Watchman's Quest

by Craig Askham

  “Greetings, Mr. Sallinger.” Her tone was clipped and posh, but kind. “You’ve made a new friend, I see. Not one of ours, I take it?”

  Jannath was on his knees in front of Ironshoulder, his face ashen in a way not just caused by the bad lighting. He couldn’t have stood if he’d wanted to. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, but nothing came out. Ironshoulder didn’t blame him; he was a simple man from a medieval world, staring at computer screens and guns.

  “Stand down,” he said to the soldiers, but they ignored him.

  “Do as he says,” Jessica ordered, and Ironshoulder was grateful for the faith she had in him. He wasn’t sure he had the same faith in himself at the moment, if he was brutally honest. This was the closest he’d ever come to failing a mission. Nevertheless, the soldiers lowered their weapons. Slowly. He reached down and grabbed the Watchman’s ponytail, and held him like a dog on a leash. The poor bastard didn’t even notice.

  “Time to take you home, Sergeant,” he said, gently.

  “Are we compromised?” Jessica asked, tone slightly less kind this time. Ironshoulder didn’t know how to give her a satisfactory answer.

  “I don’t know. He seems to be heading up a task force investigating us. I don’t know how many people are aware of our presence. I’ll take him back and deal with him, though. He’s seen too much.”

  “Negative.” The old woman’s voice was suddenly like a cracking whip. All traces of amusement drained from her lined face, and her jacketed arms appeared from behind her back to reveal tattoos on the backs of each hand that snaked up her wrists like the full sleeves they undoubtedly were. They must have looked good in her youth. “He wanted to come here, Johnny, so come here he shall. I think Mr. Bonfield will have a few questions for him.”

  Ironshoulder’s heart sank. Any hopes of brushing this little incident under the carpet and carrying out his own investigation had just been well and truly scuppered. Why was the ancient bitch even down in The Cellar, anyway?

  “I’ve got this covered, Jessie,” he tried, but she was shaking her head before he’d even finished the sentence. He tried again. “Let me take him back and dump his body in the harbour. I have contacts in the Watch who can help us with our investigation.”

  The Watchman tried to dart forward at the mention of his impending death, but Ironshoulder yanked him back by the ponytail until he yelled out. Up came the soldiers’ guns, immediately.

  “Enough, Mr. Sallinger!” Jessica was angry, now. “What a senseless waste of life that would be, you bloody great idiot! Try to think beyond your own self-preservation for five fucking minutes, and look at the bigger picture! Jesus Christ, man!”

  Silence descended on the room. Technically, Jessica Towsey had no authority here. She was in charge of the actors and actresses that help transition gamers into the Vanguran world, providing quests and training for those who weren’t quite ready to go it alone. Right here, right now, however, she was God. And there was nothing Ironshoulder could do about it.

  “Don’t let him kill me,” said the Watchman, in a pleading voice that sounded not unlike Lekan’s. “I can be of use to you.”

  “For God’s sake,” Ironshoulder groaned, and knew he’d lost. “Don’t fall for his bullshit. All he’s interested in is sending us back to where we came from. He thinks we’re invading his world. We don’t need him.”

  Jessica strode forward with the speed and intent of a woman half her age. Her hair was mostly still dark, and the reading glasses she only wore for fashion framed fine cheekbones that hinted at beauty long since lost. She bent over in front of the Watchman, hands once again clasped behind her back. She regarded him like he was a potential rescue from a dog shelter.

  “You’re wrong, Johnny. I think we might need him. Once we’ve shown him what we’re doing here, we might even be able to count on him as one of those sources within the Watch that you speak so fondly of.” She straightened abruptly, and grimaced as every bone in her spine made a loud protest. “Either way, that’s for our illustrious leader to decide, not us. Let go of his nice ponytail, please. Let’s not treat our new guest like he’s a dog.”

  Reluctantly, Ironshoulder did as he was told.

  “This is a mistake,” he said.

  “Back you go, please, Mr. Sallinger. I’m sure you have some loose ends you need to tie up on the other side. If we have further need of you before the end of your shift, we’ll message your implant.”

  Without acknowledging her command, Ironshoulder took a step backwards into the portal. It swallowed him whole, bad mood and all, and spat him back out the other side like he left a bad taste in the mouth.

  “What happened?” Pej demanded. “Where the hell is he?”

  Ironshoulder stepped clear of the portal, shaking his head to clear away the lethargy he was feeling from taking two trips so close together. Pej was pacing, probably had been since he and the Watchman had disappeared. A couple of free-standing mirrors looked like they’d gotten in his way, and were now laying on their sides in a worse state of repair than they had been before. Lekan was sat cross-legged on the floor like a child, leaning backwards and forwards as the guide passed him, as if doing so would prevent him getting walked into. His wig was crooked. The sight of it made Ironshoulder feel sick.

  “Dealt with,” he mumbled.

  “What does that mean? Is he dead? Did you kill him?”

