Another story that pretty much came from nowhere was, “Nec Aspera Terrent”.
Once I had started it however, it wrote itself. It’s quite a strange feeling, but happens frequently. As a theme though I had great difficulty in leaving this particular story behind me. Once I finish writing something my thoughts seem to automatically switch to the next thing. This one wouldn’t let me go. During the research for this tale I happened upon The Ministry of Defence website that lists all of the military fatalities month by month. Personally I think every single person in the country should be forced to read it once a week. Gratitude, respect, sadness. It’s all there.
The other strange thing is that when I am writing a character I have several traits and quirks (if that’s the right word) in mind that “fleshes them out.” I very rarely have a definite physical appearance to them in my mind beyond what I need to tell the story. I never ever have a picture in my mind of anyone “famous” when I am doing this. With this story however, all the way through it I most definitely had the actor Christopher Eccleston in mind. Go back and read it again – it won’t take you a minute – with him pictured in your head. I think it brings a slightly different dimension to it.
Sometimes a story will pop into my head as a question. It’s always, always a, “What if...” question, and “The Strange Case of the Toff’s Policeman and the Curious Elm” was very much one of these. If I told you that the original title of this story was, “The Tree That Sang” then you may have some idea what that “what if” question actually was. I still prefer the original title; however it does give the game away with regards to what the story is actually about, so it had to go.
During the research of this story I had to do a fair bit of digging and all of the facts that I have put in there with regards to the park’s police are completely true. I also discovered several other facts that formed the basis of another story. More on that later.
The three interludes that run throughout the book were always there right from the start. I’ll leave it at that as I think they speak for themselves. Just one thought: paraphrasing the words of the immortal Rolf Harris slightly, “Do you know who it is yet?”
“The Lipstick Girls” is the one story that gave me the most trouble in the whole book. I had a set voice for her – the way she speaks, acts etc. It just wasn’t the right voice. With a little bit of persuasion from Mrs White, however, I eventually found out exactly who Sheila Teresa Roberts really is. I hope you like her. I do now.
The “The History Detectives” was a title that I had in mind from the time I was working on the park’s police story. For this I had to consult several online forums and ask specific questions to get help. The answers I got back were universally friendly, informative, if not downright humbling. These guys knew their stuff. I really wanted to use them in a story, but I couldn’t think of a context in which to do so. It was during a visit to a garden centre (the car park is as described) that I saw the pots with their creators names carved into the sides of them. Once I saw that it wasn’t much of a leap to another, “What if...” question, and once I had the riddles I was away.
Oh, and by the way, the co-ordinates I use at the end of the story are real. Answers by email as to where it actually is will result in me adding you to my long mental list of “History Detectives”! (I may even mention you on my website... ready. Steady, GO!)
In “The Last Bomb, Aloise's Café and Death by Cow” I have taken terrible liberties with dates, and names. I hold my hand up. The problem was that by this point I had several bizarre facts and snippets left over that I pretty much rolled all into one in this story. Yet truth is often stranger than fiction, and that couldn’t be truer about this story! First of all the fact that Adolf Hitler’s half-brother did indeed have a café in Dale Street in the first few decades of the 20th Century is an absolute fact. He also married a woman from Dublin called Brigid. Unfortunately, by the time the Second World War came along she had been living in America for quite some time. I am however, sad to report that the painted factory roof and the wooden cows are purely urban myth, though sadly, not of my invention. Damn!
I think “The Order of Pan” after note pretty much says all that I have to say about this story, but again it was based on some of the facts when researching the curious elm story and Sefton Park in general, whilst “The Ghost Next Door” would be a great way to earn a living, wouldn’t it?
“A large Sweet Tea, please” is of course, simply a very old football joke that I could not resist putting in to the book, knowing that the story that followed it was a complete change of pace. So. Now then. Pay attention. Let us discuss, “A Good Day at the Office.” I think it is very important that you realise that I’m not advocating that we should all go out and purchase a rocket launcher and set out to destroy every call centre in existence.
Not at all.
Just give me the ammo and I’ll do it for you.
I don’t want anyone else to have all the fun, see? It seems to me that everyone who works in a call centre hates them. Everyone who has to also hates ringing call centres. It’s almost as if they are huge black temples of despair and rage. I am therefore not advocating that they should be demolished. Oh no. That’s far too good for them. They should be blown up. Preferably in large, flamboyant explosions.
Have I ever worked in a call centre, I hear you ask?
Oh yes.
Finally, “A place in the clouds” is by far the largest story in the book, and grew in the telling just a little. Nevertheless, isn’t it just the kind of old people’s home that you would want to retire to?
So there we are. I think that I have more or less achieved what I set out to do, and now I should really thank the people I have probably driven slightly mad during the writing of the book. So first of all to the Liverpool History Society many, many thanks for solving my railings obsession. To my wonderful editing team spear-headed by Lisa who really does “get it” again thank you! To Debs (Ginty) as my wonderful beta reader who for some strange reason (!) really enjoyed, “A good day at the office”.
