Sergeant McGuff staggered from the ranks and pointed up at Brianna. “Them things killed our folk,” he said, his normally open, pleasant, features creased with rage. “It’s time they got what was coming to ‘em. Besides, we came all this way to sort out the goblin problem and here’s our chance.” His mouth cracked into the sort of smile more commonly worn by deep sea fish with tempting morsels apparently hanging in front of their open mouths.
The sergeant stepped forward, sword raised, and there was a cry from the goblins.
“Don’t you think I hate them too?” Brianna said. “My Bill is as good as dead because they turned on their officers and killed the lot of them. But there’s been enough killing now and he wouldn’t want their blood added to all that’s already flowed today.”
Despite her words, several Crapplecreekers moved to stand beside their sergeant. Among them was Jonathan Clegg. “Sanity can return tomorrow, today is a day for vengeance,” he said as he passed his stiletto from hand to hand.
Brianna went to move and found she couldn’t. The lights on the control panel went out, and the suit gave a final sigh. “No! This is wrong! My Bill would never want this to happen.”
“But your Bill, whoever he is, doesn’t command here,” McGuff said, murder in his eyes.
“No, I do,” said the voice of Chortley Fitzmichael. “Stand down sergeant.”
#
Mother Hemlock waited in the small rock chamber at the top of the stairwell. It was pretty crowded with the four humans, the elf and a handful of goblins and kobolds. Jispa had explained that the others were mainly followers of Rasha who’d tracked Bill and Brianna from Varma, once they’d escaped from prison there. He wasn’t entirely sure how they’d got away, but it seemed to involve a sympathetic guard and their encyclopedic knowledge of the sewer system. Being kobolds, they had only been able to travel at night, but, being kobolds, they’d moved fast enough to almost catch up with their quarry.
Jispa had found them sheltering in a cave in the side of the mountain as he attempted to make his escape. He hadn’t been proud of his behaviour, but he recognised insanity when he was stuck in a room with it and his fear of Marcello had got the better of him. When he told Rasha what was happening, the little goblin wanted to immediately run to their aid, but it had taken him some time to first convince his followers to venture up the mountainside and then to find the door.
When Mother Hemlock had asked how many of them there were, he’d been unsure, but it seemed to her that there was enough of them to at least offer battle to the others coming up the stairs. Rasha, it seemed, was intent on saving goblin blood as much as helping his human friends.
Mother Hemlock strained to hear what was going on below. Rasha and Gramma had been greeted, it seemed, with a lot of noise and there had been a rumble that could only mean the old girl had been forced to put forth her powers. Jessie was certain she’d heard the word “leathering” drifting up the stairwell and, since then, there had been near silence.
Now she could hear footsteps on the stairs and after a few more moments Gramma could be heard groaning her way to the top.
“My poor bloody knees,” she said, “doesn’t anyone know, I’m just a lickle old lady?”
“What happened?” Velicity asked.
Rasha plopped down on the top step. “They has agreed not to kill us. Which, for gobin soldiers, is like saying we is best friends. Missus here, she got quite cross.”
Gramma smiled. “Well, I ‘aint got no patience no more, and it seemed to me those lickle buggers needed to be shown what they were up against.”
“So, what happens now?” said Velicity, peering down the stairs as if half expecting them to change their minds.
Rasha shrugged. “We waits to see.”
There was a moment’s silence -
followed by a scream.
Mother Hemlock turned just in time to see Floatslikeabutterfly thrusting a dagger into Marcello’s chest.
#
In the end, Brianna had to be extracted from the suit manually. There was just enough power left to open the front a crack, but it took Thun’s massive biceps to widen the aperture in the suit enough to allow her to squeeze out.
Bill stood back a little while all this was going on. He’d been in a dazed state ever since he’d encountered Chortley. He simply couldn’t work out how he’d survived the Darkworld. Thun’s skin had an unhealthy greenish tint to it and, in amongst the wounds he’d suffered in the fighting, were places where the skin seemed to have died and rotted. And yet, Bill had escaped without harm. But that wasn’t the only reason he held back. He could only imagine the fit of rage Brianna had been in as she stormed along the tunnel, leaving him in the hands of the Faerie King. He had been so very stupid.