  “It means he’s dealt with.”

  Lekan sighed as if he was bored, and pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. His fine clothing was now covered in dust, presumably from where Ironshoulder had sent him sprawling as he’d leapt after Jannath.

  “Well, now that’s sorted, I suppose I should be getting off,” he drawled. “No need to thank me, I had great fun. Best adventure yet.”

  “Stay where you are,” Ironshoulder said. “Give them a chance to…remove the body.”

  “You made a mess of The Cellar?” Pej Vahdat’s eyes went wide.

  Ironshoulder didn’t know what to say. Didn’t care, if he was honest. He shrugged.

  “Take Lekan back to the tavern. No point going back now, might as well go and enjoy the rest of your night.”

  Pej’s eyes went even wider.

  “After all this, you want to send him back? What the…?”

  He let the sentence trail off, hoping Ironshoulder would take the hint and explain himself. When he didn’t, Lekan cleared his throat.

  “I’m fine with whatever you fine chaps decide,” he said. “If my opinion is of any import, however, I’m more than happy to head back to The Chirping Cricket. I’ve definitely learnt my lesson. Best behaviour from now on. Pinky promise.”

  “Givrok?”

  Ironshoulder shrugged again. Letting him go back was undoubtedly the wrong decision. Jannath’s fellow Watchmen were going to start looking for him before the night was out, and if they came back to The Chirping Cricket to see Lekan there, Lekan was once again in danger of ending up in a dungeon somewhere. Which, as far as Ironshoulder was concerned, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it would serve him right. All of them, in fact. Especially Jessica bloody Towsey.

  “No,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I shouldn’t have suggested that. Take him home, Pej. Tell the management he needs to give Vangura a wide berth for at least a couple of weeks. It’ll take at least that long for this to die down.”

  “Wait a minute.” Lekan gave up the pretence of sounding relaxed about the whole situation, and folded his arms stubbornly. Seeing the dark look that crossed Ironshoulder’s face, he quickly unfolded them again. Nevertheless, it didn’t seem like he was going to back down. “Why should I suffer because you killed a member of the City Watch, Givrok Ironshoulder? That’s on you. They can lock you in one of their dungeons, for all I care. Not my problem.”

  “Take it up with management.” Ironshoulder sidestepped him, and headed in the direction of the door. He needed to check on Choo-choo before he left. In fact, it was probably his duty to make sure the Romani
an got back through the portal for medical treatment, but he wasn’t going to do that. Neither was he going to do the decent thing and take his place as sentry until they found a replacement for him. He was going to drink feijen for a few hours, and then he was going to get Rurhol out of whatever shit-stained cell he’d undoubtedly already been thrown into.

  “Oh, I’ll definitely be taking this up with management,” Lekan was saying. Ironshoulder ignored him, and kept walking away. “I’ll be summoning your directors before a parliament committee, in fact. We’ll see how they enjoy explaining themselves to the British public. The press are going to have a field day.”

  Ironshoulder paused, took a breath, and then turned around. As he started his menacing walk back towards the Foreign Secretary, the other man backed away so quickly he nearly fell through the portal. Only Pej’s quick reactions stopped him from doing so, as he reached out and grabbed the politician’s arm.

  “You’re full of shit,” Ironshoulder said, bending his neck to the smaller man’s level and coming to a stop inches away from the cowering man’s face. “This isn’t some kind of secret operation, Foreign Secretary. The public already know what we do. Half of them have been saving up their pennies for the last five years, just to be able to afford a weekend here. Why else do you think the economy’s in such a shit state? Imagine how angry they’re going to be when they find out their most prominent politicians have been using taxpayers’ money to fund the lifestyle they’re working so hard to afford? They’ll string the lot of you up, you ridiculous fool. Now stop being a prick, and fuck off home.” He turned away, then turned back again and whipped Lekan’s hairpiece off his head. “And give me that stupid thing before you go.”

  With that, Ironshoulder spun on his heel and headed for the door, the tip of his new wig trailing along the dusty floor.

  A Message From The Author

  Hi there. Me again. You seem to have consumed rather a large amount of feijen. Did you know that you snore? Quite loudly? I had to shake you rather violently to wake you up…

  Anyway, I don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of you just because you’ve had a few too many. Having said that, I do want to offer you another opportunity to sign up to my newsletter. You can unsubscribe at any time, I promise. I mentioned the free stuff, right?

  Just click here.

  Still not sure? Wow. You’re clearly more inebriated than I thought. Fine. This isn’t embarrassing at all. Just turn the page, and you can read a short excerpt from Demon Quest (Portal Hunter Chronicle: Book 2). There’s a link to Amazon at the end of it, as it’s already available for sale!

  Demon Quest: The Blurb

  Bounty Hunter on medieval planet required.

  No experience necessary.

  Must be willing to travel.

