by Craig Zerf
‘OK,’ said Horgy. ‘I suppose it’s time for the next phase of the plan. Where’s the captain?’
‘He’s with Dreenee,’ answered Cabbie with a grin. ‘The two of them seem to have spent every waking moment together since we got here. She even goes on his rounds with him. It’s like they’re joined at the hip or something.’
‘Box, Basin,’ Smegly called. ‘Go and find him and tell him to report back here sharpish.’ The two dwarves ran off to do the master’s bidding. ‘So – you reckon that you’re up to this, Horgy. It’s a big risk and, I won’t beat about the bush, there’s a good chance that you won’t make it back out alive.’
Horgy shrugged. ‘It has to be tried,’ he said. ‘It’s no good just running the bridge up to the gates and hoping that they’ll all come pouring out. They’ll be too suspicious that we didn’t try to storm across and, if we did try, they would kill too many of us. I can’t let that happen. We’ve got to give them a reason to cross that bridge onto the open ground and the only one that I could think of was Bil’s sceptre. If I can steal that and bring it out onto the plain there’s no way that he’ll stay bottled up inside the castle. From what we’ve heard they all hold that sceptre in very high regard. It seems to have some sort of religious significance or something. If we get the sceptre then they’ll attack.’
‘Let me try,’ begged Legles. ‘I have more experience at moving silently. My battle skills are far superior to yours so I’ll have a much better chance at staying alive than you.’
Horgy shook his head. ‘It has to be me. Don’t ask why because I don’t know. Maybe it’s something the master’s masters master whatever master alleged – he said that I was the thief so, if thief I am, then thief I be.’
As Horgy finished talking, Dreenee and Bravad ran up, hand in hand. Cabbie raised an eyebrow but said nothing. ‘Well, it looks like it’s time,’ said the captain. ‘OK, you all know what to do. Let’s get to it.’
Upon his command the dwarves gathered around the wheeled bridge and started to push it slowly towards the moat and the castle gate. ‘Faster,’ urged the captain. ‘If we don’t get up enough speed then there’s no way Dreenee and Biggest will be able to keep it going until it falls into place.’
Dreenee and Biggest ran behind the dwarf-driven bridge and, as they ran, Dreenee activated her protective bracelet which spun a shimmering blue shield of light around her and Biggest. This was the one part of the plan that both Smegly and Plob were less than happy about but, as it was impossible to maintain an ‘earth, protect’, shield wall around any moving object they were forced to rely solely on Dreenee’s magical bracelet and, as it was specifically gifted to her, it would only work if she was wearing it. They had teamed her up with Biggest in the hope that his enormous strength coupled with Dreenee’s aggression would be sufficient to keep propelling the bridge towards the gate after it got within bow and arrow range and the unprotected dwarves were forced to drop out.
As the bridge started rolling forward, Horgy slipped his colour-shifting cloak on and began his run around to the other side of the castle, relying on the fact that all eyes would be on the advancing bridge and, should anyone glance in his direction, his cloak would provide sufficient concealment. He ran swiftly around the edge of the moat until he reached the partly hidden sally port that the captain had made his escape from so many days before. He slid into the water and swam slowly, so as not to cause any ripples, across to the port. When he got there he clambered quickly into the opening and lay there for a while catching his breath. Then, he crawled into the castle.
Meanwhile the bridge rattled towards the gate joggling and bouncing frantically as it picked up speed. Shouting came from the walls and turrets of the castle and arrows started flying out in the direction of the trundling structure but most fell well short. As they pushed closer and closer the arrows started to home in on them until, when they got too close for comfort, the captain ordered the dwarves to fall out and, as they did, he followed them.
Dreenee and Biggest threw themselves at the bridge as they put their full weight into keeping it going. Sheets of arrows bounced off Dreenee’s magical shield and lay scattered on the ground around them and slowly, ever so slowly, the bridge ground to a halt, a scant two or three feet from the moat. Dreenee screamed in frustration and Biggest threw his head back and bellowed. Together they leant against the wood, counted to three, and threw all they had into it. But it was just too massive, more than strength it now needed weight to shift it, and weight they did not have. Knowing that it would do no good they tensed themselves up for another attempt and, as they did, they heard a whooping and hollering from behind them and turned to see the captain and his detachment of geriatrics screaming and yelling and running at full tilt towards them, shields held above their heads to ward off the arrows.
