by Craig Zerf
‘But there is a greater possibility that we will reverse the effects of the black hole and become our normal size again. Do it.’
Captain Bhature walked onto the engine room. ‘Gentlemen, what is going on here?’
‘Roti wants to blow us all to kingdom-bloody-come,’ said Subji.
‘Rubbish, all I want is for you to use a short circuit to give us enough power to reverse the singularity.’
‘Will this work?’ Asked the captain.
‘No!’ Shouted Subji.
‘Yes!’ Shouted Roti.
The captain lifted an eyebrow.
‘Maybe,’ they said together.
‘Maybe is good enough for me,’ said captain Bhature. ‘I’m sick of being titchy. It sucks on a miniscule scale. Wait for me to get to the bridge and then throw the switches.’
Chapter 38
England - September 15th
Over eight hundred German fighters and bombers attacked British air space which was defended by a mere handful of Spitfire and Hurricane fighter pilots.
During the course of that day, which would go on to be known as Battle of Britain day, British pilots claimed over two hundred victories against overwhelming odds. Smudger’s ex-squadron was responsible for over two thirds of the kills.
Hitler finally realised that he would never reduce England’s air superiority and the invasion of the United Kingdom was called off.
The gratitude of every home in our Island, in our Empire, and indeed throughout the world, except in the abodes of the guilty, goes out to the British airmen who, undaunted by odds, unwearied in their constant challenge and mortal danger, are turning the tide of the World War by their prowess and by their devotion. Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.
Winston Churchill – after the Battle of Britain.
Chapter 39
Plob stood up on his stirrups and dived into the middle of the pack of Vagoths. He had already shot down seven of them and now knew that every fireball might be his last.
Behind him another Maudlin dragon rider went down in a screaming conflagration.
He knew that it was all over. He clicked on his communicator.
‘Gentlemen, thank you. We have done all that we can do. May the gods be with you.’
Then there was a sound that defied all description or even meaning. An instant displacement of thousands of cubic feet of air with a combined sucking and blowing and clapping and vibrating.
In short, it was the sound of a twelve-foot long miniature Paratha class starship instantly becoming a full sized four hundred foot long Paratha class starship.
And on the bridge of the starship the captain turned to the science officer. ‘Officer Roti, are all weapons in working order?’
‘Yes, captain.’
‘Can the computers identify friend or foe?’
‘Affirmative, captain, they simply use the communicators as reference.’
‘Good, please activate the rotary plasma guns, the electronic arc casters and the wave-particle torpedoes.’
‘All weapons are activated and tracking individual targets, captain.’
‘On my command, officer Roti…wait…fire all weapons!’
The Vagoth dragon corps ceased to exist.
Chapter 40
And yea, the people of Maudlin did party hard.
For is it not said, forget yesterday, live for today, plan for tomorrow...Party Tonight!
Biggest had taken his magic flask of never-ending blutop and spiced up about a hundred barrels of cider, creating a drink that was so high in alcoholic content it could be used for cleaning the silverware.
At the one end of the city square a troop of musicians was belying out a song that had become very popular amongst the youth of late.
Party like you just don’t care
Run around town with your knickers in the air
‘I doesn’t get dis song,’ said Biggest to Plob. ‘Surely it should be party like you do care. And what’s with da knickers thing?’
Plob laughed. ‘I don’t know, Big. I think it’s just a bit of folderol. Don’t worry about it.’
Biggest shrugged and went off in search of some food.
Plob sat down on a bench next to Spice and they watched the revellers for a while. The crew of the Paratha were proving to be very popular amongst the Maudlinians now that they were normal sized. They were polite, charming and happened to be the saviours of all that existed, which probably meant that none of them would be sleeping alone that night.
The surprise of the evening had turned out to be Rufus who had become the most erudite and charismatic of raconteurs and he had a veritable throng of admirers packed around him listening to his tales.
Smudger and Jonno were standing off to one side. Both had been badly affected by the death of their friend Belter and were more than a little subdued.
Plob and Spice stood up and went over to the two Spitfire pilots.
‘We owe you a huge debt,’ said Plob.
