in-between days
by tom laimer-read
some days nothing happens. nobody really ever writes about those days. they are the days that take up most of our lives. they are the forgotten days. they are the days that superman washes his cape and pants, or is he an old-fashioned kind of guy and gets Lois to do that for him? I don't know about the state of female liberation on planet krypton, or elsewhere that superman might be living, so can’t really say. these are the days that people think about pointless things like this. the doodlepad days. the having time for an extra cup of tea days. these are not the days of a total eclipse or some kind of cataclysmic accident. these are the going to the shops to buy a couple of items that you'd forgotten earlier days. these are the days of our lives, as freddie mercury would have us, although the days of his life were probably a lot more exciting than ours will ever be, but perhaps not. perhaps freddie had jim jams days as well. I'm sure that there were some days when he just sat around in his pants. those possibly turned into some of the more exciting days too. freddie was spontaneous like that. that's the thing about days, you never quite know what's going to happen during them.
these aren’t the days that the aliens will arrive with the unexpected reveal, “ah ha! we were cats all along!” these aren’t the days that the dead will rise from their graves and wander the streets, wreaking furious vengeance upon us all. these aren’t even the days that you find a five pound note in the streets and don’t know who it belongs to because there’s nobody else about, so you tell your conscience that you’ll put it in the next charity box that you see, but then you conveniently forget about this when you need a fiver and have to spend it.
these aren’t those days.
oh no.
these are the boring days. the tedious days. the nothing on the telly days. the dust on the wardrobe that really needs cleaning but you aren’t in the mood so you’ll do it tomorrow days. the catching forty winks days. the collecting empty bottles for the bottle bank days. the dvd boxset marathon days. the walks in the park days. the visiting the dentist days. the crackpipe days. the drizzly days. the days that you thought you’d left your umbrella on the bus but then it turns out that you hung it on the hatstand when you took your coat off last time and just forgot days. the egg and cheese flan days. the serious accounting days. the lost in the post days. the unevenful nil-nil draw days. the smattering of mildly appreciative applause days. the pot’s bubbling on the stove days. the drifting downstream days. the dreaming by the lilypond days. the buttered bread days. the wonder when it will all end days. the cleaning out the drainpipe days. the waiting at the bus stop days. the casual cluster bombing days. the winds of change days. the biting into a sandwich and finding a caterpillar days. the plastic fork days. the simple pleasure days. the days you can just sit and read an interesting story days. those days.
they’re not all that bad, really, when all’s said and done.
- - -
Berlintoxication - Excerpt
by Tricia Cicatrix
Around midnight Karoline came back after relieving herself in the bushes and found Walter sitting on a pile of shingle away from the others, radiating glumness. He started violently as she tapped him on the back.
‘Oh, sorry. What are you doing here? Anything the matter?’
Walter shrugged.
‘Nothing new. Isn’t the old something enough?’
‘What do you mean? Your job? Your flat? Money?’
‘Well, everything. I did care about those things, you know. Don’t you ever miss your old life?’
She laughed. ‘No. Never. I suppose it’s different for you. I’m simply glad we got away. Can’t you try to do the same? Just get used to it and have fun?’
‘I’ve tried to. I wish I could enjoy it or accept it, but I can’t. I was happy with the person I was a few weeks ago. I didn’t want to lose it all.’
He had thought about this before but never put it into words. Now he couldn’t stop.
‘You all chose to go away and give up your old life. I’m sure it took a lot of courage and it wasn’t easy, but you made a choice. We didn’t. We had to leave because people hated us for something we didn’t even do. It isn’t fair. Wouldn’t you be angry?’
Karoline nodded, looking at him thoughtfully. ‘You didn’t have to come here, did you?’
‘No – well – you know what I mean. We couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I mean, we’re grateful for your help, but… it isn’t easy. And some of you don’t want us here either, do you?’
‘Do you mean me?’ Dora, who was walking past, stopped when she overheard the last sentence.
‘No… I meant…’ Walter was about to deny it. Then he decided to be honest. ‘Well, yes. I didn’t want you to hear it, but it’s true, isn’t it? You think that we shouldn’t be here. You made it clear from the start. You think we’re not poor enough to deserve help, don’t you?’
‘I never said that.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. Nobody says such things, they just think them!’
‘If I did think so, I would say so too. All I think is that Mark didn’t need to bring you here and tell you everything about us as soon as he met you. There was no need for it.’
‘Well, there’s a need for it now, so you could try not to treat us like intruders.’
‘And you could try not to have a go at us. We didn’t write any letters about you, did we? All right, you’re unhappy and you’ve got problems, but don’t take it out on us!’
‘I know, I’m sorry, but – I’ve lost my life! What used to make up my life! A month ago I was engaged to be married, I had a job and good prospects… I had Charlotte… Everything was going so well…’ His voice trailed away.
‘You’ve still got her, haven’t you?’ asked Dora.
‘Not really, I don’t think so.’
Walter was silent for a moment as anger gave way to sadness again.
‘We’re so far apart. We have arguments… we can’t talk properly… we can’t make plans or have a real future…’
‘Do you still love her?’ asked Karoline.
‘Damn, of course I do!’
‘Why don’t you marry her now?’
‘Gnlpft?’
‘Marry her.’
‘Hnnnk.’
‘Well, why not?’
Walter regained his ability to form words. ‘I can’t. I mean, I’m glad if we even manage to talk, everything’s so difficult. And anyway, I’m in disgrace, her family will never… and we can’t afford the wedding anyway, not anymore…’
‘You could do it here,’ said Karoline. ‘We got a priest ‘n’ all. Why not?’
‘We can’t get married here.’ He looked around. ‘I don’t want to be offensive, but we were going to have a real wedding. With a real priest who believes in God. And with flowers and all that… and we didn’t take our wedding clothes with us… Charlotte will never put up with – well, this.’
‘Who says I won’t?’
Walter turned around. Charlotte was standing behind them grinning ecstatically, her eyes glistening in the moonlight.
‘I will if you want me to,’ she said.
Of course she would.
Because she had wanted to since they had met -
And because it was what you did –
And because the world was going crazy and tomorrow was going to be even crazier, and they might as well do it now.
‘There we are,’ said Karoline, far too happy for a tactful withdrawal. ‘So you’re goin’ to get married?’