But the arrow storm was thick and strong and one of them went down before they even got to the bridge, as they threw themselves against it they had to drop their shields and another quickly followed his comrade to Valhalla. Dreenee heard the captain grunt in pain as an arrow slammed through his left shoulder and all but pinned him to the bridge. Another old man, Dreenee thought that it might have been Pace Man, went down cursing and shouting insults at the foe, a four-foot javelin appearing, seemingly magically, between his shoulder blades. And then, finally, the bridge was there, falling into place with a loud quivering crash. Dreenee, Biggest, the captain and his valiant group of veterans turned and ran. One more octogenarian fell under a hail of arrows on the return trip and Biggest leant down, picking him up on the run and throwing him over his shoulder and then, mercifully, they were out of range.
Plob and Smegly ran up to the injured captain and his surviving men. ‘You idiot,’ Smegly shouted. ‘Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do? We could have given you some covering fire, thunderbolts or something, anything.’
To Plob’s surprise the captain and his men, far from looking upset at the falling of their comrades, were hugging each other and laughing out loudly as Pups and Lycan ran around them barking boisterously. Bravad extricated himself from his comrades and faced Smegly. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t exactly planned. We saw that they needed help and we just couldn’t stop ourselves.’
‘But three of your men are dead’ exclaimed Plob.
The captain shrugged. ‘They’re soldiers. Soldiers die. It’s an integral part of the job description.’ Plob was about to interject with a retort but held back at the last moment as he looked at Bravad’s face and saw the look of intense anguish and grief that completely belied the gruff words that he had spoken.
Dreenee and Biggest walked over and, wordlessly, Dreenee laid a lingering kiss on Bravad’s lips and then led him away to the medical tent to have his shaft-pierced shoulder seen to.
Biggest called Berm ‘Brick Wall’ , Partlee Nobee, Spectal and Wogler over, and when they got there he opened his flask of Blutop and offered it around. After each of them had taken a good long pull of the cane spirit, Biggest shook each of them by the hand. ‘Thanks, ole folks. You guys is welcome to fight on my team anytime. I’m sorry about your brothers. They was good men. Old – but good.’
Brick Wall chuckled. ‘You’re right there. They don’t come any better – or older – than them, and us. All of us. But save your congratulations for later. There’s to be a lot more hunting and grunting before there’s to be a picking and a grinning.’
Biggest nodded sagely in agreement. Plob, who had no idea what Brick Wall was saying decided to look blank instead, then he changed his mind and decided to nod his head in a knowing way. The two conflicting expressions and the vague head nodding cased Brick Wall to stare at him concernedly. ‘What’s wrong, boy?’ he asked. ‘You in pain? Your stomach acting up or summat?’ Plob shook his head.
‘Nothing to be ashamed of, boy,’ offered Wogler, ‘it happens to the best of us. When I was your age I couldn’t keep anything inside me before a battle. Sluices used to open up at both ends. Probably still would, come to th
ink, but I’m not as regular as I used to be. Takes more than pre-battle nerves to get this old gut going, I tell you.’ He pulled an antiquated battered silver goblet out from under his moth-eaten cloak and held it out towards Biggest. ‘Top that up for me, Big my man,’ he said and Biggest leant over and poured a brimful helping of Blutop into the bent and buckled goblet. Wogler took a good swig of the fiery spirit, winced slightly and sat down next to his pack, a look of contentment on his wrinkled face.
Plob didn’t bother arguing over the misunderstanding, he took a sip from the magic flask as it was handed around once more and then lay back on the grass and wondered how Horgy was getting on.
The stench inside the keep was horrendous. Over two hundred and fifty unsavoury lowlifes crammed together in a not-so-large castle, with no running water or provision for waste removal other than pushing it out of the way as you walked through it, meant that the atmosphere had become a little less than wholesome. The reek was the least of Horgy’s problems though as he sneaked through the piles of waste and attempted to remain undetected from the gazes of Bil’s unholy entourage. He was looking for the main tower, as Bravad had told him that the king’s private chambers were on the third floor, just below the level of the walls.
