by SJB Gilmour
He sighed again and returned to the subject of Mel. ‘Naturally, as I’m sure you know, when silver gets exposed to oxygen, it oxidises,’ he explained as though he was talking to a child. ‘That’s why it goes black. This juvenile has black blood because the carrier of oxygen in that blood is silver. She’s unique. Nothing unusual about that. Lots of unique characters about these days, but good thing she’s here. Gives me something new to study.’
‘Most unusual,’ Jerrit observed.
‘Humph!’ The Smith of Ages snorted again and cocked his bald head to one side thoughtfully. ‘She’s probably okay here because everything she’s likely to eat has silver in it, but when she leaves Jilde, she’ll need a dietary supplement of some kind. I understand most human females don’t get enough iron in their diet. This juvenile will need to consume silver instead of iron.’
‘Juvenile?’ Melanie protested.
The old goblin shrugged. ‘Juvenile, child, kid, whatever.’ He glanced at Jerrit. ‘What is the correct term for a young monster these days?’
‘Monster?’ Mel’s voice went up angrily.
‘Well you’re not human are you? You could be a titan, but you’ve done nothing titanic since you got here, have you?’
‘The correct term for this one, Master Smith, I believe should be “Young Lady” or “Mistress”.’
‘Bah!’ the goblin scoffed. ‘I don’t need to study her to tell you there’s nothing lady-like about her!’ He looked at her sideways and smirked awfully. ‘Though there will be, one day. You can be assured of that.’
Now Mel returned the ‘Humph!’ and wrenched her hand free of the old goblin’s claw.
‘If I leave it to this bumbler, we’d be here all day.’ The abrasive goblin nodded at Jerrit. ‘They call me The Smith of Ages, but that’s more like a title. My real name is Jeffreytix. Jeff for short.’
After a few moments of glaring balefully at the strange old goblin, Mel extended her hand as politely as she could. ‘And I’m Melanie Hazelwood,’ she said, nodding grumpily.
‘I know who you are, Last Daughter of Troy. I’ve been waiting for you for quite some time.’
Mel gave a start.
‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ Jerrit told them. He smiled again. ‘Don’t let him work you too hard, Mistress,’ he advised and walked out of the cavern.
‘Shut the door on your way out!’ Jeff yelled at him. ‘And take Vickix with you!’
Jerrit finally did as he was told, and left, closing the door behind him. The room was suddenly pitch-black.
Jeff sighed. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said to Mel. ‘Here, I’ll make us some light.’ He shuffled over to one of the tables and began rummaging around. He found a corroded old lantern under a pile of papers and began tinkering with it. It took the strange old goblin several attempts to light the lantern.
Mel watched him calmly. She certainly wasn’t about to let him know she didn’t need his battered old lamps to see. She also made certain the mental barrier Oliver had trained her to erect around her mind was firmly in place. She wished Sarah were there. Whenever she was feeling lost and confused, all Sarah had to do was go wolf and then she could make sense of everything, and that always made Mel feel better too.
When Jeff had finally ignited the lamp, he scuffled over to a large bench covered with old scrolls and diagrams. He swept everything off the table and onto the floor with one long arm. The scrolls complained bitterly in Jildish. One of the diagrams went so far as to flutter back up to the table where it had been before. Jeff swore at the disobedient piece of parchment and it burst into flames and burned away.
‘There,’ Jeff said, satisfied. ‘This’ll be your desk. He appeared to look up and down at Mel’s clothes. ‘Sufficient for a necromancer, I guess,’ he mused, ‘but a smith needs something less flammable.’
‘Smith?’
‘Of course.’ He nodded at Mel’s jacket and her necromantic knife shot out from the inside pocket and hovered in front of him. He grasped the knife with one claw and deftly twirled it a few times. He held it up so the silver-edged blade gleamed in the lamplight — which was quite an odd thing to do for a goblin without any eyes.
‘Not bad,’ he mused. ‘You’ve got an eye for quality metallurgy,’ he said approvingly. ‘That’s usually the hardest thing to teach a novice. They can learn all the theory they like, but if they can’t tell quality when they see it, they might as well be botanists.’