The commonly shared impression (it wasn’t long until the rest of the Marzipan Rebels had gathered around them and discussed the matter at length and in depth), was that they really should.
All eyes turned on the couple. ‘Are you going to?’ Lucie asked.
They looked at each other. After a moment, Charlotte smiled.
‘I’ll do it if you want,’ she said.
‘Me too.’
Then they were in each other’s arms.
‘When should we…?’ Walter managed when the embrace ended.
‘Tomorrow?’ suggested Father Johann.
- - -
- - -
The Grimm Truth - The Mirror Reflects
by The Magic Mirror
So, what can I tell you, hmm? What do you want to know, apart from the old, "Who is the fairest of them all?" spiel? Please! I mean, really? I may be a magic mirror, mirror on a wall, no need to remind me! Why do people just assume that all that I care about is looks? I'm a very reflective individual, actually! Face it! Why don't you look yourself in the mirror sometime! Oh, sorry, you were. That's right, me, mirror, here for you to peer into and make yourself look pretty, right, yes, fair enough. Pretty vain if you ask me! Haven't you got anything better to do than pouting at me or gawping gaudily while you comb your luscious locks, hey? I'll give you something to reflect on! Sorry, I was getting carried away again!
Anyway, what was it that you wanted to know? Ah, yes, Snow White, Little Snowy the oh-so-innocent and pure little flower? Not quite as innocent as she likes to make out. Why call yourself that if you haven't got something to hide, hey? Know what I mean? Are you looking at me? Oh, right, me, mirror, yes, I keep forgetting!
Soooo, anyway, this Snow White piece. Oh. My. God! She's always like, "La di da, I can sing to the animals!" Don't go too high, love, or I’ll crack! Anyway, she shacks up with these seven dwarf characters, for some reason. SEVEN! I know. I mean, seven guys and one gal shacked up together? You do the math! She must be gagging for it! No wonder they're Sleepy, Dopey and not so Bashful, or so I hear! I'm sure she doesn't just stay there to keep the place looking tidy while the lads go out to work - hi HOOOO! Dirty. Little. Minx. I bet that's not the only mineshaft they excavate with their axes, that's all I'm saying. Am I right? Well, am I? Uhuh, you know it makes sense, girlfriend! Miow!
Anyway, her poor stepmother goes to find her, to help get her out of that squalid, tawdry life she's gotten herself into, and what does Lily White go and do? The ungrateful little tart goes and calls her a witch! Well, I mean! Undeterred, her stepmum gives her an apple, by way of something healthy to eat, instead of the ready-meals and TV dinners that she makes, to which Snowy replies, "I'd rather choke on it!" which she promptly goes and does. Anyway, the dwarves, being practical types, see fit to put her in a glass coffin, no less. I mean, glass? Perlease! Have some class! It's just so transparent! Buy they're parading her through the woods when all of a sudden this hot, sassy, young prince rolls up on his top of the range thoroughbred stallion. Well, the dwarves don't see him coming til right the last moment, and have to swerve to avoid him. In the near collision they stumble over a hidden tree branch, yeah, right, likely story, dislodging the apple from Snowy's oh so delicate little throat, who then begins choking pathetically. Cough cough cough. I ask you! It was a big act all along, if you ask me. Well, she spots this charming prince and thinks to herself, "Hello! We've got ourselves a nice little insurance claim scam we can wangle here! He was clearly in the wrong lane, after all!" She sees that he offers a sizeable improvement to her current predicament, dumps the dwarves, who are all quite Grumpy by now, and wangles her way in with the prince instead in his big, grand, old castle. Then to top it all off, she invites her step mother to the wedding and kills her with red hot shoes! Death by fashion accessory – what a way to go! The vicious little princess! Well I never never. What a right royal palaver! She certainly doesn't sound like the "fairest of them all" to me, or very fair at all! Snowballs to her! I ask you! That's the way I reflect on it, anyway. You can wipe me with a filthy duster if it isn’t so!
- - -
Here Be Dragons
by Tom Laimer-Read
Druxilla de Vort had newly arrived in Norwich, one of England's largest cities in this year of 1222. She found lodgings in the Brackenbrook Hall Inn, a waystation for weary travellers from afar, run by old Simon Crabtree. Druxilla was determined to find work anywhere that would take her, if work didn't find her first. She had come from Denmark, a dark and broken land, where wraiths and wailing witches walk the cracked earth, storms and wretched winds blowing ash and bletching flame. This was a new start for her, or so she thought.
The morning started with the crow of the cockerel, sun bright and blasting on the citadel. Farmers drove their sheep, pigs, cattle and wildfowl to the market. Druxilla followed the herds, and flocks, and so on.
The dusty streets rattled with fruit carts and horse hooves. Druxilla made enquiries with the local duck plucker, Michael Bunt, about possible employment on the market at Tombland.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for employ and wondered if you had anything available at present?" enquired Druxilla.
Michael the duck plucker squinted and replied, "Nay, you be one of them foreign types, b'aint yer?" he replied.
"I hail from overseas, sir, but have a strong command of the tongue, and also of a blade - for cutting up poultry, of course!" she added.
The duck plucker eyed her suspiciously.
"Nope, can't say as I need none of your sort of help at the moment, but try Black Bill the Parson. I know he takes in all kind of waifs and strays, he might have summat for ye. Ye can find him in the Rat and Anvil alehouse up by the Guildhall."
"How will I know him?"
"Oh, you'll know him alright!" said the duck plucker, elusively.
Druxilla wandered up to the sturdy looking building on the hill beside the Guildhallm with its swinging sign outside declaring it to be the one and only Rat and Anvil. She had been warned by Simon Crabtree not to enter such disreputable venues if she wanted to get out alive, but she was determined, and needed the work, so had no other course of action.
As she arrived at the door, a figure flew backwards out of the window. A cheer erupted from within.
"Oh well, it's extra work for Jim the Glazer!" said the man, getting up, dusting himself off, and walking away.
Druxilla took a deep breath, then pushed her way in to the den of vice and villainy.
A circle of muck-covered men stood around two others on the sawdust and straw. One was visibly bigger, more menacing, with a scar on his right cheek going up across his eye. He displayed a vicious snarl. Other men sat on large, sturdy wooden tables around the side, observing the activity and passing pieces of paper, which Druxilla rightly assumed must have been betting slips between them.
