by Clive Mullis
Treacle watched him with a degree of sympathy: as chief engineer his job entailed logistics, design and planning, to work out the what, the when and the how; as King of the Dwarfs, it was Goodhalgan’s job to give him what he required. He didn’t envy him this little problem.
Chapter 2
Jocelyn Cornwallis III, shoulder-length dark brown hair, handsome and better known as Jack, also known as a Lord of Gornstock, as well as an absent member of The Assembly — politics being his least favourite subject, he’d managed to find an idiot to stand as proxy to vote and act on his behalf — also known as a businessman, entrepreneur and private detective, and one of the richest men in the city, peered over the rim of his glass. He watched with interest as his friend and business partner, Frankie Kandalwick, suffered the haranguing and bullying by two ladies of the Gods Quad.
The religious order worshipped the four Twearth gods: the Sun, the Moon, the Fire and the Water. The Sun named his son Fire, while the Moon named her daughter Water. The Sun and the Moon were husband and wife and bickered continually but kept their distance, while the two offspring were always at each other’s throats. An interesting version of religion with the family rows taking centre stage.
‘All right, all right,’ yelled Frankie in defeat. ‘Here’s yer pennies, one for each of them. Now sod off.’
‘What, only one penny each?’ said one of the ladies with a condescending expression, while the other chewed lemons. ‘You tight-arsed miserable bastard. We need a new gold quadruple for the temple, and I tell you, they don’t come cheap, not to mention funding all the feasts; and how are the priests supposed to live on just a penny each? They have to live too, you know, and they are exalted above us so have to have a lifestyle to match. The temple provides and we provide the temple so the gods smile upon us. You, on the other hand, will be lucky if they don’t shit on your head. A penny? I ask you.’
Frankie turned, grabbed his two pints from the bar and sauntered away leaving the lady mid-harangue. Fortunately, they spotted another victim as he ordered a drink and arrowed in for the kill.
‘You got away lightly there,’ observed Cornwallis as Frankie sat down. Frankie, built like an outhouse with light cropped hair didn’t suffer intimidation — normally. ‘Eddie said they pinned one bloke to the wall last week, talked at him for nearly an hour until he donated everything he had.’
‘Yeah, it’s the weather. Got a lot to answer for, this weather. Starts raining and that sort just descend, like locusts. Could put a man right off his beer,’ replied Frankie taking a long pull of his pint. He smacked his lips in satisfaction. ‘Apart from me, that is.’
Cornwallis nodded. ‘I noticed that,’ he said ruefully. ‘Eddie thought about banning them, but then he thought of the entertainment value and decided to let them stay.’
They sat comfortably in The Black Stoat, their regular drinking establishment. Eddie the landlord happened to be the uncle to Rose, the third member of Cornwallis Investigations who also happened to be Cornwallis’ girlfriend. Outside, the rain came down hard, bucketing down in fact, which meant that the Gods Quad had a captive audience. The little piazza out front looked more like a lagoon with the squally rain showers that could last for days at this time of year.
Frankie tipped his head in the Gods Quad direction. ‘Just listen to ‘em. It reinforces my belief that people don’t enjoy religion, they just suffer from it.’
‘I think they enjoy making people suffer from it,’ replied Cornwallis.
Frankie thought for a moment. ‘Hey, you’re right; I got it the wrong way round.’
Just then, the front door opened and as ever in the Stoat, everyone stopped talking and looked around to see who had just come in. Interest waned quickly when they saw just a dripping dwarf standing there so conversations resumed, dismissing the interloper with the contempt he deserved.
The dwarf stood for a moment letting the rain from his coat drip onto the floor. He wrung his beard out then took off his reinforced leather hat and gave it a shake.
Eddie eyed the intruder then reached behind the bar where he kept his enforcer, a gnarled old wooden club with lumps of metal hammered into the end. His hand missed the enforcer and instead grabbed a glass.
‘Usual Trugral?’
