by J Battle
'Of course. So, nobody looks, 'cause who's got the time? Well, that's going to change, in 82 minutes.' He nodded for emphasis, and took a long pull on his pint.
'So, the Law & Order AI will have the time?'
'Yes; time means nothing to them; you know that. I've told you before.'
It's quite possible that he had told me before, but time does mean something to me, and with so many words that all sound the same coming from his mouth, he can hardly expect me to pay attention to every single one.
'So you hit him because…?' It’s not just me, is it? This is hard work.
'He knew about the deadline, and he wanted to kill them blokes before then, and probably us as well.'
When you knew Sam as well as I did, it made a kind of sense.
'So, what do we do about Grimm?'
He finished his pint, and then he nodded towards the bar, in an I-think-it-might-be-your-round sort of way.
'But I got the last,' I protested, knowing that I was going to lose, again.
'When you come back from the bar, I'll tell you what you are going to do.'
I did as I was told and we were soon both sitting before cold glasses of wonderful gold.
'Well?' I said, by way of a prompt.
He looked at his watch once more.
'In 74 minutes, you're going to call the Lord & Order AI, and you are going to tell it that a Crime Against Others has been committed.'
'A Crime Against Others? What's that?'
'Don't you follow the news at all, Phil?'
'I watch the weather forecast; that's part of the news.'
'From Noon, when the Lord & Order AI ramps up, there will only be Three Crimes. Crimes Against Oneself, Crimes Against Others, and Crimes Against The State.'
'That's it? What about robbery?'
'Crimes Against Others.'
'And, what, suicide is a Crime Against Oneself?'
'Only attempted suicide. Successful suicide can't be a Crime, because the perp is dead.'
'What happens when I report him?'
'He'll be arrested and squirted to Gotcha!, the new orbital prison platform.'
'And where will you be while I'm reporting Grimm to the AI?'
'I'll be nowhere, Phil. You won't know who I am, you won't know where I live…'
'Are you moving out of your mum's, then?'
'You won't even remember my name.' He stood up, and began to move silently away from the table.
'Sam,' I said.
He hesitated, and then he half turned towards me.
'See,' I said, softly, 'I still remember your name.'
Then he was gone, and I was left looking at his half drunk glass of beer, wondering about the etiquette of finishing it for him.
After a moment's consideration, I reached over for his glass.
It's what he would have wanted.
Chapter 7 Now, But…it's all black!
'So, there you have it folks; my first case, and how I started on the road that brought me fame (well, just a little) and fortune (I was for a very brief time, the richest man in the Universe, and not many people can say that).' (Perhaps the guy who actually is the richest man in the Universe? You know, for more than 30 seconds? N.F.)
'If you have any questions…'
A lady in the second row puts up both hands and jiggles about a bit. I try my best not to notice, but she is a woman, and she has breasts, and she is jiggling.
'Yes, Miss…?' I say, hoping she'll stop with the jiggling.
'What happened to Grimm?' she asks; all sort of breathless.
'Well, that's a good question. He was picked up by agents of the Law & Order AI. In fact, he was the very first criminal to be arrested this way. I think he was more than a little surprised to be arrested, tried, convicted, and squirted to Gotcha! In little more than an hour.'
'Will Sam be here soon?' Not him again.
'Or Julie; what about Julie?'
'And Strange; you haven't even mentioned Strange. Can we meet Strange?'
'I'm sorry. Strange is not in this story, nor is he in the new…'
The lawyer leans closer and mutters into my ear.
'He may not be in the new book.'
'But he's so…' She seems lost for words, so I help her out.
'So, moving on, a little reading from the new book: N…'
The lawyer again, and I don't mind saying that he's really getting on my nerves.
'What d'you mean?' I hiss; trying to smile at my audience at the same time. You try it; it's not at all easy. 'What d'you mean, we can't tell them the title?'
He smiles in a sort of, I don't have to tell you anything sort of way.
'OK,' I say; always ready for any situation, 'let's carry on with a reading from.., the new book, number 3 in the These Foolish Things series.'
The lawyer hands me the book, and this time he has a smug, I know what's coming next sort of smile. I'll give him that; he knows his smiles.
'OK.' I took a sip from a glass of water, and then I open the book. 'I'm going to start at…'
I stopped then, because I couldn't go any further.