The size difference seemed so unfair that Druxilla almost felt compelled to intervene, but she decided to steer clear of any confrontations at the wise words of Simon the Innkeeper, and merely watched, for now.
A fight adjudicator stepped forwards, raised his finger, and called aloud, "Combatants, ready? Then after my call, begin! 3... 2... 1... BEGIN!"
The makeshift referee let his finger sweep downwards, and the fight commenced. The little man, being nimble on his toes, got a head start on the giant, being tall and lumbering. The diminutive figure sidled around the larger fellow, giving him a quick rabbit punch in the kidney. The tall chap flinched, bending downwards just far enough for the small man to reach up and give him a clout around the lughole. The tall man cried aloud, "Ow! He punctured my ear drum!"
But this was no time for pleas of mercy. The little chap jumped about like a flea, prancing and popping at the bigger man so prudently that he didn't even get the chance to lay one lolloping finger on the small lad. At one point the tall figure almost managed to smash the impish bloke between his huge fists in what would've been a knock out blow, but the tiny chap managed to nip neatly between the tall guy's legs, reaching up with a cheeky jab as he did so, which bent the giant double, and then the small man gave him a drop kick to the behind, which sent the giant straight out of the door and head-first into the water trough outside the Guildhall, where a drinking horse looked at him quite bemusedly, rather upset by the interruption. It whinnied tetchily, while the gathered throng in the bar roared with glee. Frantic men scrabbled about, exchanging paper slips and claiming their winnings, then buying the next frothing pint with th
em.
The adjudicator stepped forwards to address the crowd.
"And the winner is... Black Bill!" he yelled. So that was him! Black Bill was so called because he rarely washed, except when he accidentally fell into the River Wensum drunk.
Drux went to introduce herself.
"Good day, sir. The duck plucker sent me, saying that you possibly had some work?"
"Ah, that may well be, but I ain't no gent! No way!" said Bill, huskily, wiping sweat from his dirty forehead with a mucky, spotted handkerchief.
"We're 'avin' a bit of bother down the old building site - you look as if you might be good at dealin' with riff raff, I see you're a swordswoman yourself, from The Nether Parts, if I'm not much mistaken?"
"That is correct."
"Arr, I been there meself! So you're a dragonslayer, nay?"
"I... used to be. Not any more. That's why I'm here, to get away from all that."
"Well... ye may not 'ave got as far enough away as ye think!"
"What do you mean?"
"Here be dragons! Arr! The cathedral that the bishop's sanctioned 'ere's brought the attention of the terrible beasts! They don't want it bein' built, y'see? So they keep flyin' by an' tryin' to scorch our business. Been pretty successful at it so far, it's halted work for a good while, men don't like the danger, and who can blame 'em? But if we got someone o' your calibre to set things straight, I think we can get rid o' these critters an' get back to work in no time!"
Drux looked him in the eye, the one that wasn't squinting, and stared for a while. She could tell that he was straightforward, honest, and wouldn't deceive her. She was ready for this last challenge, then she could rest easy in a city that would be safe.
"I'll do it," she whispered, sternly.
"Great! Well, it's a decent wage, anyway, one gold piece a week, and you might even get to meet the King and his jester George if they're about. They said they'd drop in this afternoon, so let's go have a look and get you started, shall we? Follow me! Oh, wait a moment..." piped Black Bill, slipping from his stool, grabbing a bag of gold from the referee's table, downing a flagon of ale on his way out, bidding goodbye to the people with a fierce but sturdy belch.
The two wandered along the plain up to Tombland, where the market stood. Before them was the half built construction of the cathedral, the beginnings of a mighty spire reaching into the sky, jagged bricks and mortar with rickety wooden scaffolding surrounding it, awaiting its completion. As they entered through the portcullis gateway, a trumpet clarion sounded. It was to announce the coming of the King! Drux and Black Bill stepped back as the King's carriage passed them. Drux caught a glimpse of the King as he passed, looking concerned in his appearance. George the Jester would have joked that the King was always concerned in his appearance, and that you could never get him away from the mirror for hours before an official function or event.
The carriage came to a halt, and Black Bill walked up to greet The King, who was surrounded by other dignitaries and George the Jester, as he descended down the steps.
"Good day to you, fair King Harold!"
"Ah, Black Bill my good man! How be you this fretful day?"
"Oh, punching above my weight, as usual. We've got a new recruit, she's going to sort your little pest control problem out for you, no probs!"
"Ah, excellent, and you might be?"
"Druxilla de Vort, swordswoman and dragonslayer, your excellency. I hear that you have had difficulties here?"
"Yes, indeed. The creature visits at night, mostly, and belches its fire at the building. It's enough for the poor fellows here to put the flames, without being burnt to a cinder themselves! Trying to build the edifice is a perrilous task, but we must!"
George the Jester stepped forwards.
"Well, it's more than a case of bad breath, is it not sire? This scaly waily miscreant is ."
"Not now, George, I'm not in the mood," moped Harold, grimly.
"Sorry, sire."
"Well," chuckled Black Bill, "We'd best be getting to it. We've got preparations to make!"
"Certainly, Bill my boy! You must away, and we must continue our inspection of the grounds. Adieu!"
The King and his retinue began their circuit of the grounds, while Black Bill took Druxilla on a tour of the perimeter himself, showing her the best defence positions and areas that were exposed. At that moment, Druxilla noticed a brief shift in the air pressure around her. A dark shadow flashed across the pathway, and she instinctively ducked towards an inlet in a stone wall, dragging Bill in beside her. This was not a moment too soon, as where they had been standing, a burst of flames erupted, sending a plume licking into the air, followed by a rushing roar. The dragon had arrived, and earlier that scheduled, taking the protecting unit unawares. There were shouts from the guardian soldiers up to the archers on the battlements, who fired arrows hastily in the direction of the great, flailing creature, but to no avail, they just bounced off its hard, bony scales as it flapped through the aether. The huge beast swept around in a graceful arc, turning and then returning to the dusty path that Druxilla and Bill had been walking along, where it crashed to a halt.
"I think we have an unwelcome visitor," stated Bill, laconically.
