by Galen Wolf
The weather was misty and all they could see was a dense verdant wall wreathed in sea fret. But from it, as William pointed, emanated all manner of strange cries and whoopings. Then their ships turned into large bay and from the crow's nest a maggot-man yelled "Land ho!" though it was hard to understand him as his mouth was all puffy in the manner of maggots.
There were fine white sands - this would be the perfect place to disembark. On the same day, the weather cleared and the haze lifted and from afar they descried the brown sandy edge of the Pirakteshi Plateau. Zventibold peered from the fo'castle of his driftwood flagship and clapped Turgid on the back. Thereafter, still laughing, they shared a mug of blood. All William could do was stand transfixed by the beauty of the scene. Above and beyond, was the high plateau edge cut by the spuming torrents of the Unterlink as it ploughed and fell into the jungles of Wamawama.
William wondered whether their return boded good or ill for his homeland.
In a few days march through the jungle with their army of beastmen and vegetable men they reached the clearing of the Wamawama Village. The rockmen were a day's march behind, being ponderous and slow.
In the Village of Wamawama, which William remembered only too well, there was no one. In fact the clearing was eerily quiet apart from the hooting of gibbons and the far off cries of the rabbity-blurgers. And there, in its centre was a magnificent golden carriage, decorated with semi-precious stones which spelled out a legend and the legend was: "Jeremiah Foolscap: Meat Dealer".
Within seconds Jeremiah himself appeared. He seemed glad to see them. He was dressed in the finest satins and silks.
"Ar, Mas'er Zventibold," he said, noting the change in his erstwhile friends demeanour - less laddish, more evil he thought.
Zventibold nodded in response.
"Ar Willy," said Jeremiah.
"Ar Jez," said William reaching out to hug his old mate.
"And who be this?" asked Jeremiah.
"I'm Turgid. Pleased to meet you," said the three thousand year old undead village idiot. He reached out to shake Jeremiah's hand. When he did, Jeremiah quickly withdrew it. "You be very cold there young mas'er," he said.
"And thereby 'angs a tale, Jez, if you be taking my meanin'."
Jeremiah noticed the warning glint in his old friend's eye and said no more.
"Tell me Jeremiah," asked Zventibold. "Were you ever a seadog?"
Jeremiah shook his head. "No, I baint never been that," he said "Why beest thou askin' mas'er?"
"Just your manner of speech. But it is no matter. You're looking well."
"Ar lad, business been booming." With that he reached into the meat carriage and withdrew a leather bag. Within its bulging sides were three and a half Pirakteshi Jells."
"What's this?" asked Zventibold.
"Your change from the guns."
"So you got them?"
"Ar, I got twenty o' the finest cannon. They be hid even now, I 'ope, in the Pirakteshi desert, at a spot as only I knows."
Zventibold was overjoyed though he had hoped for more change. "Good work, Jeremiah. Now is there any news from Piraktesh?"
"Ar, there be plenty, but I think 'ee better sit down first."
Zventibold looked shocked and his face went white. He took a sip a blood from the mug that Turgid was holding out for him. "Not…" he said.
"Sit down first," urged Jeremiah, his kindly old face beaming. Then when Zventibold was safely seated, he began. "Firstly young George, heir to the Diamond Throne, 'as taken your Melissa - Albert Budge's daughter - as 'is wench."
"Curse him!" wept Zventibold.
"An' the military's put it about that 'ee be dead - eaten by the Wamawamas."
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" laughed Zventibold.
"An' yer mother died of a broken 'eart because of that."
"Arrrrggggghhhhh!!!!" screamed Zventibold.
"Have another cup of blood," said Turgid. "Let your hatred take you over."
Zventibold, however, knocked the proffered cup out of Turgid's hand. He got to his feet and addressed the assembled beastmen, who had been shifting from foot to foot, feeling left out of the conversation and not knowing what to do.
To them he said, "I shall drink George's blood within days!" And he appeared to William to be cheered up by this thought.
