by SJB Gilmour
‘Right,’ Roger announced, pacing among his generals. ‘What do we know about Earth?’
A portly, stone-faced General called Kilnmacher, spoke. ‘It’s a tax haven for enchanters and renegades and it’s a gallery for art lovers,’ he reported. ‘Populated mostly by mortal humans with no idea about anything they call supernatural. They’re good at art and think they’re good at science. Earth’s only real use is a transfer point. More fixed portals lead there than anywhere else, especially from Neroland.’
Roger nodded. ‘And Neroland is very easy to get to from here,’ he stressed. ‘Earth’s also supposed to be home to the most powerful of all fixed portals. Something called Conundrum Gate.’
‘That’s been inactive for aeons,’ one gnome scoffed. Roger turned to him with an expression that made every other gnome in the room bite their tongues and swallow nervously. The gnome who had spoken was a grim-looking, stick thin gnome from MISS. Unlike the other officers in the room, this gnome wore no decorations or signs of rank at all. Of course, none was necessary. Everyone knew who he was — Chief of MISS, Admiral Block, one of the most ruthless and dangerous gnomes on Gnumph.
King Roger, however, was not afraid of him. He poked a short, stubby finger at him.
‘Let’s hope it stays that way,’ he grated. ‘Find out what’s going on there.’
Block nodded. ‘My people will report within the hour,’ he promised.
Something was bothering Roger. Something didn’t seem right. He got up and began pacing back and forth. Earth. Cursed Earth. If it didn’t have so many fixed portals, nobody would be interested in it. In fact, the only people interested in it at all other than a transfer point were all evil or art buffs who didn’t amount to anything much. Who would protect it if Conundrum Gate were activated? Who would protect his beloved Gnumphlatia?
‘Who?’ he muttered to himself.
‘Your Majesty?’ General Kilnmacher asked him.
‘What?’ Roger looked up and realised that every eye had been following him.
‘Who what, Your Majesty?’ Kilnmacher asked him again.
Roger sighed and shook his head. ‘If Earth falls, we’re next. We can’t protect that miserable planet, but someone must be able to.’ He looked about at his military leaders. ‘C’mon, gentlemen,’ he pressed them. ‘Think! Who cares enough about Earth to want to save it?’
There was a silence for a while and then finally another General, a hardened gnome with a perpetual scowl called Clay cleared his throat.
‘I don’t know about their passion for that planet, but the werewolves would probably fight for Earth just to keep anyone else from getting it.’
Roger nodded and turned back to Block. ‘Find out what’s going on at Wolfenvald too,’ he ordered.
Block nodded and without changing expression, got up without asking permission and left the room. Roger concealed a smile and turned back to the rest of the room.
‘Well,’ he demanded, what are you waiting for? You’ve got jobs, haven’t you?’ He was alone again within seconds.
Sarah sat alone in her room, thinking about everything Angela had just told her. The idea that a human woman could be pursued by a god was incredible! Even though the notion of human relations was still quite disgusting to her when she was in human form, she was beginning to be a little curious.
Not really knowing why, Sarah picked up a battered copy of The Concise Enchanter’s Almanac by Lord Vladimir Dracul. Melanie had taken it out of Oliver’s library intending to read it. Oliver and Angela however, had other ideas. They had piled on so much reading for the two girls that Lord Dracul’s tome lay untouched for weeks. Sarah sat down and opened the tome. The pages were old and yellowed and the writing was elegant and in dark, reddish-brown ink. The tome reeked of something long dead and with horror, Sarah realised that the ink used was blood.
‘Were you looking for someone in particular, or were you just going to sit there and be critical?’ the tome asked her gruffly. An image of a rather nasty-looking ghoul appeared on the front page. The ghoul glared at Sarah as though it was mightily offended.
‘Umm,’ Sarah stammered. She didn’t really know what she was looking for and now she was feeling quite embarrassed. After all, wraiths like vampires and ghouls could hardly be blamed for merely doing as was in their nature to do, she thought.
‘Just curious, eh?’ the ghoul suggested with an oily smirk. ‘Wondering if anyone you know is in here, perhaps? Looking for some gossip?’