I turned to the lawyer. 'What's all this, then?' I say, waving my hand at my book.
He seems to speak without moving his lips.
'It has been redacted,' he says, in a slimy sort of, so there! way.
'But…it's all black!'
'It's all been redacted, because it is all to be kept under wraps until the launch date.'
'But…you knew I was going to read from it!'
'I knew you were going to try. Your failures are not within my remit.'
'But, what am I supposed to do now?'
'Do you know any good jokes?'
I give him one of my dirty looks, and then I turn to the audience.
'I'm sorry folks, but apparently I'm not allowed to read from the new book, even though that's half the reason you're all here. If you want to find out what happens, you're going to have buy a copy of Nobody Puts a Fool in a Corner. There's a satisfying groan from the lawyer.
'Thank you and good night.' I bow, and wait for the applause.
Still waiting.
(Now readers, as you've missed out on the dubious pleasure of an excerpt from the next torrid installment in Phil's story, perhaps now would be a good time to mention my heroic saga of Pixies, entitled The Eventual Glistening, starring…where are you all going? Don't leave. You'll like this. It's got Pixies, and everything. Just…don't go; not all of you. You, sir. You, madam. Please…N.F.)
Appendix II The Eventual Glistening
(You're going to like this; believe me. I would put it in bold so it stands out, but the quality of the writing and the narrative stand out all by themselves. N.F.)
Volume 1 (of 27)
Part 1 (of 17)
Chapter 1
His long fingers rubbed the curved stem of his pipe, and he smiled in anticipation. It had been such a long day or, to be more close to precision, a long week for him, and now he was relishing a quiet moment alone, with his pipe, and his slippers before his fireplace of Mordloden granite, hewn from that inaccessible place by Munleerdor, the dwarf stone-hewer of Magreb.
The fire was lit and the flames jumped and fluttered just the other side of the broad hearth, with just a little smoke leaking from the side of the fireplace to give a little substance to the atmosphere.
Slowly, he pressed his thumb into the bowl of the pipe, making sure that the sweet heather infused baccy was just right.
He stretched out his long legs, clad in thick blue tights and finished off with over-sized green fluffy slippers, and he sighed.
These days he no longer worried what the length of his legs said about his ancestors, though the other inhabitants of Crystal valley seem less than reluctant to discuss his size and what that meant.
‘You don’t grow that tall,‘ would say Mellin, the combined blacksmith and grocer, ‘without more than a drop of human blood in you, that’s all I’m saying.’
Indeed, Prince Lixicana was head a
nd shoulders above any other pixie; even Gerald Longshanks of Everglade, who was so tall he could pick Ellenfruit from the very branches of the Ellentree
With a flick of his tinder stick, he lit his pipe. As he drew the sweet smoke deep into his lungs, his eyes stared deep into the flames.
He barely moved when the door slammed open and young Sally Sadly rushed in; all of a bustle.
‘It’s happened!’ she gasped, pushing a stray lock of golden hair from her face.
He dropped his pipe into his lap and stared at the distraught girl.
‘Already? But it’s three days too soon. The soothsayer saw that it would be Wodensday. It’s only Mournday, unless my calendar lacks truth.’
‘You’re right enough, Sir, but even soothsayers can be wrong. So, Sir, we don’t have much time, do we, Sir?’
He smiled at her, and he put his pipe on the hearth.
‘Worry not, child. You do have the Sparkly Thing with you, don’t you?’
‘Of course, Sir. I never goes anywhere without it, but I won’t show it in the light; not unless it can’t be helped.’
‘It will not come to that if we are quick and decisive. Fetch me my boots, will you?’
By the side of the granite fireplace stood a pair of deep red boots, each boot as tall as her waist. They were twice-named Kilron the Well-shod by the Silesion cobblers of Des-Ray, and Prince Lexicana believed that they would always keep him on the right path.
‘And I’ll need my cloak, for where would I go without it?’
She rushed to the inner doorway and found Sheera, the Cloak of Warmth cast onto the bed like a mere garment.
When she returned, she found him before the fire, with the great double-handed Sword of Dismay in his hands, its black blade seeming to soak up the light from the fire.
‘Will you really need that, Sir? It is such a scaresome blade.’
