In Defence of the Realm - Eight Floors, Second Tower

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'That was never a turret!'

The exit to Hox was not a deep Door; the slight rise being all that stood between the associates and their goal. Instead, the exit was a wide mouth at the base of a cliff. From where he stood, Adrian could see the slope down into the valley, the tent villages that had sprung up in the grass and the great congress building that surveyed the countryside.

'Maybe “turretial” means something different in the old language,' said Dastardly, whose memory was grey in this area.

'That is a tower,' Adrian continued in amazement, 'and what's more is that it looks clockwork.'

The building itself was eight stories high, rising out of the uneven ground in the middle of the valley like it was giving the whole place a rude gesture.  Gears that made it glinted in the moonlight. Behind it the sky was at its darkest, the fading into the barest glimpse of day back to the east.

'There's something else up there,' said Plen, pointing at the very top. 'An oval shape.'

'The King's tower looks somewhat like that,' said Adrian. 'The architects of the Clockwork City and this Turretial were certainly one and the same.' The knight unconsciously dipped his hand into the satchel to check that the blue imprints were still there.

'That would part way explain how Siy can save the city. I want to know why he's called Congress.' Dastardly then shot off down the incline.

'Wait!' Plen T. ran after him. 'You don't know how to get to the congress room!'

The freelancer slowed his pace as he approached the makeshift communities near the base of the tower. Though some camp fires were still smouldering, throughout the camps early risers were lighting torches. The gnome and the knight caught up when he'd wandered into the apparent centre.

'Everyone has split off into groups,' said Plen. 'I think we should keep moving before we wake them.'

Far to their right there was a patch of ogres sleeping under the stars, and to their left was a very regal looking patch of southern-men with six poster, rainbow coloured tents. Behind them was a much less ornate group of people whose tents were whatever they could scrounge, those from the Clockwork City.

'There are people here from all over the world!' Dastardly said. 'Every race, every country.' He looked ahead where a miniature jungle had spread up, indicating the presence of sprites.

'Almost all the countries.' said Adrian. 'I see no jotunn, no plainsmen, no sha–'

'Would you two stop gawping?' Plen said. 'I'm taking you up the Turretial now or never.'

The two humans followed the gnome to the tower at the bottom of the slope. The foundations were built deep into the earth and the ground floor entry had long been filled with composting debris.

'Looks like the last person out left the door open, aha,' said Plen. 'Come on, I haven't got all day.'

Instead of stairs there was an elevator, a clockwork one that Plen operated with deceptive ease. Dastardly reluctantly got inside, muttering, 'it wasn't my fault to begin with.'

The device clinkered its way up the Turretial, passing through each level that held, among other things, a row of bookcases, eight cook pots and on the fifth floor some boxes that a pessimistic adventurer could have mistaken for coffins.

The elevator stopped on the seventh and went no farther. Dastardly stepped onto the cog-shaped floor, wavered a bit and crouched low in case the entire structure gave way. Adrian boldly strode to a gap in the cog-shaped walls. At this height the Pan was the horizon, with a golden wedge of sunlight cautiously edging over it.

'Oh wow,' said Plen. He rushed to the knight's side. On the outer edge of the tower was a wide staircase that circled to the top floor, and moored to the outside railing was an airship of gnomish design. It was almost all balloon, at least twelve yards long and covered in propellers.

'I've gotta check this out,' he said, climbing over the edge. 'It's specially modified, I'm sure the owner won't mind.'

'We'll meet you here on the way down,' said Adrian. The knight picked up Dastardly and they ascended to the final floor, each step comprised of a cog layered on top of the last one. At the top of the stairs was an airy room with a ring of chairs, or maybe thrones, and a podium that held some objects that looked like those Adrian had in his satchel. A nasal voice rang through the hollow space.

'Welcome, Sir Adrian. Thank you for so promptly bringing the artefacts.'

A rat face poked around the podium.

'Siy is a kobom?' said Dastardly.

Adrian's face bunched up. 'You can only hear someone's voice with the communication stones.'

Siy stepped out to greet them. 'Sir Adrian and, ah, is it Cowardly Medieval?'

'Dastardly,' said the freelancer.

'Of course. How is Helen?' Siy said.

Now Dastardly's face bunched up. 'No one could know about that.'

'Well, Mr Medieval, I know a lot of things that “no one could know about”. For instance, your acquaintance on my airship will probably steal it within the hour. That's alright, I don't need it any more.'

Dawn more or less broke, the sun finally spreading into the sky.

Adrian quietly handed Siy the two imprints.

'This is going to be a very good day,' said the kobom. 'Before I set it all in motion, would you like to hear a story?'

'What sort of story?' said Adrian.

Dastardly muttered under his breath again, 'no one could know about her.'