Smudger grinned. ‘Not a problem, commander. We do what we do because that’s what we do. Nothing asked for and nothing owed, it’s been a privilege to get the chance to fight evil once more.’
‘I’m truly sorry about Belter.’
‘Well, technically, he was already dead, so don’t feel bad.’
Suddenly the musicians stopped playing and the general clamour of revelment died to a chorus of whispers.
And through the crowd strode a man, almost seven feet tall, pale of skin and clad in robes of endless night. Behind him walked his son, Stanley.
He stopped in front of Plob. ‘I have come to collect,’ he said.
Rufin walked over to join Smudger and Jonno, and together the three of them stepped forward.
‘A deal’s a deal,’ said Smudger. ‘Let’s go.’
Plob stepped between Death and the pilots. ‘No!’
Silence. Even the wind had stopped.
Death raised an eyebrow. ‘No? You dare to defy me?’
‘I do. It’s not fair.’
Death nodded his head in agreement. ‘You are correct, it is not fair, however, it is what will be done.’
‘These men have already died once, to take them again would be worse than cruel...it’s inhumane.’
‘I am not human…I am Death. A covenant was struck and now the time has come for recompense. Stand aside.’
Plob drew his sword. ‘No.’
Death laughed. It was the most terrifying sound that Plob had ever heard.
The master of mortality snapped his fingers and Plob fell to the ground, his body wracked with pain. ‘Boy,’ growled Death. ‘You disappoint me.’
And slowly. Ever so slowly. Plob stood up, his face set in a rictus of agony. He lifted his sword again. The tip wavered erratically. ‘They stay,’ he grunted through clenched teeth.
Stanley stepped forward. ‘Father, stop. He has the right of challenge. That is the rule. Plob, put the sword down, you’re being ridiculous.’
‘I’m asserting my right to challenge.’
‘No you’re not,’ said Stanley. ‘You’re just being stupid. You can’t fight Death on account of…well…him being Death. He will always win. But you can challenge him to a game. The winner gets to keep the souls.’
‘Do I get to choose the game?’
‘Yes.’
‘But not chess,’ said Death. ‘It’s just so clichéd. I really don’t think that I could stand another game of chess.’
‘Fine,’ said Plob. ‘Poker. Five-card draw. I win, the boys stay, you win, they go.’
Death grinned. ‘Done.’
Boy came forward with a pack of cards. Biggest pulled up a table and two chairs. The two protagonists sat. Stanley dealt.
Smudger lit his pipe. ‘Well, I must say, this is the first time that I’ve been a pot in a game of poker. I feel a little bit tawdry to be honest.’
‘I had a dog once that could play poker,’ said Rufin.
‘Really,’ a
nswered Smudger. ‘Was he any good?’
‘No, every time he got a good hand he would wag his tail.’
‘Bit of an obvious tell, I hope that Plob’s better than that.’
‘Probably…after all, at least he doesn’t have a tail.’
Stanley dealt the cards and the players held them close to their chests.
Plob fanned them out and took a look. Two Kings, a three, a seven and a nine. He threw three cards into the middle.
‘Plob takes three cards,’ said Stanley as he dealt them out.
Death cast two cards in.
‘The Man who rides the pale horse, both Alpha and Omega, Anubis, Yama and Thanatos, Reaper of souls and separator…’
‘Stanley!’
‘Dad?’
‘Shut it.’
‘Sorry…Death takes two cards.’
‘Right,’ said Death. ‘Let’s see what you have, boy.’
‘No.’
‘What?’
‘I raise you.’
‘You cannot raise me. You have nothing that I would want.’
‘I raise you…my soul.’
There was a ripple of Ooh’s through the crowd and one of the musicians plucked a single drawn out note on his slide guitar. Peeyo-wow-wowwww.
‘In return for what?’
‘Belter’s life. He died in the last battle.’
Death thought for a while. ‘You go too far, child. I am not a god, I neither give nor take life.’
‘But you can.’
‘Already I have bent the rules to breaking point.’
‘He sacrificed his all for a people that he did not know. He is a hero.’