‘We have to rescue Lady Elvensong before the sun rises, my dear Sally, or else lose her forever to the glee of the Esellden.’
Sally spat into the fire for luck at the mention of their name.
‘They will not step aside unless they are made to, my dear, and I mean to make them. With the Sword of Dismay and the Sparkly Thing, who can stand in our way?’
Moments later, they were standing in the doorway, with Sally just a little behind him, as was only her true and natural place.
He whistled a high jaunty tune, and the air on either side of the doorway seemed to shake and spin, and narrow columns of smoke appeared, one to the left, and one to the right.
Sally watched the smoky column of smoke she could see past his cloak, her mouth half open in fear or anticipation; she would struggle to say which.
With sudden flashes of light, the columns disappeared, leaving behind a pair of little faerie-sprites, each no taller than a spread hand.
‘Ellon and Ollen, the Lady Elevensong has been taken by the Esellden. You must seek her out before she is lost to us forever. Be off now, and tarry nowhere for neither food nor drink nor company. Do you hear me now, sprites? Then be gone.’
With a quick bow, each faerie-sprite was gone in a flash.
‘Oh my, Sir. I never thought to see you call them faerie-sprites, Sir. And I was fair frightened to see them, I was.’
‘Worry not, Sally Sadly, for they will take nothing from you without my permission.’
‘My Ma, she says they’d steal your heart from behind your ribs and sell it back to you the next day, if you were still alive enough to have need of it.’
‘Well, Sally, I know your ma, and she has many fine qualities, but, alas, talking any kind of sense is not one of them.’
‘I’ll tell her you spoke so kindly of her when we get back.’
‘That’s fair enough, Sally Sadly, but I’ve said worse to her face, and she’s always smiled right back at me.’
He stepped onto the low hill beside his house, and he held his head high, as if he could smell something on the air.
‘They’ve found her,’ he said, quickly. ’We must be off now, child, like the wind. Are you ready?’
She placed her hand between her breasts and felt the Sparkly Thing beneath the thin material of her blouse.
‘Ay, Sir. I am, Sir,’ she whispered.
(To continue reading the first volume of this epic tale, go to www.pixiesare great.univ.com and click on the tab for The Eventual Glistening. You will not be disappointed. Forever your Narrative Facilitator. N.F.)
Postscript
(Hi there, people, I just wanted to explain why I wasn’t there to write the ‘What Went Before’ section, and to apologise because I hear Neville’s attempt was abysmal.
I told Phil that I wasn’t available because I had a gig rewriting Jane Austen for the Future Kids, but that was a lie; of course it was a lie, I’d have to be 12 to even understand their patois, and what Future Kid is going to be in the least bit interested in 19th century books about women’s problems?
No, the truth of the matter is that I am now in a relationship, and I didn’t have the time or the inclination to be involved in this book at that stage.
We’re very happy together, but don’t mention it to Phil, because, in his egocentric world, he wouldn’t understand. He’d be sure to feel betrayed.
Quite without justification, I think.
He didn’t call her when he said he would, and then he went off on his travels and fell for his exotic new love interest, and he left her hanging around waiting for his call. In in my humble opinion, that is no way to treat a lady. Especially when that lady is Emily. So I made the call, and we got together, and the rest is history.
Your friendly neighbourhood Narrative Facilitator – now fully loved up.)
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********* THE END ********
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If you want to try something that’s a bit of a change of pace, you could take a look at my three stand-alone books – Sci-Fi with just a touch of humour.
To make it even easier for you, I’ve bundled them together in a box-set, so you get all three for the price of one:
http://www.amazon.com/All-Frail-Futures-Science-Fiction-book/dp/B01CAUZW8WOr go to my website at: http://jpbattle.wix.com/battlewrite
Copyright © 2015 by J.Battle
All rights reserved.
Acknowledgements
Thanks as always to Deirdre for putting up with my distractions and concerns.
Thanks also to the eagle-eyed members of Phil’s Fools, my excellent launch team, who scoured the manuscript for errors. Any errors that are still there are mine own, and just there to mess with you.
Phil’s Fools
Corinne
Tom
Brian
Virginia
Andrew
Lynda
Harmon
Susan
Thanks also to my readers— I’m just sitting in a dark room, making things up without you.