'History!' said Siy. 'It took me years, but I've pieced it together. I had to find the ruins in the desert, the gnome museum... I also had to pay quite a lot of money for the Shard, the owner didn't truly know what he possessed.'

'What do you mean?'

'Take a seat.' Siy jumped and clicked his feet together excitedly. 'Let me tell you about the visitor from far away and the formation of Congress!'

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In Defence of the Realm - Seven Miles and a Third Adventurer

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The rain eventually petered out and Sir Adrian said goodbye to his horse. He led Dastardly out into the Sponge with a torch from the fire in hand, and they took another nearby cave that sloped downwards at the back.

'So what sort of name is Dastardly?' Adrian said once they'd reached the bottom of the cave. Around them sat pools of water, though the path they took was dry.

'A relic from a past life. Someone called me Dastardly, so that I was called.' Eager to change the subject, the freelancer asked, 'so why isn't it flooded here? With all the rain you would expect a great lake over the Pan.'

'Not from anywhere near here, right?' Adrian turned raised his eyebrow.

'My memory isn't great... the plains, the Turretial, nothing concrete.'

'Still, you could tell me more than I would tell you.' The knight kept leading the way. Aside from the torch, the only sights were the occasional shaft of moonlight that shone through small holes in the rocks.

'But I would guess it's the same here as under the mountains,' the knight said. 'The gnomes dig huge reservoirs to catch the water that filters through the rock, that way their tunnels stay dry.'

Not much farther on they arrived at the Doors. There were eight of them. Four, including the one that Adrian approached, were as wooden castle doors with brass knockers and riveted braces. The others were nearly three times the size of a man.

'The big doors are probably for ogres,' Adrian said in a withdrawn and uninterested tone. He made a rat-tat-a-tat-tat-tat and the door swung open with a click that suggested, unnervingly to Dastardly, the presence of clockwork. On the other side was a stone path, eight horses wide, underneath a very tall arching tunnel. As they stepped out onto the road, a six legged beast of burden cantered past.

The freelancer looked up and down. The road was almost straight, stretching into darkness with only gnomish lamps to light the way. Everyone, it seemed, was travelling in the same direction, because not a single soul was coming back along the road.

'It can't be more than fifteen minutes from here to Hox,' he said, kneeling down.

Adrian raised an eyebrow.

'You have got to be kidding.'

---

Ten minutes of uncomfortable running followed.

'You could have done me a favour and taken off the armour,' said Dastardly, huffing as each step with the Mercurial Boots took more than ten yards off their journey.

'It isn't exactly fun up here either, you know,' the knight yelled back down from his position riding piggyback on the freelancer.

A sign on the left declared that Hox was coming up soon at the end of the road. If the light were better, Dastardly could have noticed that, on the outer edges, the road sloped upwards into the night. He would also have noticed the large shadow that sat on the fringe of the road, farthest between lamps.

All in one excruciating moment, the freelancer felt Adrian lifted from his back, and for the second time that night, he stumbled into trouble.

'Ungh,' he said, flat on the ground.

'Well, well,' said a small voice. 'Looks like someone new. We're really making a killing off all these travellers that haven't been to Hox before, right Jowno?'

'Dat's for sure, Plen.'

Dastardly felt a poke on his neck.

'Pray that you've got enough for the highway toll, mate. Roll over and turn out those pockets.'

The freelancer did as he was told.

'I've only got – hang on, that's not a crossbow!'

The highwayman, actually a gnome, was holding a metal stick that probably did look like a crossbow to the untrained eye. Dastardly was a little more learned, and punched the gnome in the gut before leaping to his feet. A moment later, after his head had stopped spinning, he pulled out his sword to aim at the accomplice, who was holding Sir Adrian up like a kitten. The ogre probably reeked if you got too close, and its grey face was scabbed all over.

'Hey, you're not supposed ta –' it said, before Dastardly's bolt hit it in the chest. It dropped the knight.

'Owie! Owie owie!' the ogre yelled, more out of annoyance than mortal pain.

'Come on Adrian, we've got to get going!'

'That's Sir Adrian to you,' the knight groaned. As they both made to leave, the gnome called out behind them.

'Wait! I've seen those before!'

'What?' Dastardly turned and glanced at the ground. The highway gnome got to his feet.

'Did you get those gadgets from Nuff Sed?'

'He's just buttering you up, you fool,' said Adrian.

'What's it to you?' the freelancer said.

'Nuff Sed's my cousin. He made the best boots but took 'em away before anyone else could copy them.'

'We don't care,' Adrian said. 'He's just going to set the ogre after us, Dastardly.  We need to leave.'

The ogre had extricated the bolt. 'What you want I should do, Plen?'

The gnome stepped forward and put on a businesslike air.

'The name's Plen T. Sed. I'd do anything to study that kit you're using.'

'Could you get us to the Turretial?'