  Rafferty Barnes is an actor, and a damn good one at that. Currently employed by The Stillwater Project, he clocks in every day at the London portal and heads over to the medieval planet of Vangura to work his shift as a wandering bard. He hates every second, but it pays the bills while he works on reviving his stage career back home.

  Idella Breck is a tourist, and fledgling bounty hunter. A newcomer to Vangura, she’s on a mission to level-up and prove she’s got what it takes to stay alive on this beautiful, savage planet. As soon as she’s passed this final test, tracking down an infamous demon hunter and despatching him to whatever Vangura’s version of hell is, she’ll at last be free to travel without Tregurtha, her hulking Stillwater chaperone.

  There’s just one small problem; the actor playing the role of the infamous demon hunter has phoned in sick, throwing Stillwater’s entire quest into jeopardy. With Idella Breck and her team on the verge of discovering his secret lair, there’s no understudy waiting in the wings to take on the role.

  Step forward a reluctant Rafferty Barnes, who isn’t entirely convinced he’s the right candidate to play such a debauched, sadistic character while in the middle of a battle with his own personal demons.

  Will he manage to pull himself together in time to put on a performance worthy of his heyday, or will he fluff his lines completely and ruin the experience for all involved?

  Either way, Idella is coming. Determined to pass this test and be allowed to head off on her own adventures, she’s growing in confidence by the minute and determined to ruin a demon hunter’s day…

  Throw in a couple of City Watchmen investigating strange noises coming from an abandoned warehouse, as well as a surly Stillwater operative who’ll do whatever it takes to prevent the locals from discovering the existence of their visitors from Earth, and the result is a short, fast-paced portal fantasy adventure set on two incredible worlds.

  Demon Quest: An Excerpt

  Rafferty stroked his new goatee, then gave it a little tug to test the strength of the glue. It didn’t budge, but it did bring tears to his eyes. Satisfied, he made a mental note not to try that again.

  “In your own time, Mr. Barnes.” He turned to look over his shoulder, which was almost impossible in the red dragon armour that was a perfect match for the set the hologram had been wearing. It had taken nearly an hour for a three-person team to squeeze him into it, and there was a good chance it was never coming off again. No wonder Jason Lister had called in sick. Somewhere behind him, Jessica cleared her throat and spoke again. “In other words, Mr. Barnes, get your creaky-leathered arse through that portal.”

  “I’m mentally preparing, Jessica. With all due respect, I’ll get my creaky-leathered arse through that portal when I’m good and ready.”

  Jessica sighed theatrically, and it didn’t take much for him to imagine the eye roll that must have accompanied it. He gave up trying to look at her, and instead turned his attention back to the real source of his heel-dragging. There it was, straight ahead. The portal. Three steps away. Three long, terrifying steps. Six months of stepping through, and it still hadn’t gotten any easier. He craned his neck as far to the right as the heavy armour would let him, and looked at the green letters above the door that read Exit. The same thoughts tumbled through his mind that always did when he reached this juncture; should he be doing this, would it be better to try rebuilding his flagging career here on Earth, what if the portal collapsed while he was on the other side and he was trapped there forever, could he survive without a power shower and toothpaste for the rest of his life, and what if the portal never spat him out the other side and he was doomed to eternally whoosh through the cosmos or whatever the hell it was? They were all valid concerns, of course, and he always managed to come up with the same old answers; of course he shouldn’t be doing this, his career on Earth was dead not flagging so bloody well deal with it, life on the other side of the portal would probably be a whole lot better than life here anyway, but no, he probably couldn’t survive without a power shower and toothpaste, or triple quilted toilet paper for that matter, and for the love of God stop thinking about whooshing through the portal because there really was no suitable answer for that one.

  “Sweet Lord, Rafferty. I don’t care if I’m ninety-three years old, I swear to God I’m going to pick you up and throw you through if you don’t grow a pair in the next ten seconds.”

  Rafferty felt his face burn. Did this qualify as bullying in the workplace? Jessica appeared in his line of vision, pointedly blocking his view of the exit. The room was usually a hive of activity, with maybe ten people carrying out jobs concerning the portal that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. There were another five people, all soldiers, supposedly ready to shoot anybody or anything that appeared through the portal that wasn’t supposed to. And there was Marjorie, of course, the obligatory representative of the Professional Standards Department, here to make sure that everybody followed protocol. Finally, there was John Bonfield, the middle-aged American who looked like an Army general, minus the obligatory fat cigar that would have complemented his look perfectly. He was in charge of the entire London Stillwater operation, and Rafferty could feel his eyes boring into the back of hi
s head. All of them should have been hustling and bustling from one end of the huge, industrially lit basement to the other, checking reports and fiddling with switches that did God only knew what. At this precise point in time, however, they had all stopped what they were doing in order to watch him stand like a porcelain Dungeons and Dragons figurine, in front of the portal that should have been whooshing him to the Planet Vangura. To illustrate her point, Jessica was holding out both hands and silently closing one finger at a time as she counted down from ten.