"Let's give him a discourteous welcome then, shall we?" replied Druxilla, unsheathing her sword, while Bill removed the sharp, poison-tipped dagger from his belt.
The dragon stood, sniffing the air for a moment, its massive nostrils steaming, the air shimmering with heathaze in front of them. It could sense a new-comer in its midst, somebody that it felt shouldn't be here. Somebody that it recognised from days gone by, far over the sea. It leaned its head down moving its eye close to the inlet in the wall that Druxilla and Bill were stuck inside. As the eye drew close, Druxilla saw in it a look of comprehension and slow recognition. So, it had come, the monster that had killed her family, her mother and father, while she was young, and sent her alone into the world to fend for herself. This would be her day of reckoning. Druxilla raised the sword and sliced downwards, cutting the creature across the eyelid. It howled and recoiled, crashing its tail onto the floor and shaking its head from side to side in pain. Bill and Druxilla used this chance to escape, hurling themselves along the path to the entrance of the cathedral itself, where The King and a small army had gathered. The infuriated dragon had regained its composure and spotted the perpetrator of its disfigurement, so began thumping along after it, flapping its wings to send itself soaring into the sky above, blocking out the sun. Clouds surrounded it, and a cold darkness descended.
"We'd better get inside, sire!" shouted Bill, knowing that they were in serious danger. "Leave some of the squadron out here to defend the entrance, we'll get inside and get to higher ground where we might have more of a chance against it!"
"Certainly! You heard him, get to it, chaps!"
Some of the guards stayed in the doorway to protect the King from the ensuing attack, while he, Bill, Druxilla, George and a number of soldiers accompanied them inside.
The haunting transcept of the half built cathedral was dusty and dank. Their footsteps rattled along the flagstones, as fierce fighting was heard outside, accompanied by howls and cries of pain.
There was a smash as pieces of masonry fell around them. The dragon was using its tail to break in, slamming it against the door and the side of the building. The party continued, up the steps in the spiral staircase, ascending to a higher level. Up here it became lighter, the holy surroundings giving things a hushed reverence. The fighting outside had stopped, the guards presumably dead.
Each of the King's entourage was breathless, eyes wide with alert fear. They did not know what the dragon was planning, but the wait to find out was excrutiatingly worrying.
A crash above signified that the dragon was with them. It peered in through the gaping, unfinished spire, seeking its prey, and where to wreak its infuriated vengeance. It spotted the band of battling brawlers and inhaled. Those who were quick enough dived behind pillars and sepulch
res to protect them from the fiery explosion. Those who were not so quick were roasted alive. Druxilla had managed to hurl herself headlong behind a scaffold, which she then began climbing up, to get herself as close to the dragon as possible.
George and King Harold had survived by leaping behind the pulpit.
"We have to escape, sire, or we'll be cooked like pigs on a spit!"
"You do not wish to stay and fight this loathsome beast, George?"
"I do not wish to become a pork chops, that's for certain!"
"Where's your guts, man?"
"In my belly, sire, just where I'd like them to remain!"
"This is no time for cowardly quibbling, George. I'm a King. I have to show that I'm not to be cowered by this feckless fiend! I shall address it and demand that it takes notice of my command."
"No, sire! That's madness! Let's just leg it and see another day!"
"I cannot, good jester, though I know you advise to my protection, but I must fight, for it is my duty to do so for my subjects."
The King stepped up to the top of the pulpit, where he coughed, to attract the attention of the dragon.
"Excuse me? Dragon? Can you hear me?"
The dragon looked a little perplexed, and frowned at the King.
"I just wanted to say, that I'm the King around here, and you're not welcome on my turf, you bally oaf! If you don't leave in five seconds, I've a good mind to give you a ruddy good thrashing! Do you hear me? One..."
The dragon looked extremely disgruntled."
"... Two..."
It stared down its nose at the King, disgustedly.
"... Three..."
"Sire, I think we'd better..."
"... not now George... Four..."
The dragon inhaled, taking deep lungfuls of air, the heathaze in front of its nostrils blazing.
"Sire, I really think..."
"... Four and a half..."
The dragon's eyes lit in a lustrous, evil elation. Its innards rumbled and then it ejected a massive jet of fire from its mouth and nostrils, spraying the pulpit where the King had stood.
George wrenched the King's gown, pulling him backwards bodily down the steps of the pulpit as the flames hit, just managing to bounce off the top of his crown, which got singed slightly and had a wisp of smoke rising off the top while George dragged the King behind him at great speed, his long jester's boots trapping as quickly as he could across the floor while the jet of fire followed inches behind them.
Using this distraction, Druxilla had managed to clamber directly level with the dragon, with Bill closely following her directly the other side. They chose this particular moment to jump onto the dragon's neck and head, Druxilla slashing at it with her ornate sword, and Bill slicing away with his dangerous dagger. The dragon stopped breathing fire and began to shake its head wildly to remove the offending intruders. They would not be shook off, holding tightly but surely, knowing where to get a grip from their days of fearless fighting. The dragon could not produce fire for a while, having used up its last blast in the jet of before, it taking a while for the internal juices to produce enough combustive fluid for it to ignite again. Instead it used its mighty claws to scratch up at the fighters who had attacked it, but this made it lose its grip on the stone wall, and it veered downwards onto the stones below. For a moment it was stunned, but so were Bill and Druxilla, doing all that they could to hold on and not be crushed in the fall. They shook themselves, but so did the dragon, who by now was infuriated. The remaining few soldiers made a valiant attempt to attack the flank of the dragon, but were driven back by its flicking tail. Nobody could get close. The dragon groaned, deeply, righted itself, then decided that it had had enough of the (kkk), so extended its (huge) wings, flapped (hugely) and rose into the air, the two assailants still clinging to its head and neck. As it got higher and higher, Druxilla and Bill realised that they had to act quickly, otherwise they would be so far up in the air that a fall to the ground would mean instantaneous death. They could not let go now, but it was either them or the dragon. This was it.