'Sure. Jowno, I'll meet you back here.'

The ogre shrugged its shoulders and sat down, shaking the entire tunnel.

Adrian looked at the freelancer. 'Do you make a habit of being too reasonable to kill?'

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In Defence of the Delay

Readers can rest assured that I haven't slipped to the point of abandoning my weekly schedule entirely, but I am posting to notify anyone interested that the next chapter of "In Defence of the Realm" won't be posted around the same time tomorrow because I won't be near a computer.

Instead, look forward to it around twenty four hours after the regular time.  I hope I haven't ruined anyone's weekend with this announcement ;)

In other news, progress has currently stalled on planning the next serial, "Into the Crust".  While I have tried to build a consistent and mysterious world fitting my rapid fire description in August, I am having trouble reconciling the more light-hearted aspects of the blurb (and some of the weirder ideas I had behind it) with the rather structured and serious tone the plot has taken on.  I have considered letting the story continue in this fashion for the moment to see where it takes me - the plus side for readers is that I may have several chapters drafted and finished before they go live.  Regardless, I have another, less dramatic story I am eager to share once "In Defence of the Realm" finishes that may bridge the gap.

In Defence of the Realm - Six Knocks on the Fourth Door

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As the sword sliced through the air Dastardly dodged into the centre of the cave mouth. Foolishly he'd let go of the boots, the one thing that could easily get him out of here.

'Why'd you open your visor?' he asked as he fumbled for his trick blade.

'You know, I thought I was being dramatic and I – hey, what are you doing?'

The knight lunged forward again as a bolt from Dastardly's hilt bounced off his helmet. Clumsily turning the thing around in his arms, the freelancer used the sword to swipe away the one coming towards him.

'Who are you? Why are you even here?' he said.

The next strike was corps a corps in the swashbuckling tradition, the knight having tried a backhand horizontal slash and Dastardly blocking vertically.

'I'm Sir Adrian, and I'm on an important mission for King and glory! Who are you?'

The freelancer pushed with all the strength he could muster and kicked the knight out of the way. He brought his blade down over Sir Adrian's head, who blocked it like second nature.

'I'm Dastardly. I'm on a mission to save my hide.'

In an attempt to control both weapons, the freelancer forced the blade downwards. Too late he realised he had left the shooter open, and when the knight's sword bumped into the hilt of his own it released the second shot.

'Yah!' he yelped as he jumped back. The bolt whizzed into the night.

'Clever little device you have there,' said Sir Adrian. 'Pity it can't help you.'

'I give up,' said Dastardly, 'you're clearly a better swordsman than I am! I only did this for a stranger who threatened to disembowel me!'

'You poisoned my horse,' the knight glowered. 'What have you got to worry about, you've got freaking gnomish boots! I was supposed to be leaving for Hox tonight.'

'Really?' Dastardly sheathed his sword, though Adrian's was still half-raised in deflating fury. 'I was on my way there myself. What is going on with your people?'

'It doesn't make any difference. The Clockwork City is on the move.'

Outside the cave the rain finally fell. The sky seemed to open up all at once, covering the rocks of the Sponge in dirty rivulets.

'Come in then,' said Adrian, motioning him to the fire. 'You won't be going anywhere for the moment.'

The knight put his sword away and the freelancer grabbed the Mercurial Boots before the rain blew in.

'I know the Clockwork City is on the move,' said Dastardly. 'I saw some of the citizens along the road. There must be a fair group already over the Pan.'

'You don't understand,' Adrian said as he sat across from his cobbled together double, which consisted mostly of bags filled with sand wearing a cape. 'The actual city has gotten up and left.'

A distressed neigh from the knight's horse was a warning to Dastardly that he may not be out of the woods just yet.

'How did that happen? A city is a city, they stay where they are built.'

'It isn't called the Clockwork City for nothing. The whole place is a mysterious, finely honed machine, and one day the King felt the ground beneath his feet shake – he ordered everyone to leave before they understood what was happening.'

'Why have you been out here in Sponge Country then?'

The knight pointed at the decoy figure. 'You will find it in my satchel.'

Dastardly found a bag that held two slightly curved objects. He pulled one out, it was about the size of a dinner plate and as heavy and smooth as marble. He brought it closer to the fire. The stony ellipse was cracked around the edges, a deep azure colour, and held the imprint of what could have been a four legged spider.

'That impression is unique to the Clockwork City,' said Adrian. 'Or so we thought. Not long after the City had faded from sight, a man called Siy contacted the King using a communication stone. He knew of the City's departure somehow, and told us that if we could bring our artefact – and one from this “Sponge Country” – to the Turretial at Hox, he would bring it back to our lands.'

'The Land-Regent is curious as to why everyone is travelling there,' said Dastardly. He paused for a beat. 'But you don't seem like someone from the Clockwork City. Where are all the wind-up gadgets?'