Sarah wasn’t sure she liked the way this was going. She was about to shut the tome when it floated up and out of her hands. The foul-smelling enchanted book hovered just out of reach.
‘I’m sure you know all about McConnell and Cromwell by now,’ the ghoul continued in a nasty tone. ‘Did you know your precious teacher’s in here too? Bet you don’t know all of Angelina’s story, little wolf!’
The pages then fluttered past until they opened out in the T section.
Troy, Angelina. Also known as Angela Harding, Angelina Hardingleflass, The Angel of Death and Captain Troy. Born circa 1000 BC to Cassandra Troy. Father unknown. Estranged wife of Marzdane Hardingleflass. Children: none. Occupation: Necromancer (renegade), Soldier, (retired Captain with mercenary Amazon outfit), Publisher.
In 261, Troy broke the Amazon record for total number of documented kills during a single battle when she single-handedly massacred 912 Mongol raiders. It was during this battle that Troy earned her nickname Angel of Death. On several occasions, Troy slew her enemies, used her necromantic powers to revive them, only to kill them once more. During most of this battle, Troy was completely naked save the weapons she carried. It should be noted that hundreds of Amazons more heavily armed and armoured, did not survive and were not revived by Troy who seemed bent on dealing death to her enemies at any cost. The instances of her revival and subsequent re-slaying of her foes did not count during her record-breaking rampage since the unfortunate opponents she defeated had been killed once already. At the time of writing (1956) this record still stands. Her total number of documented individual kills by hand exceeds 25000 — thousands more than any other human soldier.
Angelina Troy and her twin sister Susan are the last surviving daughters of the legendary Prophet, Cassandra Troy. Troy left the Amazons in 1218 when she married Marzdane Hardingleflass. In 1278, Troy was dismissed from The Sorcerers’ Guild for crimes against The Guild and use of banned methods in her attempts to divorce Hardingleflass.
Following an alleged nervous breakdown after her divorce, Troy became a mercenary. She fought under various banners, sometimes for enormous fees, other times for almost nothing. This lasted for several decades, until she entered the service of Benjamin McConnell, Silver Shroud Werewolf and Master Spellweaver. To date, she is still employed with McConnell.
Sarah was horrified. The tome’s tone was sneering and vicious and seemed to take nasty delight in revealing this news. She lunged at the tome and grasped its struggling cover with both hands. She resolutely shut it and slammed it back down on the desk.
‘I know why you’re not taken seriously,’ she muttered at the tome. She remembered the wolf in Who’s Who of Werewolves being quite dismissive of Dracul’s tome. ‘If you can’t say something nice about someone, then you shouldn’t say anything!’
‘What? Truth hurts eh?’ the ghoul muttered.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Sarah declared. This wouldn’t have been the first time a tome had lied to her. Even after all her studies, Sarah was still unused to the idea of tomes exaggerating or being untruthful. This one, it appeared, was one of them.
‘Suit yourself, werewolf,’ the ghoul answered.
Sarah changed to her wolf form and began pacing the room. ‘You’re an historical account, aren’t you?’ she asked the tome, feeling much more rational. ‘You’re supposed to be accurate.’
Another tome on a shelf muttered, ‘She should have said “an historic account,” or “a history”,’ in a huffy tone.
‘
Pedant,’ sniffed a tome next to it. ‘Both “an” and “a” are acceptable, however “she” is the cat’s mother.’
Sarah and Lord Dracul’s tome ignored the two bickering tomes.
‘Accurate according to whom?’ the wraith in the tome sneered.
Sarah sat on her haunches and cocked her head at the tome. She had no idea why she was interested in this debate. She didn’t particularly care what may have happened in Angela’s past. It was the joyful malice with which these things were related that offended her. She and the tome then began to argue in earnest. This drew increasing interest from the other tomes on the bookshelf.
‘She’s got you there!’ one crowed when Sarah presented Dracul’s wraith with a particular argument, while others jeered or cheered. A reference tome of enchanted statistical anomalies began taking bets on who would win the argument. Before long, the noise from Sarah’s room was quite raucous indeed.