The huge army began its trek the next day. They were joined by curious rabbity-blurgers who first tried to eat some of the soldiers but who, warded by blows, soon thought better and just tagged along behind - keen to follow events. Through the jungle they wended like a column of ants. Over the foaming ravine of the Jazal they went until the reached the climb to the plateau's edge. Within days the army had reached the place where Jeremiah had stashed the guns and with them it brought hunger, sword and flame to Kriptash, that quiet riverside town.
It was not long after that they reached a place from where they could see the high city walls of Piraktesh. A host of memories flooded back to Zventibold - none of them nice for he was under the evil influence of the Crystal of Radiance.
They camped that night on the plain and their fires were a burning sea on the desert floor. That evening Jeremiah and William were playing cards with a couple of lamprey-men. Idly Jeremiah asked, "Ol' Zventibold's gone a bit funny, ain't 'e?"
William scratched his huge nose and said, "Ar, 'e be downright evil now."
Jeremiah spoke again. "An' that Turgid be a funny fellow."
William looked up from his cards and said, "That baint Turgid. Turgid's dead. That be the wicked Tyros Blut."
"Oh," said Jeremiah and proceeded to win the hand.
Part The Third Next
29. Echoes of the Past
As he sat in the Imperial Carriage, George smiled to himself. George was a moderate man - moderate that is in comparison with his temperamental father Axtos III. This morning, messengers from Kriptash had brought Axtos the news that the renegade Count Berok and his manservant had most probably escaped into Wamawama disguised as Monkeys of Hector. This had caused Axtos to do two things - the first had been to execute the first three servants he saw that day; and the second to proclaim Berok dead, presumed eaten by something nasty in the foetid and steaming jungles of Wamawama. How premature he was, dear reader, as you already know.
George, however, was much less violent than his father and his only reaction to the news was to refuse bacon and excuse himself from the breakfast table. Then, slipping out to the stables, he ordered the Imperial Carriage to take him to see Melissa - the daughter of Albert Budge. He wanted her lithe and supple body and hoped that it would rid him of the black mood that possessed him that hour.
As the carriage moved out into the street through the wrought iron gates of the Palace, George surveyed the ranks of the hollow eyed beggars. They gathered there in the hope of catching the fat crows that lived in the Palace grounds. Fat due to their gibbet meat diet. George gave the poor a regal wave. This cheered him somewhat as he loved the adoration of his subjects. He decided, for that moment, to order the driver to desist from whipping them out of the way. He leaned forward and coughed. The driver turned round from where he sat on top of the carriage and said, "Your Highness?"
But George thought better of it and sat back. The whipping would do the poor good. It was a fine sunny day. It might even do them some good to be sprawled on the floor in that delicious sunshine. George twiddled his ginger moustache and his mind wandered to other thoughts. Chief among these were thoughts of Melissa's lithe and supple body and imaginings of what he would do with her when he got her alone. Not that her father would mind - he knew his place and he was a loyal old stick. George had noted his loyalty to the Autocracy before - wasn't it he who'd told them of Berok's whereabouts after the failed attack?
George stroked the polished leather of his thigh boots and he raised his hand to wave at a beggar before he realised it was dead. He shrugged - nature was cruel. And then he understood his father's work - if Axtos did not kill so many of them; how would any of them find work? I
t was a simple case of supply and demand.
The carriage crossed Shabbler Avenue and was soon turning up Rubble Street. Here men were already nailing up posters proclaiming the death of Berok. Gosh, thought George, it was good to be alive in this pleasant summer weather.
The carriage rolled up outside 41 Rubble Street and there, standing outside his house, was Albert Budge.
"Ar, 'allo sir, your 'eirness, sir." Budge gave a mighty tug of his forelock as befitted. George alighted. "Hello," he said. "Here's a Jell." He handed the glittering coin to Budge who smiled broadly and placed it in his right boot. George turned in a swirl of his cloak and said to his driver, "Wait for me here, my man." Then he turned back to Budge. "Now then Budge - is Melissa at home?"