As the giant reptile peered around to see what was stuck to its neck, Druxilla remembered that she had injured its right eye, so thought to do the same to the other to at least incapacitate its sense of sight, and prevent it from locating them so easily that way. She lifted her free hand with the sword still clutched in it, and brought the spike down into the soft mulch of the dragon's left eyeball. It squealed with anguish, a cry that shook the two bodily and ripped through their ears and innards. They both winced as the dragon cartwheeled through the sky, doing all of the aerial manoeuvres that it could to get rid of them. Bill slipped down from his position, grasping on tentatively to the underside of the monster, at one point only holding on by his fingertips, but managing to swing himself up as the beast spun around one more time, righting himself and getting in a position for another attack. He raised his dagger, cutting it across the lower part of its throat. A vein had been caught, and a trickle of blood sprayed out, floating to the ground below in a shower of reddish purple droplets. Atop the creature's head, Druxilla was getting herself into position for the final blow. The creature itself was bawling in agony and rage, flying as fast as it could towards a crop of trees, it felt the rustle beneath it. One branch managed to catch Bill and he flew off with an "Ooof!" as it hit him in the stomach. It was only Druxilla and the dragon now. She had to get this right, otherwise she was a gonner. She had spent her lifetime battling dragons and fearsome creatures. She knew what she had to do, but this one was mean, and the fact that it had killed her parents made her own blood boil inside her so much that it was hard to control herself. She reined her temper in and concentrated for that split moment that was necessary. The dragon was propelling itself towards a rocky outcrop that it intended to scrape the unwanted parasite that it had picked up off its head with. Druxilla didn't have much time. She bent over, lifted up the scales from just above the dragon's forehead, and then plunged the sword inside at the correct angle to send it severing into its brain. The creature careened headfirst into the rocks, leaping away at the final moment onto a rugged ledge, the only place possible to grab onto. The dragon slid and crumpled onto the floor, causing an avalanche of boulders and debris to fall around it. It was dead.
Druxilla hung onto the outcrop as long as she could. By now she was feeling extremely tired, and didn't know how much energy she had left before she would fall onto the jagged rocks below, something that she almost certainly would not survive. She looked to her left, and saw another small promotory of rocks, on which sat a set of interwoven sticks. It was a nest, and in it was a cracked egg. There, next to it, was a baby dragon. From above, she heard a yell.
"Hallo down there! Ye need some help?!" chimed Bill, cheerily.
"You and who's army?!"
"Well, the King's as a matter of fact!"
"Oh, well, yes, that should help, certainly! Give me a hand!"
The soldiers formed a human chain, with George and Bill acrobatically leaning down, wrenching on to one another, and then hauling Druxilla up between them. Druxilla looked down over the large cliff. She spotted the speck of the tiny creature, the baby dragon, below her, and considered telling the gathered group as to its whereabouts, and then stopped herself. She had been in that position herself before, and had been left to fend for herself, so that is how she would leave the dragon's offspring, it seemed only fair, for now.
"What took you so long?" she enquired.
"Is something burning?" replied George.
The King stepped forwards.
"Druxilla de Vort, today you have protected the people of the city, and the King, and have our undue thanks. You have the right to remain as our faithful guardian, and for that we shall be eternally grateful. Will you take us up on that offer?"
"It would be my pleasure," returned Druxilla. "My dragon slaying days are done. It's about time I settled down somewhere, so what better place than here?"
"Quite so. Hurrah for Druxilla de Vort!
Hurrah!"
The crowd cheered, waved their hands and some hurled their hats in the air. This was a good day, unless you were a dragon. Perhaps there would be more where that one had come from, but Druxilla would be on hand to repel the invading villain.
THE END
- - -
Steaming Pistons - The Wheels of Industry
by Philbert Chicory
Odg save the Queen! Good old Queen Vitriolica that is! Well, she's not that old. She’s just a slip of a girl at the moment, in fact, that moment being the middle of the 19th Century, although they say that she's had a bit of mechanical tinkering done along the way to keep her pootling along to a ripe, rollicking age. This is why you can sometimes see steam literally pouring out of her ears when she gets grumpy and irritable, which is quite often, actually. As it happens, that’s exactly why they named the new station after her - Queen's Grumpy Station. She wasn't at all amused by that - she almost blew her lid, in fact! I myself was there at the grand opening, myself being Philbert Chicory, one of the most eminent scribes of the time. How on Herat could I possibly miss out on such an auspicious occasion?! There were free cream scones available and everything! Huzzah!
It was of course all taking place in the higgledy-piggledy city of Odnnol, which I am certain that you are all familiar with by now, aren't you? If not, why weren't you paying attention, hey?! Odnnol, Odnnol, Odnnol, the city that occasionally nods off, but otherwise stays awake for most of the time. So great that they had to name it three times so that they could remember it properly. Odnnol, the murkiest, mangiest, most magnificent and miserable city on Herat. A place where street urchins rub, and indeed rob, shoulders with the super rich, where steam-powered carriages pelt through the midnight streets amongst swirling gas-lit mists, where bright, bulbous-headed bachelors attend mysterious masques amidst the belching smoke of the fulminating factory chimneys. An unusual place.
Many diverse oddities and attractions can be discovered at the various fairs and street markets that pockmark the scrambled city, including none other than Hubert Brixley's Dancing Dodos, Mister Mesmeriser (who performs amazing feats of mental dexterity, such as remembering his wife's birthday and when their wedding anniversary is, as well as the birthdays of all of his friends and relatives - a not unastonishing feat indeed!), alongside Magumbo the Clown, Pugliacci the Back-flipping Pug Dog, Rhonda the Beardless Lady, Ezekiel Freakybeak The Bucktoothed Freak, Hot Air Hubert (who can apparently inflate himself with helium and float above the audience of spectators below right across the fractured Odnnol skyline - careful not to get yourself a puncture, Hubert!), The Great Baldini (he has NO HAIR!), the Conjoined Barrister Twins (with their hilarious 'Guilty, Not Guilty, M'lud!' routine), Pollyglot the Magnificent Multilingual Parrot and The Human Badger Family (we’re currently trying to collect the full sett).
As it transpired, I was present at the inaugural reception for the opening of the splendid new steam train interchange lovingly named Queen's Grumpy Station. It was a truly spectacular affair. Huge swathes of bunting bedecked the sturdy metal beams that made up the station's mighty criss-crossing frame, while hoards of raving patriotic common folk madly fluttered their flags, crammed tightly into the Commoners area down in the pits, where they belonged, of course. We can't possibly allow them to make the place look messy and try to move up in the world, now can we? They might start getting ideas above their station!