As Horgy scuttled along he was undecided whether to adopt the furtive sneaky approach or the brazen I-belong-here approach to his cross-castle wanderings. As a result he vacillated rapidly between the two and so appeared, to the casual onlooker, to be a man, attired in a strange colour shifting cloak, attempting to take a morning stroll whilst having a world-class attack of St. Vitus’ dance. Strolling, crouching, striding, crawling and leaping Horgy made his inefficient undecided way across the keep.
As it happened Bil’s followers were so used to strange and off- beat behaviour amongst themselves that this random pattern of movement was, by chance, the best form of disguise that Horgy could possibly have chosen – he blended right in.
Plob and Smegly, who had both been hammering away for a couple of hours, were now hunched over the small portable oven muttering to each other and poking at the spell inside with the tongs and the poker, set looks on both of their faces as they collectively harrumphed, in Smegly’s case, and umm-er-ed, in the case of Plob. They were attempting to create a spell that they both knew couldn’t be created whilst, at the same time, knowing that it had to be done or, in every probability, the impending battle was all but lost.
‘It must be possible,’ said Plob wearily. ‘You’ve managed to recreate Blundelberry’s eternal intensifier. Surely it’s just the same thing – only different.’
‘That’s precisely what it is,’ agreed Smegly. ‘It’s exactly the same thing as Blundelberry’s eternal intensifier – only different. Absolutely, completely and utterly different. So much so that it could, in fact, be referred to as Not Blundelberry’s eternal intensifier because of its pure unadulterated unlikeness to the aforementioned spell of Master Blundelberry’s. So stop being so slow, Plob and start thinking a little more laterally. OK?’ Smegly harrumphed. ‘And that goes for me too,’ he finished as he gave the super-heated spell another irritable poke with his tongs.
Cabbie, who had been watching the two mages from a distance, wandered over, ale in hand. ‘Exactly what are you two toiling enchanters up to?’ he enquired.
Master Smegly harrumphed in reply and hunkered down over the oven, glaring at the now totally overheated spell with a look of disgust.
Plob stripped the sweat off his forehead with the palm of his hand and flicked it at the fire where it sizzled momentarily in a small vaporous puff of steam and was gone. ‘Thought control. Mind meld. Perhaps using some sort of intensifying spell. A combination of air and earth. Change others perception. Bugger.’ He kicked at the oven and missed - on purpose.
Cabbie nodded. ‘Right. Fine. OK. Now let’s, just for the sake of argument, pretend that I had absolutely no fornicating idea what you were saying and you could re-explain the entire thing using standard English. Who knows, perhaps I may even be able to help.’
Plob put the poker down and then placed himself on the grass next to it, grimacing as the exhausted muscles in his back pulled up tight. ‘We’re trying to forge a spell that, allegedly, hasn’t been done before.’
‘Not allegedly, my boy,’ interjected Smegly. ‘Not allegedly.’
Plob grimaced as he changed position. ‘He did it. I’m sure of that. He did it – he just couldn’t control it.’
Sadly, his face downcast, Smegly shook his head.
‘He did,’ insisted Plob. ‘Somehow he did.’
‘Who did what?’ asked Cabbie.
‘My grandfather. He created a spell during the final Hobgoblin wars that enabled him to control, or at least affect, the hearts and minds of the enemy. The only problem is that, somehow, he lost control of it and…well…he just disappeared. Poof. Gone, never to be seen again. They say that he ran away, transported himself to another place, but then how come the Hobgoblins suddenly withdrew – and never came back?’
Smegly sighed. ‘This is all conjecture, my boy. I, for one, think that you are partly correct. Your Grandfather Slodong probably did lose control of a spell, but it could have been any of a number of the attack spells that were being thrown around the place. One of the Hobgoblin spells could have vaporised him.’
Plob shook his head stubbornly. ‘They can’t raise enough power. And how do you explain the fact that they unexpectedly quit the battlefield?’