"Ar, that she be. She be washin' in the back." Budge bowed low.
"You should not allow her to do such work you know; it spoils the tits. They get saggy." George smiled, pushing his way past the fawning Budge.
"Ar," Budge leered. "But she wouldn't 'ave to work if she beed married to a rich man."
George smiled. He had missed Budge's point, or was pretending he had. Already he was gone. He was in the dark, hot living room. He saw Melissa coming towards him.
"Good morning Melissa," he said. "I'm in a bad mood. It's Berok again; the very mention of his name upsets me. Luckily father thinks he's dead."
Melissa was visibly shocked. She drew in a sharp intake of breath. "Dead you say? Are you sure?"
"Yes, eaten by Wamawamas - you know the blue chaps in the jungle?"
Melissa did not. She had not paid attention in Geography.
"I do hope he wasn't too stringy for them," smirked George. "He was rather a runt as I recall."
Melissa scowled inwardly at this description of her erstwhile lover as a runt. George walked through to the room that served as her sleeping quarters. Melissa followed him - aghast at the tidings he bore. One hand brushed away the long black hair that had fallen over her face. Even in this darkness he could make out the place oval of her face - the gleam in her soft eyes - the glory of her rising bosom, still unaffected by housework. The room was small and uncomfortable. The only furniture was the single bed and a ramshackle wardrobe made from a cheap type of cardboard where Melissa kept her one dress. George sat on the bed and began removing his boots. He began to apologise. "I know I haven't been to see you for a long while - not since the Palace attack, but what with this Berok business, I've had no time Melissa. Honestly, you don't know what it's like being me."
Melissa said nothing for a long while then she slumped and whispered, "Yes, but Zventibold's dead."
"Yes, that's his name. Yes, he's dead. Could you take off your dress now please?" enquired George politely.
Melissa hesitated. "I cannot, George. Things have changed. I have obligations to another now. I…"
George was getting annoyed. "Melissa, I know that you're probably overawed by me, but this is really most irritating. I was in a bad enough mood when I came here. I didn't expect you to make it worse."
Melissa heeded his words not. "But if you say that he is dead. If he is truly dead then any promises made…" her voice trailed off.
George was already down to his silken underpants. He waited impatiently. "I'm willing to make a few concessions," he said grumpily.
Melissa paced the room. "If he's dead then I'm not going any wrong. Oh, it's so hard for a working girl. What should I do?"
"Look, you can come and be my mistress at the Palace, but that's as far as I'll go." George's face ran with perspiration, then he snapped. "Disrobe!" he commanded.
"All right," agreed Melissa. "I'll do as you say." She was slowly taking off her rags. Great tears ran down her cheeks. First she removed her ragged brown skirt. George breathed more heavily as the half light revealed her long, slender, tapering legs - so smooth and shapely. Her rich, round thighs were covered by ragged green cami-knickers. Still she wept and she shook back her heavy hair over her shoulders. George gripped the edge of the iron bed, his palms wet with sweat.
She removed her ragged, yellow blouse and revealed her shoulders and the upper swell of her ample bosoms, which fell then boinged perkily up when released from the imprisoning fabric. George bit his lip when he saw this. There she stood before him, naked apart from her corset and cami-knickers - perfect in every limb, in every curve. George's eyes began to roll in their sockets; his desire filled him. Then she removed her cami-knickers. When she had done so, George picked them up from the hard clay floor and put them on his head. He could bear the tension no longer and leapt at her crying, "Yaroop! Yaroop!"
It must be said that the following few minutes were few indeed. Yet they were horrific to Melissa and a great disappointment to George also. Afterwards he muttered an apology.
"Pardon?" said Melissa.