Trugral nodded and then squelched over towards Cornwallis and Frankie. He pulled out a chair and sat down, regarding the two investigators.
‘Well?’ asked Cornwallis when no form of conversation came forth.
‘Hang on, let me get me pint first.’
‘Question of priorities then, is it?’
Trugral nodded. ‘I’m wet on the outside, just let me get wet on the inside.’
‘Equilibrium?’
‘Too bloody right. Ah, here we are,’ he said as Eddie came over and plonked a glass down in front of him.
The dwarf took a long pull and then smacked his lips in satisfaction. ‘Nothing like a drop of Gritblasters fer a bit of equilibrium.’
‘No indeed,’ replied Cornwallis as he raised his own glass.
‘What’s an “Ibrium” then?’ asked Frankie, thinking a tad outside the box. ‘I mean, equals are two a penny, but what about “Ibriums”? How common are they?’
‘It’s “equil” not “equal”, Frankie,’ said Cornwallis going back to his schooldays. ‘It’s spelled differently and it’s not two words stuck together, just one.’
‘But it means equal on both sides.’
‘It does.’
‘So why’s it spelled like that?’
Cornwallis paused, struggling to think of the answer.
‘It comes,’ said Trugral, ‘from an ancient language. “Equil” means “equal” and “Libr” means “balanced”, but actually it’s three words because someone bunged an “ium” on the end to make it sound better.’
Cornwallis and Frankie stared at the font of wisdom.
‘Yes,’ said Cornwallis, recovering quickly. ‘Just what I was going to say before you interrupted me.’
‘No, you weren’t,’ countered Frankie. ‘You’re just as thick as I am, despite your privileged education.’
‘Not thick, Frankie, just selective knowledge.’
‘So you selected not to know the answer?’
Cornwallis inclined his head. ‘Exactly; I have selected not to know the answers to a lot of questions, like how have you survived so long with a knowledge base as low as yours?’
‘Eh?’
‘You’re thinking that I’m taking the proverbial, but you’d be wrong. The system dictated my education, encapsulating a wide range of subjects which pertained to my proper station in life; that is, us nobs, as you like to call us, need to know how to rule and so the tutors taught accordingly. Your knowledge comes from the gutter. You learnt how to sneak in through a window and rifle a bedroom whilst the occupants were still slumbering in their beds, but they didn’t teach you how to get out of the charge should Mr Policeman catch you in the act. For that, you need a deep understanding of the finer points of the law and know who to pass the bung to; you have to go to the top, and being in the same club helps tremendously.’
‘You may be right, to a point,’ defended Frankie stoically. ‘But us common folk know that you have to tap up the right person, and our money is as good as yours.’
‘Ah, but you’re wrong there. A nobs’ money is worth more because it comes with obligation and preferment. It’s not just the exchange of cash; money is the least of it. A back has got an itch, and someone is working out what sort of scratch will give the most return: what influence can come with it.’
‘That’s hardly fair though.’
‘No, it’s not, but that’s life under the class system we have in this wonderful city of ours. That is why my education differed from yours.’
‘So you know which palm to grease.’
‘No, it’s whose palm to grease, and know what you can do for them, or, what they can do for you.’
‘That’s all well and good,’ interrupted Trugral, �
��but my glass is empty and I’m here to do you a favour.’
‘A favour?’ asked Cornwallis warily.
Trugral nodded. ‘Yep.’
‘So what is it?’
Trugral tapped his glass and grinned.
Cornwallis sighed and then called over to Eddie for refills.
‘So,’ said Cornwallis when the refreshments arrived. ‘What favour are you going to do for us?’
‘Not both of you, I’m afraid, Frankie hasn’t got the wherewithal.’
Frankie eyed the dwarf with disdain. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Trugral winked. ‘Someone wants to scratch and is looking for someone with an itch.’
Cornwallis and Frankie exchanged a confused look.
Trugral twitched his head and smiled wryly. ‘Goodhalgan would like the pleasure of your company. He sent me to find yer.’