‘True, but show me a hero and I will show you a tragedy. My boy, in the infinities of time I have seen many heroes, good men who have given all that they can give so that others may live better lives. Thankfully, true heroes are more common than one thinks. Should I give all of these people life again?‘
Plob closed his eyes for a while. ‘My soul…Belter’s life.’
Death stared, silently.
‘Please,’ said Plob.
And an infinity of devotion and duty and sorrow looked at the young magician. And decided.
‘It shall be done. Now show your stuff, child.’
With shaking hand Plob laid them out. A seven…and four kings.
Death raised an eyebrow.
And then he stood and looked around him. He looked at the crowd and saw every single person there. He looked into their pasts and their futures and their children’s, childrens futures. And he saw joy and pain and suffering without end. And love. Above all, he saw love.
‘You have won.’ He said. Then he snapped his fingers and Belter appeared, lying on the floor next to them. ‘He is merely sleeping, allow him to wake naturally.’ Death laid his cards face down on the table and stood up. He held out his hand to Plob. ‘Well done, commander, you are a brave man. Foolhardy but brave. I can see why my son likes you so much. Come, Stanley, we leave.’
The light dimmed. Death and son were gone.
The crowd went wild.
And yea, the people of Maudlin did party even harder than before. The pilots held Plob high on their shoulders and paraded him around the square to the tumultuous applause of the people of Maudlin. Men rushed forward to shake his hand and women threw kisses. And sometimes, other things of a more frilly and feminine nature.
Much later, the sun rose at the same time that the revellers decided to call it a night.
Biggest stood alone, watching the massive ball of fire crawl over the horizon as it began its daily march across the heavens. He sat down at a nearby table, lit up a cigar the size of a baby’s arm and took a deep drag. On the table on front of him lay Death’s losing hand of cards, face down. Biggest idly turned them over.
Four aces.
He smiled.
Epilogue
Typhon had no idea where he was. When the rockriders of the Rohan had breached his defences he had summoned what magic he had left over from the mass sacrifices and simply leapt to…somewhere else.
It was a city of some sort. Some sort of horseless vehicle clattered past. Typhon had seen similar ones outside Hitler’s bunker when he had occasioned there once before. The car stopped and the driver got out, ran around to the other side of the car and opened the door. A man in a hat and well fitted suit stepped onto the pavement.
It was then that Typhon noticed that there were three men lurking in the shadows nearby him. They were all carrying similar bang-sticks to what the nazi soldiers had carried. They saw him at the same time that he saw them. They scurried over to him.
‘Hey, you are one ugly goon. Tell you what, skedadle out of here before I throw some lead your way, capish?’
Typhon dragged the weapon out of the man’s hands and smashed him on the head with it. Without pause he carried on the movement, taking out both of the other thugs in under two seconds. When he looked up, the man in the suit was staring at him. Both he and the driver had bang-sticks in their hands.
‘Pally,’ said the man in the suit. ‘Looks like you just saved my life. So, what’s your story, morning glory, are you wearing a mask or what?’
‘No,’ rumbled the big T.
‘Well, no never mind to me. I owe you’se one, big guy. And let it never be said that Alphonse Gabriel Capone don’t pay his debts. Here, you come with me. Let’s talk.’
So Typhon, the mother of all-evil, climbed into the car with Al Capone.
And the universe shuddered.
THE END (Again)
More PLOB coming soon…
Who is Craig Zerf?
Craig wrote his first novel at the age of four and, by age seven, he was one of the most prolific writers in the Northern hemisphere. Unfortunately none of these tomes were published. This rejection forced him into seeking a career in the Dark Arts of business management. His unhealthy obsession with medieval bladed weapons and riveted metal clothing caused his initial fast rise in the corporate world to be curtailed when it was recommended by senior management that he seek professional help.
He told them to sod off and wrote Plob instead.
He has now published a trio of award-winning fantasy/humour books in the Plob series and also writes best-selling thriller novels as C. Marten-Zerf.
As Craig Zerf
Plob
Plob goes south
Plob srikes back
The Forever Man: Book1 – Pulse
The Forever Man: Book 2 - Axeman
As C. Marten-Zerf
The Broken Men
Choice of Weapon
Another Way Home
To my wife, Polly and my son, Axel.
For without her there would be no today and without him, no tomorrow.