He watched as she slithered out of the suit, her cotton top plastered to her chest as if it was nothing more than a coat of white paint on her naked skin and all doubts fled, burned on the altar of his libido. She looked like all his wet dreams come true, a vision of the sort of heavenly promise that would turn a confirmed atheist to religion. He ran to her and pulled her to him. Then, after a moment, he pushed her away again. While she certainly looked like an angel out of heaven, she smelled like a demon’s jockstrap. And her expression was certainly not of this world.
“You bloody idiot! I told you to stop!”
Bill tried his most winning smile while aware that he also smelled pretty rank now. “Aren’t you glad I made it back? I sealed the tunnel too.”
“Of course I’m glad. But I’m still bloody livid with you,” she said. “But, right now, I’m also exhausted, I ache all over and I’ve seen enough death to last me a lifetime. So you being alive is the least of my problems.”
Bill stepped forward and embraced her, encountering barely any resistance. They held each other for a moment, the pleasant sensations somewhat numbed by the stench, before Chortley, nauseated by the spectacle and its attendant aroma, threw a bucket of icy cold water over them.
“You bastard!” Bill yelled, turning on him.
Chortley nodded. “True enough, but there’s much still to do, and we don’t have time for this. McGuff!”
Sergeant McGuff tottered from the ranks and gave a scruffy salute. “Sir, I must apologise, I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do. Revenge.”
The sergeant’s face dropped. He stood, swaying gently, his face a mess of blood, much of it his own, and waited for the axe to fall.
“Well done, Sergeant Major,” Chortley said.
McGuff froze for a moment, uncertain that he’d heard right. “Sorry sir?”
“I said, well done. With the power I have taken upon myself as garrison commander, I hereby promote you to the rank of Sergeant Major. You held the men together for longer than it was reasonable to expect of anyone, even a noble-born general of the old days.”
Chortley held out his hand to McGuff. “Frankly, Sergeant Major, you would be awarded a commission for your conduct here, if your low birth didn’t make such a rank ridiculous.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you sir,” McGuff responded with relief. Sergeant Major had been his ambition ever since his father had regaled him with stories of his own army days and the NCOs he’d served under. McGuff junior had resolved, at his father’s knee, to be less of a complete shit than the sergeants in McGuff senior’s tales. He’d mostly succeeded.
“Now then, Sergeant Major, it’s time to get the men into some sort of order.”
McGuff erupted, with all the energy of a caffeinated squirrel. “You ‘eard the h’officer, form up, form up. Quick march, you ‘orrible lot! Form a protective square around the prisoners. Let’s be ‘avin you!”
Chortley watched, barely able to keep his eyes open, as the men and women of the Crapplecreek garrison went from moribund to mobilised in a matter of seconds. A perfectly constructed wall of soldiers formed around the prisoners, who’d shrunk against the rock wall.
Fitzmichael felt a tap on his shoulder. “My lord,”
said Ambler.
Chortley turned to follow the ranger’s arm. And then he saw it. Away, across the bridge, a black mass moved in the darkness at the gate to the labyrinth. Another goblin army had arrived. Doom had come.
#
It was Jispa the goblin who pulled Floatslikeabutterfly off the body of Marcello, her arm still making stabbing movements, blood flying everywhere.
Mother Hemlock grabbed the elf by the arms. “Why did you do that?”
The elf looked into Mother Hemlock’s eyes and the witch saw sanity return. And then a calm rage. “He was the great killer. Because of him, so many of my people have died, so many of yours. He deserved to die.”
“Maybe he did, but that wasn’t your decision,” Mother Hemlock said.
Floatslikeabutterfly seemed to collapse in on herself. “He created the Faerie race, you know. Not all faeries are bad - the best of them are almost elf-like, the worst are pure evil.”