'We didn't reverse engineer the City, that was the gnomes. We just lived there until recently – of course, now the man at the Turretial has invited all of the world's people to join him in congress.'

That's a relief, thought Dastardly. 'Good,' he said. 'I had a friend... well, let's just say I have reasons not to like clockwork technology. Anyway, I think I should come with you to Hox. The Regent would want me to talk with Siy for him.'

'That's going to be a problem, what with my transport about to have an allergic reaction to something she ate, no thanks to you.' Behind him the freelancer heard the sound, he guessed, of the horse lying down on the ground.

'I've got an idea for that,' said Dastardly. 'A knight like yourself would have thought smart and bought passage on the deep road, right?'

'Yes,' said Adrian warily. 'You buy a code that the gnome's machines recognise for a certain period of time.'

'When the rain stops, we need to get down there,' the freelancer said while he strapped on his boots.

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In Defence of the Realm - Five Minutes Later

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Dastardly's doubts about the mercenary’s idea were currently being overruled by a desire not to be skewered.

'To shorten our search is payment enough,' Krotar said.

The freelancer lined up his starting stretch. Around were the trees that formed into a forest to the north west but this detour to Sponge Country would take him around and north. Even from here you could see the foothills that fed into the place, if it were daytime. As it was, Dastardly would be running through near blackness, the heavy clouds overhead threatening him with rain. There were probably still six hours or more before hints of sunlight would trickle over the mountains.

'One last thing,' he said, coiling up ready to run, 'I think you're a maniac.'

He'd bounded nearly a kilometre before it crossed his mind.

Alright wise guy, what will you do when you return?

His other thoughts replied, well it's not like I'm going to return. I'll just double back onto the road to Hox when I am out of sight.

The first set of thoughts harrowed him. Krotar is a psycho with at least two trained killers at his disposal. He will hunt you down wherever you go.

The first thoughts won out again, for now. He continued across the fields, with hardly a bump in the ground to tell him where he was going. Every few minutes he could see a tree or forgotten gatepost and tried not to run into it. Twice, the trodden path swerved so hard he wound up with grass all over his legs – the lanes and road weren't designed to be travelled this quickly.

When he came across the great highway that stretched from the east mountains, he slowed down and was surprised to see people making their way along it. The road was elevated a hundred metres ahead of him along a knoll that formed the toes of the hills. Dastardly climbed the ridge and stood on the path. Despite the obscured moon he could just about make out the crags of Sponge Country, normally visible from miles around. A man brushed past as if the freelancer weren't there.

'Excuse me, sir?' he ventured.

'Can't stop too long,' the man mumbled. 'More important.'

Dastardly kept pace alongside as the man shuffled onward.

'Why is everyone really going to Hox?'

'The Clockwork City's gone.'

'Is that it? I heard that more than humans had crossed the mountains. Seen any gnomes?'

'They take the deep roads,' the man said, idly pushing Dastardly away.

'Hey!' he said, but did not press the matter. Instead he backed up and ran diagonally along this section of the road, leaping off the other side. This slope of the hill was steeper and fed to the grass-less Pan in which the Sponge sat.

The country was a mismatched scattering of different soft rocks that, over the millennia, had been shaped by the rains into a honeycomb. Beyond that, the Pan was not really a desert in the traditional sense, it was not much drier than the plains to the south, simply devoid of the large trees that characterised the local woodlands. Folklore told that the biggest rains were so excited to zoom out from the sea that they didn't stop till the mountains, resulting in shallow creek beds criss-crossing back across the Pan and flowing over the Sponge. Folklore also said that under the Sponge Country was a secret entrance to the deep roads used by gnomes and ogres, but that was proven. Dastardly knew that if a spy were in these lands they should have been at least smart enough to buy passage under the mountains and cut days off their journey.

Pangs of hunger began an assault on the freelancer's composure, so he stopped running and opened his pack. He'd brought a trail mix with nuts and fruit but not much else. A handful would serve until he returned to Krotar's camp, so he swung the bag back over his shoulders and raced to the sharp edge of the cliff.

How would I get around if I set up camp here? Dastardly thought. Without waiting he leaped into the wide space between two high walls, the springs in the Mercurial Boots effortlessly saving his shins. In between two clouds the moon could be seen.

He couldn't just rush in. The freelancer would have to think like a tracker. He looked around on the ground in the moonlight, most of it was flat rock but sandy patches had grown around corners; perhaps with footprints on them.

After wandering three or four of the larger paths, sloping up and down with the occasional ominous gaping hole he'd edged past, he found what he wanted. Better than what he wanted in fact – the print in the sand was that of a hoof.

If they have a horse, they'll be taking the widest paths he thought. What was around the following corner, though, nearly had him in stitches from laughter.