‘My cousin is a botanist,’ Mel protested angrily. ‘He’s one of the best!’
‘Isaacs is also insane,’ Jeff said with a dismissive wave of the knife. He thought for a moment. ‘Though I’m sure he’d know of some of the right fruits and vegetables that have enough silver in them for you to consume as part of your new diet when you leave this planet.’ He twirled the blade several more times. ‘It’s got a good balance. Where’d you get it?’
Mel shrugged and levitated her knife out of the goblin’s claw and back to her own outstretched hand. ‘My dad gave it to me a couple of years ago. He took me to see a smith in Solingen in Germany.’
Jeff nodded. ‘I know Raul,’ he muttered. ‘I trained him. Now he has talent.’ Then he brightened. ‘And now, young apprentice, I’m going to train you to use yours. I’m a master smith, master alchemist and master necromancer, among other things. As I said, we’ll start with smithing. That’ll test your strength. Then we’ll move on to alchemy. That’ll test your mind. Finally, we’ll move on to necromancy. Of course we’ll have to get you to unlearn whatever rubbish that scoundrel Cromwell stuffed into your noggin, but that done, we’ll test your soul!’ Then he shrugged and gave a funny little bounce as he returned to the present. He nodded again at Melanie’s clothes. ‘For smithing, you need the proper attire,’ he told her matter-of-factly. ‘Strip.’
Ronald Trustworthy Mason was now a general. His new uniform felt much heavier and cumbersome than his old concierge’s did, and he was definitely not used to wearing a sword. The wretched thing kept getting in the way as he walked and whenever he turned around too quickly, it had a nasty habit of swinging about. This of course, looked very silly indeed and caused the freshly promoted gnome many embarrassing moments. Still, he was feeling quite proud of himself for his success so far.
True to Angela’s prediction, he had been surprisingly well-received by the king of Gnumphlatia. His Royal Majesty, King Roger the Nineteenth, had seized upon Ronny’s arrival as an opportunity to clean house.
The portly little gnomish monarch had immediately declared martial law. He had swept the palace of all civilian staff and moved in the army. The food was nowhere near as good, but somehow, the cost of running the palace suddenly plummeted. Also, he was very, very proud of the fact that now in the palace, things were done with simple military efficiency.
Ronny too was grateful for this new order within the palace. Now he did not have to pay all the bribes he had promised to all the various civilian functionaries who had enabled him to get into the palace in the first place.
He spent the next week in the company of two seasoned veterans. Generals Kilnmacher and Quarry were a pair of battle-hardened gnomes, each with more decorations and medals than a gnome could carry. Having been soldiers for so long, of course, these crusty old warriors did not wear many of the medals they had accumulated. Their rank and reputations were sufficient.
They took Ronny with them on their rounds, inspecting troops and meeting with their captains. Ronny learned a great deal about military organisation in a very short space of time. He was also included in a variety of strategic meetings as the gnomish military prepared for war.
Finally, after getting to know the ropes, Ronny met with King Roger, Generals Kilnmacher and Quarry, and several captains of the various divisions of the Gnomish Royal Regiments, or GRR for short. It was one week since Sarah and Mel had met with the succubi princesses on Oliver’s island.
‘Okay, Mason,’ King Roger was saying as he paced back and forth in his war room. ‘We’ve got the num
bers, but our troops haven’t seen active duty in over a century. According to these guys,’ he nodded at Quarry and Kilnmacher, ‘it’ll take ‘em a while to get them sharp enough to fight. Between now and then we’re going to need some more details.’
‘And we need to know when that “then” is going to be,’ Kilnmacher rumbled.
This was the moment Ronny had been dreading. Feeling quite nervous, he stood up and saluted his king.
‘The whole idea is to provide back-up support for Mistress Sarah and the others so that they can get through the security forces at Conundrum,’ he reported. ‘That’s all I know for now.’
‘That’s a little vague, General,’ King Roger criticised.
Ronny nodded, ‘I know, Your Majesty, but we’re only to play a small part in this I believe. We’ll know more when we hear from McConnell.’