The master shrugged. ‘They’re Hobgoblins, Plob. Who knows why they do anything? Who knows? Any road – mayhap it can be done. With our combined skill and some luck we might be able to create a confusion spell of some sort. If we can, it could give us some help, perhaps a little edge over the dark ones. Let us continue our experiments. Come on.’ He stood up, set his shoulders and hunched back down over the oven once more.
Horgy stood outside Bil’s chambers, sweating in a nervous fear. Somehow he had managed to get this far unchallenged but, now that he was so close, he had no idea what to do next. As he stood, sweating and vacillating outside the hall of the counterfeit king, he heard the tinkling of a bell, far off in the womb of the castle and, not long after, saw a man come jogging down the corridor towards him, hands flapping and face a fluster. He drew up short as he laid eyes on Horgy. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded in the standard super-officious tone of the extremely low-level servant. Horgy stared at him, eyes bulging, ears twitching, skin sweating and face alternately glowing red and then draining to white.
‘Ah,’ the servant nodded. ‘You must be Tolley’s replacement. Come with me.’ He opened the large steel-bound door and strolled in, beckoning to Horgy to follow suit. And, without any idea as to what was going on, he did.
Hugo adjusted the cords on the blind, twisting them to cut out the weak London sun that dribbled in from the internal light-well. Turning, he walked back to the desk, pulled his chair closer to Madame Zelga and sat down.
‘All right, gentlemen,’ said the psychic, her low and husky voice a little above a whisper. ‘Shall we ready ourselves for the journey?’
‘I’m not holding hands,’ interjected Terry. ‘I’m willing to go along with this but no hand-holding. It’s too naff for words.’
Madame Zelga glanced at Hugo who rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘Terry, come on now, old chum. We have to hold hands. Madame has explained all of this already. The room has to be darkened, we have to be seated in a circle, four candles have to be lit, incense to be burnt and hands to be held. We’ve all agreed. You’ve agreed.’
‘Changed my mind.’
‘Why?’
‘Just have.’
‘Why.’
‘Well what if someone walks in? We’ll be the laughing stock of the department.’
Hugo sighed and raised an eyebrow. ‘Too late, old chum. The way that we’ve been handling this case so far we’re already the laughing stock of the force let alone the department.’
Abruptly Terry leaned forward i
n his chair and grabbed Madame Zelga’s hand in his own. ‘Well come on then,’ he snapped as he held out his free hand to Hugo. ‘What are you waiting for? Let’s get psychic.’
Master Smegly and Cabbie looked on as Plob’s jaw clenched tight in concentration Mentally he wrestled the three separate spells in to a compact ball of thaumaturgic energy his breath hissing out little by little between gritted teeth as slowly, ever so slowly, he released it in the general direction of an unwitting Biggest and a group of about ten dwarves. A combination of an ‘earth, attack, thunderbolt’ to provide enough energy to project the spell over distance. An ‘earth, protect, shield wall’ to stop the energy dissipating as it was released and, finally, a completely adapted form of Blundelberry’s eternal intensifier combined with a large dash of Plob’s personal advice, suggestions and proposals which, if all went according to plan, would manifest themselves into the targets’ psyche causing them to believe what ever it was that Plob had proposed.
The air around Plob shimmered like a heat mirage and suddenly Biggest, who was busy partaking of his magic flask, yelped in the manner of a whip-struck hound and spat a mouthful of cane liquor onto the floor. ‘Ouch,’ he voiced. ‘Dat burnt. I think dat the alcohol content of dis drink is possibly too high. I think dat I’d better switch to drinkin ale from now on, this Blutop drink is no good.’
The group of dwarves, who were also enveloped in Plob’s spell, nodded their agreement and, as one, upended their brimful mugs of Blutop onto the grass with sundry expressions of distaste.
Master Smegly, who was standing next to Plob, whooped with delight and flung his portly frame into the air. ‘You did it, my boy,’ he shouted. ‘You did it.’
Plob, however, was too exhausted to celebrate. Sweat rolled down his face and his muscles jumped and twitched with fatigue. Smegly walked over and patted him on the back. ‘A job well done, my boy. You were right about using a variation on Blundelberry’s eternal intensifier, I apologise wholeheartedly and without reservation.’
