by Andy Coffey
***
‘Are the eggs the way I like them?’
‘Yes, my Lord. Over-easy with added pepper,’ quaked Chef Buttonmushroom, the Baron’s personal cook.
‘And the bacon… crispy but not too crispy?’
‘Exactly to your specifications, my Lord.’
The Baron looked around the plate and seemed satisfied. ‘That will be all,’ he said, waving him away with his hand.
‘I don’t know how you can eat that garbage,’ the voice on the plate next to him said. ‘It does not fuel the spirit.’
‘It may not fuel the spirit but it fuels my wind,’ said the Baron, ‘and trust me, Brother, I know where my priorities lie.’
Brother Vegetable Jalfrezi-Basmathi Rice turned one of his tomatoes in contempt, but said nothing.
‘Now, onto business,’ the Baron said, crunching a piece of crispy bacon between his teeth. ‘I require you and your Brotherhood to keep watch on Sacred Wind, whilst they attempt to traverse the hazardous journey they are likely to embark on. I have no desire to see those Viking noise-merchants anywhere near Chester, so I’ll be relying on you and some other less-reputable types to ensure they are suitably delayed… or worse. Actually, worse might be better.’
‘And what do we get in return, Baron?’ Brother Vegetable Jalfrezi-Basmathi Rice asked, his onions moving like snakes swimming on water.
The Baron stuffed a fork-full of egg into his mouth and twirled the fork whilst he chewed. ‘I need someone I can trust, or at least someone who understands the rewards of loyalty, to rule both Wrexham and Mold with an iron fist; or in your case a very hard carrot.’
‘We think alike, Baron,’ Brother Vegetable Jalfrezi-Basmathi Rice said, with a sneer of his shallots. ‘I feel there is much we can accomplish together.’
‘Well, there’s much that I’ll be able to accomplish by myself soon. But, I take your point. So do we have a deal?’
Brother Vegetable Jalfrezi-Basmathi Rice bubbled slightly. ‘Let me discuss it with my compatriots,’ he said, twisting towards the two other plates behind him. After several seconds of whispering and bubbling, he turned back to face the Baron. ‘We agree. Do you know how they are travelling?’
‘Oh, they’ll be coming by boat. Of that I’m certain. But I should tell you that I’ll be requiring you to work in tandem with another party, although they will be deployed first.’
As if on cue, Pimple entered the breakfast room with three very dirty and particularly vicious-looking men. ‘My Lord, may I present representatives from the Tan-Y-Lan Tuffies.’
Brother Vegetable Jalfrezi-Basmathi Rice looked outraged and his tomatoes spat out little yellow seeds. ‘You expect us to work with pirates! Perhaps you expect too much, Baron.’
The Baron rose from his chair and passed his stained napkin to Pimple. ‘Oh, I think not. As I said, Brother, the rewards of loyalty will be great. But, rest assured, you would not wish the fate of those who are not with me.’
The Brother and his two compatriots wobbled nervously on the breakfast table. ‘Now then,’ the Baron said, moving closer to the three pirates, ‘which one of you uncouth barbarians is Taffy?’
The three looked at each and shrugged their shoulders. ‘I am,’ they said in unison.
‘Hmm,’ said the Baron, eyeing each in turn, and then looking over at his Chief Courtier. ‘This could be more problematic than I thought, Pimple. Very well, which of you three “Taffies” is Taffy Tuffy?’
Again, the three looked at each other and, again, shrugged their shoulders. ‘I am,’ they said in unison once more.
‘Oh, this is ridiculous!’ the Baron shouted. ‘Which one of you is in charge?’
‘Oh, that’d be me boyo,’ said the smallest of the three. He had a large ring through his nose, a black hat that was at least two sizes too big for him and a disproportionately large cutlass.’
‘At last,’ said the Baron. ‘Now, Mr Tuffy, do you know why I’ve summoned you here on this bright and, dare I say, glorious morning?’
‘Is it something to do with mayhem, monstrous torture, murder and mutilation?’ Taffy Tuffy enquired.
‘Oh, I like your style, Mr Tuffy!’ the Baron enthused. ‘I can see your mind is so finely attuned that my instructions to you will be minimal.’
Taffy Tuffy smiled. It really wasn’t a pleasant sight.
‘Has General Darkblast told you of your reward for this edifying venture?’ the Baron asked.
‘Edif-what! Ay, boyo, he didn’t say anything about any kinky stuff, just that you want some people sorted out, like. Good and proper.’
‘My apologies for my loquacious verbosity,’ the Baron said, holding both hands up. ‘Your interpretation is correct. I want “some people sorting out, like. Good and proper”.’
‘Well that’s alright then,’ Taffy said, relaxing somewhat. ‘We charge double for the kinky stuff, you know.’