The elf settled back onto the ground beside the wizard’s still body, shivering. “He sent the worst of them into the Darkworld so they could rule in his stead. And so began the reign of the Faeries - Kings and Queens. All fey, all evil. “
“Not true!” Jispa bellowed, baring his yellow fangs. “Goblins has always been ruled by great kings and queens. It is in our legends.”
“And who wrote those legends?” Floatslikeabutterfly said, shaking her head sadly. “You believe these tales, but you do not understand that the purpose of history is not to tell the truth about the past, but rather to impose a new truth on the present.”
“You say goblins is idiots?” Jispa snarled.
Gramma touched him on the shoulder. “Seckle down, lad. I ain’t got the brains I were born with, but this Marvello here, he’s had the foolin’ of us all, even the fagglers.”
“Repeat a lie often enough, and it becomes the truth,” Velicity said.
Jispa relaxed a little. “Jispa is sorry, but it is hard to hear that all you believe is bollocks.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Gramma said, “I used to believe pasta grew on trees, till I were told that were a load of macaroni.”
“You shouldn’t ‘ave killed him, whatever he’s done. He should ‘ave been dealt with by the law,” Mother Hemlock said.
The elf looked up. “What law? What court? The Great Wizard Minus was the magician of emperors and crimes committed in our world would be no concern of your judges in any case.” She hauled herself to her feet and stood, swaying beside the body of Marcello.
In the darkness, the only sound to be heard was the low echo of goblin voices on the stairs as Rasha parlayed with their captain.
“But, you speak the truth,” the elf continued, “it is wrong to take another’s life in cold blood, however justified it seems. And for this wrong, I shall now atone.”
She sprang to the brink of the stairwell which wound, spiral fashion, down into the depths of the complex of Minus, and, without hesitation, dropped.
“No!” screamed Mother Hemlock as she rushed to the edge.
From out of the deep came a squelchy thud. Floatslikeabutterfly, it turned out, hadn’t.
#
Bill watched as Chortley formed the men and women of the Crapplecreek garrison at the foot of the narrow bridge. It was the only point they could defend for any length of time as the bridge funnelled the enemy so they could be fought in small groups. But it was only delaying the inevitable. Chortley had been forced to leave a third of his soldiers to guard the prisoners, newly emboldened at the prospect of rescue.
They were ready. Bloodied, exhausted and totally pissed off, they stood without hope on the brink of inevitable defeat. The goblins massed on the far side of the chasm as if waiting for some word of doom when, from out of their midst, stepped a small figure.
“Alright cock? Is our Brianna with you?”
“Gramma?” Brianna called back, having pushed to the front rank to stand beside Chortley and Bill.
The old woman shuffled onto the bridge, followed by a line of goblins. “And is that Bill with you?”
“What the hell is going on?” Bill shouted, his voice bouncing back at him out of the abyss.
Gramma was, by this time, approaching their side of the bridge. “The goblins? Oh, don’t you go martherin’, lad. We’ve come to an understandin’. Our Jessie and our Velicity is on their way, they just ‘ad a lickle matter of elf and safety to deal with.”
Brianna held out her hand to help the old woman from the bridge. As she did so, she looked over Gramma’s shoulder. “Rasha!”
The little goblin edged forward with a manner like a dog that’s been caught next to a steaming pile on the carpet. “I is sorry, friend Brianna. I came to help you and friend Bill to make up for my badness.”
Brianna glanced up at Gramma, who nodded. “Without this lickle lad, we’d ‘ave ‘ad a lot of very angry goblins on our ‘ands and, very likely, in our lands.”
“So, you persuaded them not to fight?” Bill said, shaking his head.
Rasha smiled. “I is quite persuasive and missus here, she got pretty cross,” he said, “though I is not quite sure what a leatherin’ is. But I knows I don’t want one.”
“Truth to tell,” said Gramma, “their heart wasn’t in the fight. They knew they was trapped here and they knew it was the faeries what got them into it. We just gave them a way out.”