An opulent display of pomp and ceremony presented itself before the gathered dignitaries, as well as, at one particular point, an impudent example of pump and ceremony, when a railway official pumped water from the water butt that was used to provide water for the steam trains. There was also a demonstration of pompom and circumstance by the Odnnol Spinsters Cheerleading Society, which was a sight to behold, and not one that I will be forgetting for quite a while, may I tell you. It was a remarkable demonstration, as impressive as any I have ever seen before or since (and I've seen a few, believe you me).
However, as is the case with this kind of public gathering, it will always attract one or two, shall we say, 'disreputable types'? None could be more disreputable and downright dastardly than that redoubtable rapscallion and scurrilous scoundrel known as one Penny Luddfear, the appalling little waif and wastrel that she was. She wore extremely strange, some may even say suggestive, black apparel, which was most unbecoming and ungainly for a young lady, and indeed an older lady too, but she was no lady of any kind of standing, in any road, or away from any roads also. Her brass cog monogoggle twinkled in the smoggy daylight, searching for something that I could not quite make out myself, not owning one of those unsightly things myself, you see? Well, I didn’t.
Some of my literary colleagues who were also in attendance made reference to the unusual attire of the notorious Penny. My esteemed colleague Bharles Chickens himself clucked away lustily to those around him willing to listen to his illustrious balderdash about how there was always a Bad Penny that turned up on such occasions.
Miss Luddfear, the svelte, spindly, spider-like silhouette with the black beret and black-and-white-striped top, surveyed the ramshackle crowd, examining the other dignified dignitaries and debutante daughters on display (some with perhaps more on display than was entirely appropriate for polite society, I must say). Some serious men smoked long, metallic pipes, while others sported self-raising top hats which automatically adjusted and doffed themselves to the gentry as and when it was deemed appropriate, depending on who was within view. One man even wore a stovepipe hat that contained a real stove, with a small ventilation pipe poking to one side, syphoning off any unwanted smoke, but after a while his head became too sweltering hot and he had to go home to have a lie down, sticking his burning bonce head first into a full bath-tub to cool it down. Steam rose. Such was the way that people suffered for fashion.
Penny was a lightning rod for danger and disaster. Wherever she went, calamity struck nearby. Penny was an orphan who had raised herself by her own bootstraps in the unseemly slums of Odnnol amongst the fallen, forlorn folk, fending and fighting for her very livelihood by herself. She certainly had charm, that is true, and a curiously appealing allure, but was far too wild and unruly for any gentrified gentleman to ever take an interest in, and believe you me, many have tried and many have suffered because of it.
It was at that very moment that Penny spotted the very personage that she had been looking for - Professor Richard Diligence. Professor Diligence was a decent sort of chap. His brain was known throughout the Tribish Empire as being the size of Tenk, although not many people knew exactly how large Tenk was, so it wasn't so much of a searing judgement. They just knew that it was large, and that was what mattered.
Some claimed that Diligence himself was part of some kind of crazed government experiment to create a superhuman being. Others still purported that he had experimented on himself, using the latest technological advancements of the steam age to enhance his own inate powers and skills. In many ways, if any of this were true, you could very well say that he was the very definition of a modern Self-made Man.
The Professor personally stated that he was using new developments in science for the good of all mankind, Queen and country. If anything, this was a shrewd move; but his real motives were a closely guarded secret, not least by himself.
A monstrous train whistled and chugged its way up to its respective buffer stopping point, adjoining the buffers at the end of the platform with a shuddering clang, where it came to a full wheezing halt. The driver got out, mopped his hands with a cloth, and went for a cup of tea, as drivers are wont to do. Penny, seizing her moment, darted across from where she stood in the commoners' area, vaulting the barrier with ease, and came lunging across the promenade towards the Professor with alarming alacrity.
"Good gracious!" gurgled the Professor. "This filthy filly has bolted the stable and really made a run for it! I'd better stop her from causing any mischief and get this situation under control! We don't want any mishaps, ballyhoo or funny business going
on before old Queen Vitri gets here, or it will not be a ticketty boo do at all!"
The entire structure of the station had been carefully, immaculately designed by Professor Diligence and his team. He was there to ensure that everything ran like clockwork, so to speak. Seeing as how many parts of the station actually did run by clockwork, this shouldn't have been too tricky, but the last thing that he needed was some ne'er-do-well interloper interfering in the proceedings. He had, of course, accounted for ne'er-do-well interlopers interfering in the proceedings too, and as this was the eventuality, made the secret signal to a band of plain-clothed robobobbies to come forward and arrest the girl. The robobobbies always got their man, or indeed, woman. Women, of course, should really know their place, which is of course in the home, preferably under lock and key, if gentlemen of the time have anything to do with it. They should not in any way be encouraged to go stampeding across newly-built station forecourts causing a tumultuous affray. Why, it simply is not the done thing. I mean, what would Aunt Agatha say?! "It simply is not the done thing," probably.
So, with tremulous, trembling apprehension, I leant forwards slightly closer to see what was happening. Miss Luddfear was somehow spin-kicking the automated police officers away, with nuts and bolts flying across the platform. She really did give them a good kick in the nuts, it must be said.
Penny was causing an almighty stir, nay rumpus, when the worst of all eventualities that could have arisen arose - Queen Vitriolica herself arrived, to trumpeted fanfare. The celebratory band piped up, beginning the jaunty national anthem, causing all present to stand firmly to attention, as indeed they should, including the robobobbies, who were programmed to respond as such, leaving Miss Luddfear free to catch her breath and pursue her nefarious, traitorous, insidious, notorious, uproarious ends.
A terrible hoo-hah looked set to ensue, and it invariably did. Whatever would Aunt Agatha say?! "What a terrible hoo-hah is ensuing!" is probably what she would say. She's a very blunt lady like that, is Aunt Agatha. She doesn't pull her punches, especially when she's had too much punch. She’s got a mean left hook.
