than a day.'

'What for? The Turretial hasn't been used in decades.'

'Which gives us good reason to wonder why all of a sudden people are travelling there.'

Dastardly spent precious seconds ruminating whilst staring straight at Waory.

'I have no choice,' he finally said.

'Indeed.'  Waory's smug face stood up to leave, taking his body with it. On the table now sat a modest pouch of money.

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In Defence of the Realm - One Message

'Land-Regent, sir? There is a man from the mountain guard to see you.'

'Show him in, Waory.'

The Land-Regent sat impatiently on his dilapidated chair. As his clerk Waory opened the door, a ragged man in armour stepped forward sheepishly.

'Land-Regent, your highness,' he began.

'Please,' he rung his gauntlet-covered hands, 'don't start with the “your highness” crap – I'm here because no one else is, I'm not some absolute ruler. Sir will be enough.'

'Why thank you, sir, er –'

'Spit it out.' The Land-Regent combined sharpness with approachability, a frightening mix.

'Yes, okay.' The mountain guard stood straighter and cleared his throat. 'I had to report on the rumour mill, sir.'

'Go on.' The rumour mill had been one of the Land-Regent's more successful ideas, built where travellers from other lands took the least dangerous route over Cold Peak.

'The Clockwork King's fiefdom is apparently moving. Something about their city not being what it used to.' The guard knew that he wasn't reaching the point quickly enough for the Regent. 'And there have been... excursions into our northern lands. We believe the whispers point to a spy in Sponge Country, as well as increased tension to the east in Finch.'

'Why couldn't this wait till the scheduled time next month?'

'Because sir,' the guard took a deep breath, 'all of the travellers from the past week are destined for Hox.'

There was silence for a while, but Waory didn't know why.

'You've done well,' the Land-Regent softened a little. 'I shall send an extra large mead barrel back to the mill when you return.'

'Thank you very much your Lordship,' the man bowed. Waory could see the Regent straining not to snap inside.

'Just remember now,' he said in an overly joyous fashion, 'it's Sir, I am no Lord, nor highness.'

The guard had also noticed the Regent's expression and left the room hastily. When the doors closed, the Land-Regent burst.

'Why must I continually remind them who I am?!' He stamped down the few steps that elevated his chair. 'I did not ask for this job –'

'Uh, Sir,' Waory said before it went further, 'if I may interject, what is Hox?'

'Dash it all, Waory – I'm sorry I forgot. Surely you must have at least read a mention in the library after you arrived?'

It was now Waory's turn to look sheepish. 'Not yet, Sir. The library is extensive to say the least.'

The Land-Regent swept himself back onto the faux throne.

'The Turretial of Hox, Waory, is a near-mythical meeting place far to the north west on the other side of the desert pan. If so many people are going there, it means one of two things: that the world congress has been summoned, or there is a party to which we aren't invited. And I'm not that optimistic.'

'I do vaguely know of the congress, Sir, but I thought that it had been disbanded for generations.'

The Regent rested his forehead on his palm.

'That's the point. There are still communication stones in the ruling houses of each province, but ours was lost at about the time of my predecessor's passing. My guess is that someone has cleared out the Turretial and proposed a new congress. For whatever reason it may be, it is bad enough that people are travelling there. You know how the roads between Cold Peak and the Pan are, even at the best of times.'

'Maybe the lords and kings with communication stones know something we don't?' said Waory.

'Yes, or things have gotten so bad on the other side of the mountains that going to Hox is the best plan they have.'

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