Dim firelight danced at the mouth of a nearby cave. The moon was again fading from sight behind cloud and Dastardly could make out a human shaped shadow outlined in the orange glow. It was too easy, and when he thought that the freelancer's neck twinged. He ignored it. Dastardly unclipped the boots for additional stealth and peeked around the edge of the stone.

The cave's occupant had his back to the opening. The horse was tied up, rope under a rock, closer to Dastardly. Keeping his eye on the figure by the fire, the freelancer approached the animal. He procured the trail mix and fed it some. Outside, a flash of lightening and subsequent crash of thunder made Dastardly jump, but the spy didn't move.

Laminitis, he thought. It was awful of him to feed the creature river walnuts, but the effects wouldn't be permanent.

'You think I don't know what you're doing?' came a voice from behind him. The freelancer turned slowly to see a man in silver armour. The man lifted his visor.

'That over there?' he pointed. 'That's a decoy, and you my friend are messing with the wrong Knight of the Clockwork City.'

Sir Adrian Salem swung his sword.

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Idea Suggestions

I haven't done this for a while but I thought I might line up a story for once "In Defence of the Realm" finishes.  Have a read of the following synopses and note your favourite in the comments!

Reach for the Stars

An alien is stranded on Earth in a war zone and has to wait for his ship to return, but he's no "E.T.".  There are more dangerous people looking for him than humans.  When he and a few compatriots - who don't seem to mind that their latest ally is shiny black and invertebrate - escape into a neutral country, they join forces with the International Bureau of Extraterrestrial Affairs and perform undercover missions against private local enemies, as well as the possibility of an invasion by another race.

Into the Crust

Huge chunks of land float around the core of this planet, linked by perilous chains that few dare to navigate.  On one, a bookshop owner discovers that his brother has gone missing.  Determined to find him, he has to leave the safety of his country and travel to other floating continents.  Following a trail that points to the farthest corners of the known world, he meets a robot that loves to dance and a hideous monster that terrorises unprotected villages (at least, that's what the villagers say).  He also occasionally plays football.

In Defence of the Realm - Four Mercenaries (part 2)

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'I apologise for any damage I have caused, Mr Krota,' Dastardly said. He didn't feel as if he had hit the ground. Perhaps something had cushioned his fall. 'Or if I hurt anyone.'

'Damage? Great billiards, boy,' the man laughed, and to the freelancer this was an unsettling sight. 'It is unfortunate that you did not completely kill Bei. He is hard to get rid of.'

A nasal voice rang out through the camp. From the other standing tent a very short man – Dastardly did a double take, a person with a rat's head – emerged. It favoured a leg slightly and had tissues stuffed up its long snout.

'I heard that, leader man,' said the thing.

'I take it that you have never seen a kobom,' said Krotar. 'Let me properly introduce our little operation here.' He stood up for dramatic effect. 'You have already met the brawn and the *ahem*.' Krotar pointed to the lion man and Renda. 'I am the brains, and my name is Crow-Tar, which means “like two kinds of black” in the hill tongue where we come from.'

'An' me,' said the kobom with a self-satisfied grin. 'We met at high speed.'

'Bei's people are very adept with clockwork technology,' Krotar continued.

'I thought that the gnomes –'

'Pff! Amateurs,' Bei said.

Renda sat down between them. 'When Muscles knocked you out we had to pry Bei from your sword.'

'Amateur work but interesting nonetheless.'

'So what are you all doing here in the plains?' said Dastardly.

Krotar grinned amiably. 'None of your business.'

'Alright then,' the freelancer got to his feet. 'I will leave you to it, for I am in a hurry.'

As he turned to leave the circle of light, he felt a sharp point in the small of his back.

'Not so fast,' Krotar said.

'Huh?'

'I wanted to be friendly. You do owe me, and I am sure you accept the simplicity of “stick around or I'll stick this through you.”'

Dastardly swivelled on the spot.

'Hi, how are you,' he said. 'I think we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Dastardly Medieval and I am on an urgent mission from the Land-Regent.'

'Excellent!' Krotar looked at the others around the fire, whilst maintaining the disconcerting grin. 'We have something in common.'

'Excellent,' Dastardly echoed. 'Can I please leave?'

The leader man sat back on the ground. The freelancer didn't wait to be asked to join him.

'Well,' Krotar said brightly. 'We are humble mercenaries on a job for your Regent.'

'Pardon me, but did we not just go through this? You said it was none of my business.'

'Shut up,' said Renda.

'You will help us,' said Krotar. 'We were a little quick to jump at the listing by the aforementioned regent, as we all hail from a land far away.'

'What he means is we don't know our directions,' said Bei. Renda shot him a dangerous look.

'We are searching for a spy in these lands. Wherever you must be headed to, his base of operations cannot be too far off your path.'