Finally, to my wonderful pixie, now Mrs Karen White who during the writing of this book I married. For you I always hope to provide the sound of guitars.
So am I done with Liverpool now? I should say not. Like most people, I am always coming back, returning to this wonderful place. Personally, I would say that in the first instance that I never left. Finally I shall say that I never will.
“Deus Nobis Haec Otia Fecit”
Michael White (28th January 2012 – 18th may 2012)
Here Be Dragons
Copyright 2011 by Michael White
To Karen.
The wait was worth it.
Here Be Dragons.
The final sounds of battle faded around them as the last ice creature fell dead, clearing the way ahead. Rizan slumped to the floor; his blood stained great sword clattering to the ground alongside him. Breathing heavily he could hardly manage to raise his face to ensure that the rest of his comrades had come through the last battle unscathed. His swords brother Gethane was also slumped on the floor, his back propped up against the narrow brick tunnel wall behind him. He was attempting to wipe the gore from his blade, a small whetstone being placed on the floor close to hand. As Gethane noticed him taking stock he nodded once in recognition. It seemed as if even that small gesture had drained him completely of all energy. Yet still he continued to clean his sword.
To the side of Gethane stood Vix the female fire wizard. She gave him a haughty look and swallowed a small drink from a phial she had concealed up a sleeve. “That last ice fury came close to killing us all!” she pronounced haughtily, “It seemed resistant to most of the fire bolts I cast upon it.”
“True.” mumbled the cleric Legaoniel who was flitting amongst the mostly slumped forms gathered about the lit torches held by several of the warriors there. She occasionally cast an arcane gesture or ward and the recipient would take on a slightly healthier aspect. After some time however
she too sloped to the floor, gathering her energy. “Strange for ice to be so resistant to fire.” Her voice faded away into the darkness. At the edge of the light Rizan could just make out the shadowy form of Varesh, the hunter. His long bow was looped across his back once more, and the shadows seemed to flicker and fade about him, as if attempting to conceal him from the torchlight.
“This is no ordinary place though.” The hunter pronounced from the almost dark. “I have heard no tales of anyone managing to descend as far into this dark dungeon as we have today.” He pointed to the end of the corridor before him which suddenly ended in a tight stone staircase that descended even further down into the darkness. “I fear however that we are not done yet.” Seven pairs of eyes followed where he had pointed as the bowman flickered back into the darkness, and Rizan knew that he would now be busy scavenging arrows from the corpses of the fallen beasts they had just slain.
Rizan began to clean his blade. “We shall rest a time to gather our energy. The Gods alone know how far we have to descend yet. Caution is the best approach from here. A journey such as this must surely herald some vast treasures concealed in the depths of the earth.”
“Yet what guards this treasure?” asked Gorvek, his dark blue cloak seeming to wrap itself around him. Rizan knew that Gorvek was the master of the elements, and could seemingly effortlessly conjure gusts of wind and water so fierce they would destroy his enemies with ease. At this moment in time however, he simply looked like a frightened old man.
“That I know not.” said Rizan wearily, “Yet we have prevailed thus far. We shall make a move when we are all ready to do so. Treasure awaits us, our bravery shall carry us onwards!” Rizan was glad to see that several of the warriors now proceeded with their preparations with a greater purpose. Nodding to Gethane he borrowed the whetstone that lay on the floor between them and continued to sharpen his sword. Calvin moved from the back of the party and sat down next to the two swordsman. In a comic whisper he said to Rizan,
“I thought it was I who was the master of mental control, trickery and illusions!” he laughed, and Rizan laughed along with his fellow warrior.
“Not this time, old friend.” Rizan replied. “No tricks from me. I shall leave that to you. I have no illusions. Just plain common sense.” Several of them gathered there chuckled at that, and Calvin made his way back to the wall from where he had approached. It was here that the last member of their band of warriors was sat. A short woman dressed all in green, her long brown hair cascading down her face. “Ethir!” pronounced Rizan, and the woman raised her face to acknowledge the dark knight of legend. “What is it?”
Rizan knew that Ethir was a child of the E’than, druids and elementalists that seemed to be able to force nature to their will. Her strange affinity with the world about her often proved useful. In truth, her prescience had saved them several times today already as they had made their way down into the dungeon, descending further and further in search of treasure and riches. This time however, when Ethir raised her face to him, Rizan knew that their greatest task still lay before them. “There is great evil below us. I feel it as if a fire has been set inside my heart. I fear for my comrades. This is power of a like I have never encountered before.”
Rizan took note of the various mutterings that seemed to arise around him. “I know, my friend” he said, and rose to put his arm upon her shoulder. “Yet I know we shall prevail.” Ethir forced her eyes to look into the mighty warriors face as he continued. “It is what we do, my friend.” he paused once and began to help raise them to their feet. “It is what we do.” he finished, and was pleased once again to notice several of his comrades beginning to gather their packs about them, checking their belongings, weapons, and so forth.