‘What’s he like?’ King Roger asked. ‘I’ve heard a lot about him but I’ve never met him.’
‘He’s powerful and ruthless, but he’s got a soft spot for the weak and vulnerable. He’s got a habit of taking in strays,’ Ronny replied. ‘And he’s not afraid of anything.’
‘Not even demons, even though he’s vulnerable to them?’ King Roger asked.
Ronny shook his head sadly. ‘I’m afraid not, Your Majesty. For all his power and good deeds, McConnell’s still a Silver Shroud, and that means a wide streak of suicidal tendencies. He’s absolutely fearless.’
‘That’s dangerous,’ Kilnmacher told him sourly. ‘A soldier needs some fear. It keeps him from making too many mistakes.’
Ronny gave a short laugh and shook his head sadly. ‘You haven’t met many werewolves have you? They’re all like that. Something happens and bang! They react. Sarah would probably take on the tide if she thought it was attacking her.’ He paused, feeling more than a little embarrassed at his blunt observation of Sarah.
‘I’ve heard about the powers of that Golden Mane,’ General Quarry said quietly. ‘I understand she’s the only female of that Order to exist. It’s possible she’d win.’
‘The werewolves will all rally behind her,’ Ronny went on. ‘McConnell’s the brains however. He began life as a human and even though he’s got a death-wish, he won’t risk the lives of others. His mind is one of the best there is. As for Cromwell… He’s brilliant, but between you and me, I think he’s even madder than McConnell. Isaacs is my best friend and he’s probably even more brilliant, but he’s erratic. There’s also Mistress Harding. She’s the one with the Amazon training, and they’ll probably back her if she asks. Between them, they’ve got plenty of strategic ability.’
‘What we need to do is have a sit down with these loonies McConnell, Isaacs, an Amazon representative and Cromwell,’ King Roger told them all.
‘And I want to meet The Angel of Death,’ General Quarry rumbled. ‘Make sure the Amazon representative is McConnell’s tame one, the Harding woman.’
Ronny could not hide his grin. ‘I wouldn’t call Mistress Harding tame,’ he murmured.
King Roger nodded at Ronny. ‘You haven’t painted a very nice portrait of these forces you’d have us fight beside,’ he chided. ‘Still, they’re better than the alternative. How soon can you tee up a meeting?’
Ronny took a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure, Your Majesty. I’ve sent several messages to Cromwell by Certified Pixie Mail. None of them has made it through. They all come back marked refused or no such address. Isaacs has the postal service in a whirl. Nothing’s getting through to anyone.’
King Roger snorted. ‘Well I’m not going to commit my forces any further until I start getting some sort of—’
At that moment, there was a respectful knock on the door and a fresh-faced young corporal entered the war room. He marched up to Ronny and saluted smartly. He held out a crisply folded note. Ronny returned the salute and took the note. As he read it, he felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
‘Well, finally!’ he exclaimed.
‘What?’ King Roger demanded.
‘Master Isaacs has just arrived,’ Ronny told his king. He turned to the corporal who was still standing at attention. ‘Did he bring anyone else with him?’
‘Just a female Brown Coat, Sir,’ the corporal replied quickly. ‘She has some information she says is for your eyes only.’
‘That would be Roberta Coppernick,’ Ronny said with a smile. He looked at Roger with a thoughtful expression. ‘Why don’t we let them get settled and then we can meet again after lunch?’
The word “lunch” has a remarkable effect on just about every living gnome. King Roger and his generals and captains all agreed very quickly. Ronny sighed with relief. He turned to Roger and the generals.
‘What do you say we meet back here in two hours?’ He glanced at his pocket watch. ‘Say, fourteen hundred?’
‘Make it three o’clock,’ Quarry rumbled, rubbing his belly. ‘I’m hungry.’
Ronny nodded and looked back at the waiting corporal. ‘Make them comfortable and tell Isaacs and Mistress Coppernick to meet us here at fifteen hundred hours.’
Master Oliver Samuel Jacob Cromwell returned to his island in dismay. The illusion he had maintained for thousands of years had been destroyed. He looked across the water at the still-smoking nine-sided building known as The Nonagon, and shook his head.