'Who would want to spy around here?' said the freelancer. 'There's just miles of flat grass.'

'Rule #2 in the Merc Charter. Ours is to do and get paid, not to enquire. Besides, I don't care. My point is this: in your special boots, you could be out to the Sponge Country before we have even packed up camp. All we ask is that you report to us what you have found, and your debt will be paid.'

'You are very generous,' Dastardly said. And a total psycho, he thought.

'Don't forget your other effects.' Krotar motioned to the lion man behind him. 'Can Mr Medieval have his sword and backpack returned to him?'

Dastardly felt the pack hit him hard in the back of the head. The sword followed but only afforded a glance on his ear.

'I was hoping for something like that,' Krotar said with the biggest grin yet.

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In Defence of the Realm - Four Mercenaries (part 1)

So we begin chapter four, which as been gathering dust for months.  I thought that I could finish it within a page but instead I am splitting the chapter in half, the next section to come next week.

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The freelancer sat up and blinked away sleep. A slimy tent came into view, so small that the centre pole came down between his legs. Beside himself and a mat just thick enough to take the edge off the stony ground was a woman. She played with a knife in the kind of idle fashion supposed to intimidate, and wore a fur lined one-piece with clipped on leather greaves. She hadn't looked at him yet so he raised his head, followed by his body, and realised his hands were tied together.

'Oh, you're awake.' His watcher ducked her head through a flap in the canvas and looked back at him. Dastardly was disarmed by the sharp sculpted jaw and penetrating gaze, this was a woman whom you didn't mess with. He sat entranced, until a heavy whack bruised his left cheek.

'What the hell?' he said. There was a man standing at the flap, his hair and beard made a ring like an angry sunflower. He whacked Dastardly again.

'What do you want?'

The man pointed the painful object at Dastardly's nose. It was his trick sword, still in its scabbard.

'Oh no.'

The woman stood up next to the lion man. 'He wants you to pull the stupid sword from the sheath.'

'Why can't he?' the freelancer said. The man thumped him a third time.

'It's gnomish. It won't open without the owner's hands.'

Dastardly groaned. 'Didn't know that. What's in it for me?'

This time the woman held back the blow. Dastardly mouthed thanks.

'We won't break your legs.'

Dastardly saw he was still wearing the Mercurial Boots, but they wouldn't stop the lion man from smashing his shins.

'Is there a way we can do this that doesn't involve me staying tied up?' the freelancer said.

The woman and man growled in unison, before a heavy voice on the outside bounced into the tent.

'What are those two doing?'

Both of his captor's heads swivelled.

'Nothing, Krotar,' crooned the woman.

'Bei just told me that you'd sorted out the mess in the tent – ' the speaker barged through the flap. 'Billiards!' he exclaimed. 'You must be the “animal” who crashed into our camp.'

There was another harmonious growl.

'Get this man untied, you imbeciles! We're better than this!'

The woman started, 'but we were just –'

'No excuses. Honestly Renda, I think our new friend has been setting a bad example for you.'

Renda loosened the rope around Dastardly's wrists and begrudgingly helped him up.  The freelancer groaned, rubbed his arms and stumbled into the evening air where a billy can hung over a fire.  To his right was a collapsed canvas.  On the opposite side of camp was another tent.

'Sit by the fire,' said the apparent leader, beckoning Dastardly.  'I think you owe me an explanation.'

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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.

Next >>

In Defence of the Realm - Two Initials

<< Previous

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.

Next >>

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.'

Next >>

Snippets: Attacked By A Monster

Fortunately (or unfortunately, if you think of it that way) I wasn't there the first night. Jacques told me the next Monday. I don't know why actually, he hadn't been particularly amiable in the past and we got the impression that he was in need of a friend or two.

'It's aliens or vampires or monsters or something!' he blurted out. 'They got in a circle and started chanting, and there was a flash of light and -'

'Hang on,' interrupted Jaime. 'Where did you say you were?'

'I didn't. It was out by the shopping centre; I was... out... at night and it was around the back. You could see through the window because of the construction going on. Something's up.'

'One moment,' I said, 'you said that they took someone in there with them?'

'Yeah. Maybe it was some sort of transformation,' Jacques said as if he was watching the science fiction channel.

'Or it was just some cult and they were initiating them,' Jaime said, unusually killing the air of mystery with additional mystery.

'Then it could be like that story, you know, Drydal Bones and the Cult of Del-Saperoth - Chumley discovers the ancient tribe hellbent on summoning evil into our world!' Again, Jacques' enthusiasm made the whole business seem ridiculous and childish.

'Jacques reads too much Strange Fables,' Jaime dismissed him with ease. 'Come on, Mike. We'll leave him to his games.'

Regardless, that Thursday night the three of us hid in an empty store, watching the security lock the doors. These things happen too fast, too unusually sometimes - just like the stories.