I emitted a shrill view-hollah, but to no avail. Penny was a lady not to be distracted by such eruptions, and continued careering towards the standing engine in a manner not unakin to a train itself. She was almost apprehended by one of the smarter mechanised police officers, who pounced on her from off of the roof of the train, while simultaneously singing the national anthem to save face, but Penny managed to wrestle it off, hurling it to the floor, where it shattered its brittle frame into many pieces. She reached behind herself to reveal her trademark instrument, the one and only Discordion, a form of discordant accordion, engraved with skulls and bones and all manner of intricate engravings, that made one hell of a racket when she played it, and was a hefty piece of equipment that could cause serious damage to boot, not to mention her bulky boots. She propelled the instrument into the robobobby’s face, concertinaing its head inwards, with nothing left but a billow of bluish grey smoke.
"You should've listened to the band!" she sneered, stepping closer to Professor Diligence until she was directly in front of him, within a whisker of his not unimpressive whiskers.
"What on Odg's good Herat do you call this most uncivil interruption, young lady?!" bawled Diligence at the top of his voice.
"Don't be a total bloated buffoon, Diligence! You should've realised that this place isn't safe at all! These people are in mortal danger!"
"This place isn't safe?!" repeated Diligence like a parrot, although not Pollyglot the Magnificent Multilingual Parrot, as she spoke her own mind and nobody else's. "What leads you to such whimsical conclusions? Who could possibly believe such paltry, insolent lies? Why, I designed this place myself!"
By this point Queen Vitriolica's train, by which I mean party, as in group of followers, not large, rail-based transportation vehicle, had fully arrived.
"Well, it just goes to show!" replied Penny.
"What does?" enquired the Professor, looking down at the front of his tweed pantaloons.
"You didn't notice the chemical explosives planted in the engine of the new locomotive that, when ignited to a temperature that's hot enough, will detonate, blowing this entire place and everyone with it sky high, did you?!"
"Ah, um, yes, that was one part that I didn't have oversight over. Hmmm, you may well have something there. But so? What's it to you, street scum?! How do I know that this isn't some fanciful scheme concocted by you and your disruptive chums to interrupt the parade? I thought that you hated the Queen, anyway?"
"I do, and don't care a toss about you or her minions, but I do care about this crowd of normal people who haven't done any harm to anyone in their lives!"
"Well, that's debatable, but I know what you're getting at. How do you know that there's a plot afoot, anyway?"
"We in the underground have eyes everywhere. Deals were done, things were seen. I know what's going on, and don't doubt that I don't!"
"Really?"
"And what about that large plume of purple smoke that's coming from the engine?!"
"Ah. Yes. Right, you may indeed have a salient point right there. Well, why come to me in person now?"
"Because you're the only person who has the ability to shut down the engine and the knowledge with which to get rid of it. You built this place, you must know where there's somewhere safe that you can contain the blast if it were to occur, mustn't you?"
"Really, now, I don't know that I do..."
"Well you'd better think fast, otherwise this place is going to be redecorated in a decidedly explosive new fashion!"
"Tally ho, old girl! Chin up, and follow me!"
They belted across the concourse with a lot of hustle and bustle going on around them. Diligence laid down the law, literally in one case, when a robobobby came forwards to apprehend Penny with an extendable arm (otherwise known as 'the long arm of the law'), and he took it out with a swift left hook that he'd learnt off Aunt Agatha.
"Halt! Stand back! Do not arrest the girl, she's here to prevent a great atrocity from taking place!"
"Yes," jeered Penny, "an even worse atrocity than those tweed pantaloons of yours, but that can't be helped now! Get out of our way!"
Penny whistled through the station like a kettle-based steam-propelled device, racing up to where the lumbering engine stood, hissing and heaving on its great steel wheels. Everybody was going loco-motive, as it was certainly not a situation to lie motionless in. At least Penny was on the right tracks and getting to the point. What she was not expecting was for the thorny figure of Thornfinger to spring down on her from the top of a small, decorative boxtree shrub beside the railway sidings. He managed to get his claw-like grip around her neck and began to squeeze tightly, restricting her airway.
"NO! You mustn't stop the bang! People cannot be allowed to destroy my natural habitat!" Thornfinger howled.
Penny choked and went blue, almost passing out, until Professor Diligence came behind them and took up Thornfinger in his fearsome pneumatic hand.
"Unhand her, you leafy brute!" intoned Diligence, gripping the creature by the collar, dangling him high above the cold stone floor, feet flailing.
"No! No! NO! We cannot allow it!" spluttered Thornfinger.
At this point, a swarm of furious sparrows swept in under the open archway, zooming beneath the parapet and pecking at all in their path.
"We must find a way of averting this calamitous catastrophe!" uttered the Professor, ducking away from the frenetic beaks, and in one case, an angry duck.
"Well, if you hadn't been so hasty in getting this shady enterprise going and destroying the nearby wilderness in the process, this would never have happened!" hissed Penny.
"Oh, it's all very well being smart now, isn't it?" replied the Professor.
"We don't have time for this bickering! That thing's going to blow any moment!"
While they argued, Thornfinger seized his opportunity, and the Professor by one of his fl
eshy parts, sinking his sharp teeth in. The Professor yelped and released the creature from his grip, who then sprang free and darted away to a safe point. He clambered up one of the steel pillars and out of reach to view the ensuing melee that lay beneath.
"Stop wailing you wibbling weed! We have to do something!" bawled Penny.
"Oh, fine! Don't wet yourself!"
"What was that?"
"Nothing, I was just being facetious!"
"Facetious?! Wait… like as in "faeces", yes! And getting wet… that gives me a very flimsy and probably ill-thought out idea!"
"How do you mean?"
"I don't have time to explain the details, just go with me. Professor, you're the architect of this modern monstrosity, aren't you?"
"Well, hold on, if you put it like that…"
"Shut up, there's no time to argue!"
The Professor nodded, indignantly.
"You must then be aware of where the largest sewerage outlet pipes are in the area. Come on, think man! Are there any that are big enough to fit a train into?"
"Are you seriously thinking of redirecting this train along an underground sewerage line?"
"That's the general idea, yes. Thanks for elucidating everyone. So, Prof… is it possible?!"
"Well, there is one sewerage pipeline that I helped to install that runs from near here all the way to the River Sehmat - that should do the trick! But the entire track would need to be redirected somehow!"
"Couldn't you use your pneumatic arms to wrench the tracks into place?"