"I was just muttering an apology," said George. Perhaps because he was embarrassed about the whole affair or perhaps because he was honouring his promise, George took Melissa as his official mistress in the Imperial Palace and Albert Budge got no financial benefit from his daughter's new position except the occasional toffee vending franchise at Imperial garden parties.
Melissa moved into the Imperial Palace and after a while, George was greatly displeased with his choice. Firstly, she would not give him his oats when he required them, for she had gone into mourning over something, and secondly she would not do as he bade her. Melissa was often to be seen walking alone in the Imperial Garden, on the lawn and in between the swinging gibbets. Often she would sit on the Palace wall watching the river as it flowed past her. Perhaps she longed to see her true love, her disfigured Zventibold? Who knows? Only the crows who were her confidants on those gibbet evenings.
At times she would go into the highest room in the Palace's Ivory Tower where she had a spinning wheel. There she would spin and knit scarves for the poor. They were made from the hair and beards of executed men, so nothing was wasted.
30. Could it be this?
That day, George had grudgingly taken Melissa on a day tour of the battlements. It had been a long day and Meilisa had seen most of the most exciting crenellations many times over. It was now late in the afternoon and there they stood in the high breeze on the high walls. Melissa looked over across the wide desert - no longer burning as the sun was low - but still as dry and desolate as her heart. Tears came to her eyes. Over there - somewhere, perhaps over the rainbow, was where she supposed Wamawama to be - the grave of her dear Zventibold. She had known him for so little time and yet she had loved him so deeply. There as the desert wind chilled her, she hid her head and cried copious tears. George, not a sensitive or observant man, did not notice her little upset and roughly he said, "Have you seen enough Melissa my dear?" He accented the dear harshly. "We really should be getting back, though I don't know what for, really I don't." He rattled his sabre with frustration.
Melissa turned sadly and said, "Take me home then George."
At that very moment, a cry went up from the Main Gate.
"Hey, there's somebody out there," cried a guard. Everybody who was not in a gibbet turned and looked. Some of those who were, tried to twist their heads to see, but they were too cruelly held. Far away, the watchers descried a dark line. It was a line that moved and soon they saw the last sun glinting dully off armour and weapons. It was an army but an army composed of what manner of mystical and thaumaturgical creatures, no one could say. They were creatures of all shapes and sizes - heavily armoured tongues, hairy mouth-men, lettuces, fish men, crab men, lamprey man, horn men, dogmen and hamster-men. Far behind, slow but sure lumbered the stone and rock lads. "But…" shouted a guard tremulously. And there, George saw what the man had quailed at - in the centre of the line was a gold carriage and from it flew a huge green banner upon which was emblazoned a Dark Star and a Silver Cup.
"It's an army!" said one of the guard officers, known for his military cunning. "But whose army are they?" It was hard for a man to know everything.
All was silence and then
George spoke, and all marvelled to hear him. He said, "That is the Dark Star of the Sullius family - disinherited court sorcerers of Piraktesh. And with it is the Silver Cup of the thrice accursed house of Berok. He has returned it would seem. Zventibold Berok has returned."
A gasp went up from the assembled soldiery but Melissa felt her heart lift: Zventibold was not dead. He had returned to rescue her from the greasy and covetous hands of George.
"Hoorah!" she thought to herself. She was so happy that she danced a short tap-dance on the battlements. George, for his part, had already hurried off to tell his daddy.
The darkness fell quickly that night and from the walls of Piraktesh, soldiers watched the Berok army whose myriad fires burned on the desert floor. Rumours spread like wildfire round the city and people began to take bets on who would win. It was past dawn when the first cannon was fired into the city walls. The guards saw it arc and smash against the west tower. The cannon balls flew ever so slowly through the air - first one, then another, then another and all the time except for the actual impact of cannon ball on stone and the far off bark of the cannons, there was silence. The guards were too far away to hear but Jeremiah Foolscap was cheering on his Dogmen gunners. Each time they fired and it hit, he shouted "Shot, lads! Shot!" and promised a biscuit to the first dogman to bring down the walls.