Snippets: Is Dead?

'Nah, he's just sleeping,' the voice said rather certainly. 'The past few days were fairly hard on him. First there was that business with the police at the docks.'

'Would you kindly hand over the sword sir?'
'What? This is barely a knife - besides, haven't you heard of cultural integrity?'
'Obviously not; you must understand that visitors to the port have to maintain decorum.'
'Yeah, and what's with those spectacles? How do you see anything through them?'
'They're called SunGlass. They protect my eyes from rays.'
'This guy's delusional, Dave. He thinks the rays can get him on land.'
'No kidding, Mott. Sir, would you please -'
- one simple slash. It was one sided. So was the sword. Now he should clean it on the grass up on the cliff.
Except that didn't happen, because he thought he was a sensible man.
'Look, it's got a lock, okay? No one's getting their hands on this.'

'True. You heard of how he took out those thugs at the west cape, didn't you?'

'How did he get in here? You idiots, get him!'
'I wouldn't come any closer if I were you.'
... ... ...
'Ew. Good point. Ah, boss?'
'Don't just stand there, you've got weapons; take him out!
'Sorry, but we can't let anyone escape, knowing that you'll just tattle to the authorities.'
'I don't tattle.'
Several moments later there were no smugglers to turn in. The man felt great remorse for defending himself.

'He's waking up,' said the first voice.

'What is wrong with you? Do you enjoy being vague and turning yourself in for self defense?' said the second voice. The be-sunglassed man sat up on the bed in the island village.

'I just had a tip, that's all. You people have your families back from their dungeons, and now I will be out of your way. Can you handle that?' The man stood slowly.

'It's okay,' said the first man in the room, eyeing the second disdainfully, 'you can stay longer if you need to.'

'I have to get going back to the mainland. There's a seaship leaving for the other continent tomorrow and I will continue my search there.' The man was already at the door, without the two having witnessed the intervening traversal. He took the katana-like blade from the wall to hitch back into his belt.

'So what are you looking for, if it's not too personal?'

'I am sure I already told you, but of course it is personal. They took my wife.'

After he had gone, there was one sentiment in the air echoed in a quote from the pub that night -
'If he wasn't a walking stereotype, I don't know what is.'

Snippets: A Man Named Johan Bowiel

Felice had heard other stories about the East Wing, but many were assumed to be made up by the executives to dissuade investigation. She was certain that she had heard of some of those that worked here, if only by how badly their reputation had plummeted since they arrived.

The door to the next room up was labeled '13', but there didn't seem to be any numbering system around here - she knocked and the squeak of a chair and a grunt or sigh at least told her someone was listening.

'Hello?' hesitant opening of door...

'Ah, you must be the new sacri- uhm, applicant. Uh, come on in.'

Felice continued through into the dark room.

'Oh, thank you dear, the light from the corridor is most annoying and it's good you, ah, closed the door.'

The figure speaking was behind a desk at the back of the room, as much as she could make out, sitting behind it - was that a cigar in (his?) mouth?

'Oh, take a seat my dear, uhm, what can I do for you?'

'I was just shown my room and I really have no idea what I am supposed to be doing, Sir.'

'Uhm, you don't have to be that formal around me, Miss Strange, ah, you can just call me Johan - Johan Bowiel.'

'Are you the Johan Bowiel?' Felice said without containing the amazement. 'The Johan Bowiel who stopped writing five years ago? You're practically a legend!'

'Um, I wouldn't go so far as to, uh, say that, Miss Strange. I was simply good at what I did. The time came that I had to, ah, let the up an' comings come and retire gracefully. Uhm, I couldn't just finish like that, so I, aha, came here to wind down. Some of the people who work in this wing are, um, very remarkable. Pity that none of our -'

'Please, can you just tell me what we are - I mean I am - supposed to do here?'

Johan creaked his old chair.

'It's hard to say.'

'What do you mean?'

'Look, uhm, you just take the package next to the door down the hall, ah, up the stairs and across the floor to the Juggler, and then we'll, uh, talk about your work.'

Felice stared blankly at nothing for a while. 'Ooo-kay,' she drew out. She felt around near the slightly less dark of the crack under the door and quickly left the room with the package.

It occurred to her, although she couldn't have told for sure what she had seen in the pitch black, that if Johan did have a cigar, it hadn't moved while he was umming and ahhing, and not once had he taken a puff.

Adrian Continues?

Now of course, the ending to this serial comes with an opening for further adventures of the Knight of the Clockwork City - at least expansion on the world in general. So before I go and revise the Golden Lentil further and take up more of your time with a PDF book download or a published work, I am setting up a poll for anyone who reads this to voice what they think should continue.

Along with this comes a stronger version of the reactions for every post: a poll of slightly more detailed reactions to the story! Okay, neither are compulsory, but we don't just want more of the same do we? Right?