Cornwallis followed Trugral down into the dwarf tunnels. He didn’t really need a guide now as he had been down so many times, so much so that he was practically an honorary dwarf, considered so by the whole community. He ducked under a low overhang, turned a left and descended the steps down to a lower level.
Goodhalgan continued to study a crude map laid out on the table as Cornwallis walked through the door. He looked up, nodded a greeting and then beckoned the investigator over.
‘Look at this, what do you make of it?’
‘I think it’s upside down,’ replied Cornwallis, feeling whimsical after quaffing several pints of beer. ‘However, should I peruse it from your side then I might get a better idea.’
Cornwallis walked around the table and peeked over the king of the dwarfs’ shoulder.
Goodhalgan sighed and twiddled with his beard. ‘Trugral found you in the Stoat, didn’t he?’
‘Of course. How did you know?’
‘The fumes are turning my beard green, and you’re trying to be funny.’
‘Do you know you’re sounding just like Rose? Although she hasn’t got a beard, and she’s taller, and she’s got these two great big—’
‘Eyes, yes, I know. I’ve seen them enough times. Look, this is… or can be, important. For both of us.’
‘Right,’ said Cornwallis, stopping his swaying and composing himself. ‘Right, I’m all ears.’
‘Shall we start again?’
Cornwallis nodded.
‘Good. Now, what do you make of this?’
Cornwallis took a deep breath and tried to sober up rapidly. Trugral insisted on having a couple of shots of dwarf whisky before they left and it would have been churlish not to join him: the trouble is, with humans, it can have a mind-numbing effect on the system akin to being hit on the head by a thirty-pound sledgehammer. He jabbed a finger towards a bit of calligraphic script, readjusted his aim and then managed to hit the mark.
‘This is the name of one of your entrances, Trafal Square.’ He stabbed at another name. ‘And this is another, Butchers Street. It’s a map of your entrances.’
‘It is, well done,’ replied Goodhalgan. ‘We have loads of them and have come to realise that perhaps they could be put to some use for the benefit of the city. It is our intention to link them all up so that the residents of the city can move easily from one area to another without having to contend with the crowd upstairs.’
Cornwallis let this little nugget of information settle into his brain. ‘How?’ he asked eventually.
‘Carts on tracks: we lay tracks on the upper level and then invite passengers to ride on our carts for a small fee. All underground so they won’t get wet.’
‘That could actually work,’ exclaimed Cornwallis.
Goodhalgan nodded. ‘That’s what we thought.’
‘So why are you telling me?’
‘Ah, now we come to the interesting part. We, that is, us dwarfs, would like you to be a business partner.’
‘Partner?’
‘Yes. We can’t do it all and a lot of long-legs are ambivalent towards us. Frankly, we need you to put the word about.’
‘Why me?’
Goodhalgan took a deep breath. ‘For some unaccountable reason, people tend to trust you. I don’t know why, but they do. You would give the enterprise a degree of respectability.’
Cornwallis tried to push the effects of the whisky far away as his mind clicked into gear, it whirled, but a cog struggled to knit into the machine as he tried to get his head around it all. He’d had business dealings in the past where alcohol played a major part, but normally the other party suffered marginally more than he did, as he did the buying as well as the pouring: but this proposal could be enormous. He turned his head to look at the grinning king of the dwarfs as he stood beside him: he’d plated the offering, with garnish, and a side order of chips. He did wonder if the shots of whisky were not Trugral’s idea, but Goodhalgan’s. The king was sober as a plank which put him at a distinct advantage.
Goodhalgan regarded Cornwallis’ sober part and saw the glint in the eye, indicating that his interest had been piqued.
‘How much?’ asked Cornwallis’ sober bit.
‘How much?’ replied Goodhalgan innocently.
‘Yes, how much is this going to cost me?’