“We move out in five minutes!” He yelled and handed the whetstone back to Gethane. Rizan paused to take stock of his comrade. Though slightly shorter than himself the fighter had a broad build, heavy muscles for now concealed in the heavy steel armour that covered him from the neck down. A silver circlet was across his brow, and from where he stood Rizan could see several runes of protection and warding carved into the thick metal. All about him the warriors began to make preparations. Magic wards filled the air, boosting their resolve. The air crackled with energy. Varesh appeared from the shadows, already a arrow held on the strong of the long elegant bow ready to fire. “Keep by my side and we shall proceed slowly.” Grunted Rizan to Gethane as he tested the edge of his blade against the light. “At the first sign of attack stick to my assailant and we shall whittle down whatever is before us that way.” Gethane nodded and considered his blade too. A long silver sword that glittered almost blue in the semi darkness, runes of might and destruction carved about the hilt. It was, he felt, much less imposing Rizan’s long two handed great sword, the blade of which was of some dark black metal, smelted and hammered almost in to life by the smiths of the order of the dark knights. It was a fearsome weapon, yet Gethane was glad of its presence. Rizan was a mighty warrior, and Gethane stood for a moment to watch his swords brother as he moved amongst his fellow fighters. The first time he had met him Gethane would almost admit to a hint of fear. The brotherhood of the dark knights had a fearsome reputation. Rizan’s armour encased him from head to foot and seemed to have been forged from the same black metal of his large sword, though his armour was also carved throughout with golden etchings and runes. What he had not expected on that first meeting was Rizan’s finely tuned sense of humour, his generosity, but above all his leadership and his ability to get things done. Rizan was a man to admire and respect, and Gethane was happy to oblige.
Returning to the task at hand Gethane watched as Rizan mustered his colleagues. It was as if they almost found hidden depths of courage when he spoke to them he thought as their leader continued to work his way amongst the band of warriors, whispering words of encouragement and valour. By now the crackle of energy and power was almost palpable as each one of them there was enhanced by spells from the magic users, enhancing their abilities, honing their skills.
They were ready.
Gethane paused to consider the walls of the corridor that they found themselves in. They seemed to be made of some dark red brick, the smooth featureless walls rising up and arching above their heads, though not too far above. As of yet they had not had to crawl down the corridors, but it had been a close thing several times. The tunnel or passages had been almost exactly the same all the way on their descent underground, and always seemed to be constructed of brick and tight in width: narrow, even. So far this had worked to their advantage as it meant that they were not able to be surprised by any attack that faced them. It had to come from the front. Accordingly the band of warriors adopted an order to their descent relative to where each member was best protected.
Rizan and Gethane led from the front, of course. Their heavy armour and deadly blades afforded the best assault upon any creatures attempting to best them. Behind, Ethir and Calvin now fell in line. Although their speciality was of differing types of magic, they were considerably powerful fighters too, and could hold their own in the second rank. Behind them stood Vix and Gorvek, in the centre of them all. As the most deadly magic wielders their magical offensive powers were considerable. Yet it left them vulnerable to physical attack. Being in the centre of the band of fighters afforded them the best protection. At the rear Legaoniel took her place. Although vulnerable to attack from here she could see all of her colleagues and could therefore cast her healing magic as she saw fit. It also meant of course that any enemy attempting to kill the healer (and this was a common tactic of some foul beasts) had to wade their way through a veritable wall of steel and damaging magic first. At the very rear the archer Varesh stood. The vantage point of being at the rear of them all would grant him the range for his damaging strikes from his bow. Here also he could protect Legaoniel if she was attacked from the rear.
Rizan nodded as they assumed their positions without even thinking. This was second nature to them all, and for
a moment he was filled with pride at just how far they had come over the last few months. Fell creatures had fell before them like wheat in a harvest, and fame and treasure had been theirs for the taking. he intended to ensure that this was going to be the outcome of today. No other adventurers had descended this dungeon as far as they had. Fame and wealth was nearly theirs for the taking!
Rizan waited until he was sure all were ready. Then, raising the mighty sword into the air he formalised their departure downwards. “We move out!” he roared, and they began to move as one along the brick arched corridor until they reached the end of it. From here a tight spiral staircase descended down in to the darkness. Already they had descended similar staircases nine times today, having commenced with the first stairs leading down from the entrance halls to the first underground level. However, unlike the other sets of stairs, from this one an ominous breeze blew from below, howling about them as they considered their descent. This was a particularly hazardous part of their journey. It was not unusual that they could be attacked by any roaming creature whilst they were winding their way down the tight staircase, which could make their defence difficult to muster. Nevertheless Rizan and Gethane strode forward and the rest of the warriors could see their torches bobbing down the stairway and then disappearing as they rounded the bend in the stairs. Grasping their own torches tighter they slowly began to shuffle their way down in to the darkness.
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