When Oliver and Melanie returned to the castle, they each carried a basket full of mackerel. The silver fish, some of which were still flipping about in the baskets, were immediately handed over to José. The humourless gnome looked down at the fish with a slight look of distaste.
‘How many guests shall I prepare dinner for, my Lord?’
Oliver grinned and wiped his fishy hands on his robe. ‘Let’s see, there’ll be Harding, myself, the Golden Mane and of course Troy here. You had better make sure Bruce gets a feed too – don’t bother cooking them for him, he wouldn’t appreciate it.’
‘Very well, my Lord,’ José said. The reserved gnome bowed then turned to leave with the two baskets full of fish.
‘Better make enough for another two or three!’ Oliver called out after him. ‘A few friends might be dropping by. Oh,’ he added almost as an afterthought, ‘you better slaughter a goat, too. I think we’re out of blood.’
Oliver grinned and nodded at José who was already turning to leave. With that, he began marching through the halls to the staircase. He was walking so quickly, Melanie had to jog to keep up.
‘Who’s coming to dinner?’ Melanie asked curiously.
‘Go get cleaned up,’ he instructed, ignoring her question. ‘It’ll take José about two hours to prepare dinner. That’ll give me just enough time.’
‘Time for what?’ Melanie demanded, her voice going up an octave. ‘And you didn’t answer my first question!’
‘Make sure that bookwyrm of McConnell’s is at dinner with the rest of them too,’ Oliver told her and disappeared, just as Melanie unleashed some sulfurous language she’d never have dared use in front of her aunt. She stormed into the rooms she shared with Sarah and immediately began ranting.
‘That mongrel!’ she hollered, grasping the first object she could find – a small crystal incense holder – and hurling it against a wall. The crystal shattered with a satisfying crash. The tomes on the bookshelf, which were all now arguing just as feverishly with each other as Sarah was with Lord Dracul’s tome, all stopped mid-sentence for several moments then erupted in fresh cheers and jeers at Melanie’s furious entrance. One angry glance from the dark-haired girl was enough to shut them up very quickly.
Like the bickering tomes, Sarah forgot all about her argument with Lord Dracul’s insulting publication.
‘Feel better?’ She asked her friend archly. In her wolf form, she calmly watched her friend storm about the room swearing and cursing. Then she looked at the shattered glass on the floor. The floor, she realised was also littered with various piles of the girls’ dirty clothes. ‘Napraviatz!’ she commanded and the incense holder was immediately repaired. Then she muttered ‘purgarito’ and the clothes were immediately clean, pressed and sorted into neat piles.
‘He’s just so annoying!’ Melanie grated through clenched teeth. ‘One minute everything’s fine and the next minute he’s all mysterious,’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘Why can’t he just come right out and say what he means instead of playing games?’
‘What did he say?’ Sarah asked calmly, watching her friend with her head cocked sideways.
‘Oh, he’s planning something for dinner. He has some people coming and won’t tell me who they are, or what he’s playing at. It’s bloody annoying.’
‘He’s male,’ Sarah sniffed. ‘I don’t think you need to worry about following your sister to the Amazons.’
Melanie froze, suddenly furious at Sarah. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she demanded angrily.
Sarah wagged her tail. ‘It just seems to me that the two of you sometimes behave like an old married couple. You fight all the time, but you both seem really concerned about what the other one thinks.’
‘I’m not in love with him!’ Melanie almost screamed, going quite purple.
Sarah found this all quite amusing. Usually it was Melanie teasing her. This time, she had the chance to do the goading.
‘Then why are you so upset?’ She wagged her tail even harder so that it thumped on the floor.
Melanie swore and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door. The tomes immediately erupted with fresh jeers and catcalls but a warning growl from Sarah silenced them once more. Sarah then curled up by the fire to wait until it was time for dinner. She put her tail over her nose, but there was no disguising the strong scent of bait and fish that Melanie had trailed into the room. She shut her eyes and tried to take a nap but couldn’t. She realised that inside the bathroom, Melanie was crying. In her wolf form, Sarah’s hearing was as sharp as her sense of smell and neither were being treated very well right then. She padded up to the door.