‘Well,’ he muttered to himself, ‘that’s Mautallius’ problem now.’ He went to the dining room, intending to rest and enjoy a glass of wine or three.
‘Lord Cromwell, Sir!’ his butler José wailed. ‘I don’t know what happened! I was making breakfast, and it felt like there was some sort of earthquake!’
‘That was no earthquake, you fool,’ Cromwell muttered as he poured himself a very large glass of red wine. ‘It was Coppernick!’ He waved out the window. ‘Look out there. See that island?’
Jose blinked like a goldfish. ‘But… But…’ he stammered.
‘I know. That thing wasn’t there before. Truth is, old boy, it actually was there. I’ve been keeping it hidden for aeons, same as I have done this place.’ He shook his head, which still hurt awfully. ‘Then Coppernick comes along and destroys it all in minutes.’
Suddenly Mautallius appeared, flanked by Marzdane and Guntex. ‘And now the entire world can find these islands, Cromwell,’ Mautallius snarled. ‘These enchantments of yours could not withstand an assault by one Golden Mane. How will they defend themselves against her armies? It seems you’re the fool also!’
Cromwell spat his wine out in a spray of indignation. He glared at Marzdane and Mautallius for a moment, then shrugged. ‘So you found me after all this time,’ he sneered. ‘At least I’m not so foolish as to take up with a demon!’
Mautallius smirked wickedly. ‘So smart you are, yet you have forgotten one thing, White Pirate!’
Cromwell flared at the insult and glared at him. A look of horror overcame his features as he realised with his spells broken by Sarah, his defences we also down. Desperately, he began to chant the incantations to fend off Mautallius, but it was too late. His eyes glazed over and he dropped the glass. It shattered on the floor, sending red wine and glass all over José. Cromwell stood there, stunned. Then he swayed and toppled over with his eyes staring out blankly.
Mautallius smiled and turned to Marzdane. ‘We have no further need of thee, Hardingleflass,’ he said coldly. ‘Leave or die.’
Marzdane gaped at Mautallius for a second but then wasted no more time. He was being offered the chance to leave, and that was exactly what he did.
Mautallius waved to Guntex. ‘We need no more witnesses,’ he told the goblin.
Guntex shrugged and grinned wickedly and strode up to José with his sword drawn. Before the poor gnome could protest, his very short neck no longer had a head.
Guntex turned to Mautallius. ‘Remember our agreement, servant of Herpethia. Jax is mine.’
Mautallius waved at him as if that was nothing. ‘He’s yours, goblin,’ he promised. ‘Feed him to the crabs or
eat him yourself, we care not.’ He nodded in the direction of the door. ‘Go to the dungeons. There are some prisoners I want. Marzdane was useless. It’s time to bring in some fellows with more mettle.’
‘Who?’
‘Find Stepheno, Pol and Idi. Bring them to me.’
‘Are you sure? Pol and Idi are insane, and Stepheno… He’s uncontrollable. Besides, you put him in there. How do you know he’ll behave for you now?’
Mautallius waved at him and turned to gaze down at Cromwell. ‘Leave that to me. You have your orders, goblin.’
Guntex grunted and turned on his heel and went to do as he was told.
Mautallius looked up with an evil smirk to watch the goblin go. Then he returned his attention to the prone form of Oliver Cromwell. He knelt down and touched one wrinkled old finger to Cromwell’s bloodied left temple.
‘Now, our new Chairman, it’s time for you to share with us all that you know about the Golden Mane and her friends!’
Chapter Ten
Sarah looked up at the massive three-headed dog with awe. Cerberus was easily the size of an elephant and each head was equipped with very large, dangerous jaws.
‘Hello Cerbie, old boy!’ Angela called to the giant beast. She reached up and gave him a friendly rub under the neck of each head in turn.
‘Troy! Troy!’ Cerberus kept repeating excitedly. He wagged his tail and each head bent down to lick Angela very sloppily all at once. It didn’t take long for her to be absolutely drenched in drool, which Sarah thought must have felt disgusting. Angela simply laughed and embraced each head as it licked her.