A large shape loomed from behind the old woman. “Oh, this here’s Grippa. He’s captain of the goblins and, I reckon, probably the top goblin now.”
Grippa stepped forward and held his sword blade out at Chortley who he’d marked out as his opposite number.
“That goblin way of saying ‘friend’,” Rasha said.
For a moment, Chortley hesitated. He knew this brute. They’d not fought each other, but Chortley had seen him and he was a fighting machine. It was hard to believe this creature could be trusted. But then, he thought, that’s probably exactly how he sees me. Out of the corner of his eyes, Chortley caught a glimmer of white and knew that Velicity had crossed the bridge. He drew his sword and touched its battered blade to the goblin’s.
“What happens now?” Bill asked.
“Tell me,” Mother Hemlock said, as she stepped off the bridge, “is the way to the Darkworld sealed?”
Bill nodded. “Yes, I reckon there’s at least fifty feet of collapsed tunnel between us and the outer door. For all I know, the door itself was destroyed - it was all pretty violent.”
“There’s a lot of tension where the worlds meet,” Mother Hemlock replied, “and your magic was the axe that broke the donkey’s back. I don’t think we need to fear that way being opened for a while.”
Velicity wafted into the conversation. “Which means there’s nowhere for the goblins to escape to, so they’d best stay here. There’s water, and they can use the gold and gems in the treasury to buy in provisions - though they’ll need to keep its existence quiet if they don’t want every king, queen and emperor in the world on their doorstep.”
She put her arm through Chortley’s. “You see, your mission is achieved and your prisoners delivered to their own kind. We can go home.”
“That’s right,” Gramma said, “and we ‘ave a wedding to plan!”
Bill and Brianna looked at each other. They smiled.
Epilogue
Within a few days of the battle, Chortley negotiated a truce with the Stone Trolls, using the body of Minus as evidence that their contract to guard the labyrinth was now null and void, and the goblin army as further encouragement.
He then returned to Crapplecreek to escort the remaining prisoners to join their brethren in the labyrinth where they set up a thriving colony that was avoided by all sentient beings and so remained in peace and prosperity.
Once all was well in Cake Pass, Chortley set himself up as governor of Crapplecreek, stopping off along the way at a certain inn to give his troops a well earned piss-up.
Bill, Brianna and the witches remained for a couple of weeks to help the
goblins and kobolds organise themselves and to make sure the laboratory was magically locked. They then travelled home to Hemlock’s Farm for Bill and Brianna to plan their wedding. But that’s another story.
Acknowledgements
This book wouldn’t have been possible without the help and support of family and friends, but first prize for patience and practical help goes to my wife Peta, the Brianna to my Bill. Thanks also to George for coming up with Aligvok’s name and for thinking it’s cool his dad’s an author.
Free Book!
There’s nowt as weird as folk.
Willy Pluck, Mortlake the Troll and Asperantsia de Mastica (abstaining vampire) are the Grateful Deaf - progressive people band touring the cheapest pubs and inns of the Tworld. They all have a past they'd rather forget, and one is about to be overtaken by theirs. They're playing at the last chance saloon.
Click here to download a free copy of this hilarious take on the folk music scene or go to BookHip.com/LJDQMA.
Endnotes
1 All mime artists are cheap - which just goes to show how poor Bill considered his performance. The only exception to this rule was Barbin Barbonne who was so skilled that people paid him huge sums of money to stop and never start again. This, of course, being the entire point of mime.
2 The Tambourine Boys were a 'secret weapon' created by King Melodious the Deluded. Their one taste of action was immortalised in the epic poem “The Charge of the Light Percussion” and achieved nothing more than destroying a generation of percussionists and giving the king time to escape. His next military innovation, The Bass Battalion, on the other hand, was considered a great success since its destruction within five minutes of entering the fray had the effect of actually improving the musical gene pool.
Trolls and Tribulations Page 27