Adrian's External

Now for the pleasure of the several individuals who read this, the last installment. Feel free to read this part and then the preceding one (that is, the linear order) or read the previous and then this last one (which is my preferred order, with my favourite ending).

Now how did Adrian resolve the dragon incident to eventually make his way back?

Adrian had tip-toed carefully into the cavern, the hot breath condensed on his face and mixed with sweat. Around a corner there was a cage comprised of bones, as though the food had assisted with the décor. Inside were two cadavers and three gaunt figures whose eyes followed him as he approached.

‘Shh,’ he said. The captured heroes barely displayed signs of life.

‘Are you here for the lentil?’ one said shakily.

‘Yes. What is up ahead?’

‘Tis an abhorrent dragon, friend. He captured us one by one, and eats us periodically. Two have managed to will themselves out of the apprehension.’ He pointed at the bodies.

‘Eww. Look, stay here – I’ll find a way to break you out.’

Adrian tried to wyrm his way into the inner lair. The old thing’s senses were still as sharp as ever, and nearly toppling him backwards came its booming voice.

‘Who is it that dares intrude upon my hoard?’

The muzzle of the massive creature filled Adrian’s vision.

‘It is I, Sir Adrian Salem of the Clockwork City,’ said Adrian after recovering from the shock.

‘What is your purpose here, Adrian Salem?’

‘I have come to claim the Golden Lentil,’ Adrian said.

‘Golden Lentil? What Golden Lentil? Aren’t lentils brown, mushy and tasteless vegetables?’ it bellowed. ‘A dragon has no use for those!’

‘You may have got it wrong, noble Dragon. Contrary to popular belief, lentils are delicious and nutritious! I have come for the one you may have mistaken for gold,’ the knight rebutted.

‘Very well, but you should know I cannot let you simply walk within and take what you like. Also, contrary to popular belief, not all dragons are noble creatures.’ The thing slowly began to move. Adrian realised what was happening and ran. From behind, a great boom rippled out from the dragon’s footstep. Adrian reached the bone cage and tried to look for a lock or door.

‘It’s no use. Dragons have no thumbs, they don’t build a cage with a door,’ said one of the food prisoners.

‘I’m not going to leave you people behind!’

‘Are you kidding? Save yourself!’

‘Okay.’ Adrian was sure he could hear the lumbering, elderly monster drawing breath. He made it around the corner in the cave and didn’t look back, but the scorch and glow made it clear what it had just done. He spared a moment’s thought for the heroes who had gone before him, but before he continued on there was a heave noise and a thunderous crash.

Adrian ventured a look around the corner after several beats. The giant reptile lay still on the ground. Dead? he thought. It still wasn’t moving.

‘Well that was anticlimactic,’ he said to himself. Behind where the dragon had emerged from was a pile of plunder, including the armour of several knights. Right on top lay a golden, sparkling, roughly pillow shaped object – the Golden Lentil. The issue plaguing his mind was how to get back carrying the damn thing, more implicitly how to descend the mountain.

Back outside the cave he got a chance to really survey the countryside; it wasn’t a bad place to be. His mind slipped into thinking about how he had spent most of his life in the Clockwork City before becoming a knight, and presently parts of his life were showing themselves before his eyes. The feeling of a presence came upon him and from behind a woman’s voice as sticky as honey and dark as ebony said:

‘Why hello again, Adrian. Care for a dance?’

Adrian's End (For Now)

Unconventional, yes, but this whole writing is yet to be consolidated as a whole anyway - so for reasons that I might make clearer later, here is the chronologically last part of the story:

Finally Adrian had claimed the Golden Lentil and returned to the Clockwork City. Just in time, too, because people were beginning to starve to death. He was outside the western gate and talking to the same man who had sent him on this journey.

‘Your clues were helpful… I guess,’ he mumbled.

Egghead sighed, ‘I’m afraid that if I hadn’t given you those clues you wouldn’t have had such a hard time. It’s all to do with narrative flow.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, never mind. Anyway, you’d better get that Lentil in the ground.’

Adrian ceremoniously lowered the legume into a hole dug by the substantially compensated farmer. As soon as the earth was replaced over it, a plant more than two metres tall burst from within the ground like a firework. Within seconds, pods had exploded all around, and any fertile soil within a kilometre was springing with lentils itself. Within a clearing in the forest, a new lentil plant was approached by a battle scarred spinach which made whistling noises, and the fields of the fiefdom were filled with plentiful and healthy food.

The story of Adrian and the Golden Lentil was spread throughout the land, and before long the City became a regional tourist attraction. Out of the flow of foreigners, the Prince was even able to trap a wife. That certainly calmed him down. Everyone in the end lived happily – until the next time Adrian was needed to help them out.