"Possibly, but it would require being ahead of the train, as well as having someone to guide it out of harm's way directly into the mouth of the sewer with very little chance of return. I'm not that fast, and we don't have that much time, this thing's fit to bursting, and is going to blow at any moment!"
The engine was indeed heaving and huffing under the strain of the inferno that was about to engulf it, and the entire station.
While they were conflabing, your humblest of authors observed that Thornfinger was readying himself for another attack. Without a second thought or moment to lose, I heaved myself out of my chair, stepped purposefully over to where Queen Vitriolica was now standing, wrenched the bottle of bubbly that she was intending to perform the naming ceremony of the train with out of her hands, strode over to where Thornfinger had slid down from his roosting place, and gave him a stiff bop on the back of the head before he had a chance to cause any more damage. He jiggered around in a circle and then fell to the floor.
"I pronounce this critter closed!" I jibed, wittily, and walked away wiping my hands. I know that authors shouldn't really get involved in their own stories, but I couldn't help it with this damnable fiend at play.
Penny surveyed the setting for any last minute possibilities of assistance. The nearby water pump contained just enough water to subdue the fire from wiping out the whole structure in a blinding conflagration. She flipped herself over to the large silo and upturned it just at the right angle (which is much preferable to an obtuse angle) to pour the contents into the funnel of the waiting train. It sizzled, satisfactorily, but was not completely extinguished, so the danger was not quite over yet.
"Punch a hole in the sides, Professor!" she screamed.
"But there's nobody to guide it, and how will I get to the track join in time?"
"I'll drive! I'm the only person who knows how, apart from the driver, but he's having a cup of tea, and I'm sure you'll find a way to get there somehow. You're a man, after all, you should honour us ladies and be there to insist for us to go first."
"Well I never! The very cheek of it!"
"Shut up and do it! Now!"
The Professor was momentarily stunned by Penny's upbraiding, brassy attitude, but shook himself to his senses and got down to brass tacks. He knew that he was in for a rough ride, but not as rough as the one that Penny was going to take - that was a one way death trip ticket to doom for certain! She was one brave filly; that was for sure. He punctured the side of the engine with his pneumatic fist, sending a hiss of steam into the air and the train rocketing forwards.
The Professor spotted a small pump-action hand-operated rail cart that the railway workers used to get from point to point while going about their daily concerns. He hauled himself onto it and pumped with his pneumatic hands like there was no tomorrow. If he didn't get to the track point in time, there would be no tomorrow for the people here, himself included.
The cart whooshed along the rails, screeching and spraying sparks in every direction. The Professor could see the position up ahead where the Southern Sewerage Outfall began, and put his head down to reach it with the utmost of purpose and perspicacity. He glanced behind him to see the train roaring along the tracks behind him at an increasingly intensifying velocity.
Atop the steam train, Penny Luddfear was holding the reins, grasping them with a ferocious fury, ready to send it raging into the jaws of hell, or Odnnol at least, which was near enough. She straddled the rumbling vessel as it reverberated towards its inexorable end point, leaning back in the saddle and squealing with exhilaration.
"Come on, come on! I'll ride you all the way, you strapping contraption!"
Up ahead she spotted the Professor, pumping industriously, as he should be. What she or I or anyone didn't see in time was that Thornfinger himself had clung onto the side, and was rapidly approaching her from behind. A flicker in her peripheral vision made her glance to the side just as Thornfinger was almost upon her, giving her enough time to edge away from his swiping claws, which would've knocked her off her perch, or at least sliced into her soft, milky skin with ease.
"Must stop the developments! It does us no good!" croaked Thornfinger.
"You can't stop this, but we can redirect it! I'm not against you, I just don't want to see people getting hurt!"
"What about my friends getting hurt?! You will destroy all of us for your little slice of so-called progress!" countered the forest creature.
"No! It's not like that! This technology can improve things for people, and for nature. We can make it better for all if we work in harmony!" reasoned Penny, a true steam punk.
Thornfinger looked at Penny, then the engine, and then the Professor up ahead.
"He's not going to make it in time, is he?" he croaked.
"Not on his own, no."
Thornfinger looked again, winced, and then leapt from the train's tank, whizzing through the air, onto the front of the rail cart, where he reached up and helped the Professor to assiduously waggle the handle. They reached the stop off point, leaping from the cart, then managed to both wrench the tracks out of their fastenings with all of their combined might, redirecting it straight into the gaping mouth of the enormous sewerage pipe.
The train whistled by, screaming with power and reckless abandon (or was that Penny?) as it sank into the dark oblivion. For a moment, there was near silence. Only the birds chirped, some might say a song of celebration, of sorts, but the Professor and Thornfinger looked dejected, deflated and dismayed.
"Is she... gone?" asked Thornfinger, gruffly.
The Professor gazed into the inky hollow, a forlorn expression on his worn face.
"I think so. She was a brave girl. A brave, but very stupid girl. She saved us all."
"Hey you big brigands! Help me down!" came a voice from above. The Professor looked up.
"Penny! What are you doing there?!"
"Just hanging around, of course! Give me a hand, won't you?"
Thornfinger hopped onto the Professor's shoulders and eased Penny down from the railway signal point.
"Nice of your boys to leave me something to hang on to! Phew, that was an exhilarating ride!"
The group beamed at one another contentedly.
"So it looks as if we're all safe and nobody got hurt, very much," smiled Diligence.
He looked around again, but Thornfinger had gone, disappeared like a leaf on the wind back to his thorny thicket, where he would sit and watch, making
sure that the Professor and Penny kept their promise that technology should help nature, not destroy it.
"Professor?" enquired Penny.
"Yes, Penny," replied the Professor.
"You are completely certain that this outlet ends up going into the River Sehmat where it won't cause too much damage, aren't you?"
"Hmm? Well, of course, the mainline leads down to the river, certainly, although..."
"Yes?"
"Oh. I forgot about the offshoot that ends up in the sewageworks just near to the uptown high class establishments in Notgnisnek..."
In the distance there was a muted explosion and faint screams, mainly of disgust as something splattered against the surrounding walls.
"Oh well, at least we all survived another day in Odnnol."
"Haha! Yes. I do hope they don't send me the cleaning bill!"
"It's better that we weren't completely wiped out, after all!"
They both laughed, uneasily, at their near-death experience and strolled into the snuset down the shimmering tracks together.
Afterword
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