‘Exput!’ she commanded to the door. The lock clicked open and she nudged the door open with her nose.
Melanie was leaning into the sink, wiping her eyes. ‘Bugger off!’ she swore.
Sarah stood up on her hind legs and put her forepaws on the sink. Standing up like this, she was almost taller than Melanie was. Sarah shook her head from side to side – a most un-wolfish thing to do.
‘I’m having such a bad hair day!’ she whined with exaggerated self-pity.
Melanie laughed and wiped her nose with her sleeve, despite having a wad of tissues in her hand. She looked at the stain on her sleeve then at the tissues.
‘Bugger,’ she swore again and chucked the tissues into the toilet. ‘For you, every day is a bad hair day!’
Sarah stared into the mirror. Her golden coloured coat was shiny and thick. ‘I don’t know about that,’ she said, ‘and I don’t smell like fish!’ She snuffled at Melanie.
Melanie sniffed again. ‘It’s not so bad!’ she said defensively.
‘To a human,’ Sarah said. ‘Try being a wolf. Believe me, you stink.’
‘Thanks,’ Melanie said dryly. ‘Just when you were making me feel so much better.’
Sarah grinned and went to the massive bath. She nodded at the taps. ‘Aqualito!’ she yipped. The taps turned themselves on and began pumping steaming water into the massive tub. Sarah then levitated a large bottle of perfumed bubble bath soap to Melanie.
‘Here,’ she instructed. ‘Don’t come out until that bottle’s empty!’
Melanie took the bottle and laughed. She gave Sarah a friendly shove through the doorway. ‘Next time you can catch dinner!’ She shut the door. ‘But no rabbits! I want steak!’
‘There aren’t any deer on this island!’ Sarah barked back. ‘Only rabbits, and those stupid goats!’
‘That’s your problem!’ Melanie yelled. There was a loud splash and Sarah knew that Melanie would not come out until she was dry and dressed again. This made her curious.
‘Can I ask you something?’ she called out.
There was another splash. ‘What?’ Melanie demanded bad-temperedly. ‘I’m busy!’
‘What have you got against the necromantic rites?’ Sarah asked. ‘Oliver doesn’t seem to mind getting naked.’
‘He’s crazy!’ Melanie yelled back. ‘And I’m not going to strip off until I absolutely have to!’
Sarah cocked her head to one side. ‘Humans,’ she
replied. ‘If you ask me, you’re all mad.’
There was a long pause. Finally, Mel spoke, sounding quite resigned. ‘You’re still in wolf form aren’t you?’
Sarah wasn’t sure why this was so important, but she barked a quick ‘yes!’
‘Well come back in so I don’t have to shout.’
Sarah re-opened the door and padded in to sit beside the massive bathtub.
Melanie was chin deep in the foamy water. ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ she grumbled. ‘You’re a bloody wolf!’
Sarah did understand, but she decided to change the subject. She sniffed and whined in distaste. ‘I’m a werewolf with a good sense of smell,’ she whined. ‘Excuse me,’ she then took Melanie’s smelly clothes in her mouth and carried them out, through the bedroom and to the window. She stood up on her hind legs with her forepaws on the window ledge and dropped Melanie’s clothes out the window. Then she padded quickly back into the steamy bathroom.
‘What did you do that for?’ Melanie demanded. ‘Those are my best jeans!’
‘Now they’re outside where they can’t hurt anyone,’ Sarah replied with aplomb. She sniffed the steamy air. ‘Much better,’ she concluded.
Melanie splashed foamy water at Sarah. ‘Now you stink too!’ she crowed. ‘Ooh, eu du wet dog!’
‘Dog?’ Sarah complained. ‘Calling me a dog is like calling you a monkey! And I don’t smell!’ She pulled a towel off the hanger with her teeth and dropped it on the floor next to the bath. Then she turned around on it a few times and curled up on top of it. ‘What I don’t get,’ she said, looking up and resting her muzzle on the side of the bath, ‘is why necromancers have to keep taking their clothes off all the time. It seems like such a pain.’