‘Well, since you bring the subject up, it would be remiss of me not to say that a financial contribution on your part would be very much appreciated. It would only be a nominal amount considering the possible long-term revenue that I envisage coming our way. A piffling little bit of small change that you would hardly miss and all for the good of the community. It would hardly dent your coffer and all for a mouth-watering ten percent stake.’
Cornwallis’ eyes widened. ‘Ten percent? Let’s be honest now, I wouldn’t get out of bed for just ten percent. Fifty-fifty.’
Goodhalgan looked aghast. ‘Impossible. The Council would never accept that.’
The alcohol finally left Cornwallis’ head and now he could concentrate as the business brain got into gear. Discussions then began in earnest.
Cornwallis trudged up the stairs and walked into his office. The secretary, Maud, had gone home long ago but she had tidied up and kept the stove going. He put a pot on to boil ready for coffee and then sat down at his desk, now devoid of any paperwork. It had been a long negotiation with Goodhalgan but he felt the end result made it worthwhile. He toyed with the paperweight, mulling over the costs involved. He considered offsetting the investment by offering part of his share to others who may be interested but then dismissed the idea when he thought that the only one he could really trust would be his father and he didn’t need the money: nor did he, when he came to think about it, but the plan seemed such a good opportunity and the future returns could be astronomical. He wanted to take the risk. Private investigating could certainly get the pulse racing, but nothing like making a shed load of gold through someone else’s honest hard work.
The office door creaked open and a head appeared in the gap. Blonde, beautiful and with eyes to die for, Rose smiled into the darkness.
‘What are you doing, Jack? Frankie called round and said you’d gone underground. What was it about?’
‘The future,’ replied Cornwallis enigmatically. ‘The dwarfs and I are now partners in a little enterprise.’
‘Oh?’
Rose walked in and began to light a couple of lamps, sending the thoughtful darkness away into oblivion.
Cornwallis turned to watch as she glided across the floor. He never got tired of looking at her and knew full well he received the envy of every red-blooded male in the city. Rose came as close to perfection as a girl could get with blemish-free skin, beauty, brains, honey-coloured hair and a flawless figure. He held his arms out as she lit the second lamp and then came over to sit on his lap, which pleased him no end.
She cupped his head in her hands and kissed his forehead. ‘What sort of enterprise?’
‘A good one, but one that requires a bit of a risk.’
‘Goodhalgan doesn’t take risks.’
‘He does now and this could be a b
ig one.’
‘How, why?’
‘He wants… he wants to open up the tunnels to the general public as a means of transportation.’
‘Transportation? How?’
She shifted position which pleased him even more.
‘He plans to put tracks down and move people through the upper levels on carts. They can hop on and off at the underground entrance of their choice. They stay dry and keep away from the crowds in the street. They won’t need to use cabs anymore.’
Rose shifted position again which took a bit of the pressure off.
‘You mean it’ll put the cabs out of business?’ she asked. ‘That’s hardly fair.’
‘It won’t put them out of business; it will just give people a choice. At the moment, the only choice they have is either to take a cab or walk. I’m not including those who have a private carriage, just those who can’t afford them. Think on it; someone can enter one of the tunnels, jump on a cart, then a few minutes later they’d be on the other side of the city. It will be a revelation.’
Steam rattled the pot, which could have indicated to the more enlightened a new age of discovery and invention, but in this case, it just indicated that it was time for coffee. Rose relinquished her position, leading Cornwallis to sigh in disappointment, and went over to make the drink.
‘I can see it working,’ she said as she filled the mugs. ‘But wouldn’t getting something like that off the ground cost a lot of money?’
‘Er, yes it would. But we’ll be in at the start and as it gets successful, we can offset it in some way. I’ve already thought about having people advertise their goods and services down there, you know, put up hoardings and posters, that sort of thing. I’m sure that there’s a lot more we can do.’
Rose walked over and put the mugs down on the desk before sitting once more in his lap.
‘How much money?’ she asked. ‘I know it’s all yours and you can do what you want with it, but sometimes you can be a bit impetuous.’
