Ticklers

by David Fletcher

  So now, thoughts of real power in his hands were off the mental agenda. He wasn't too dim not to realise it was totally unattainable…

  But then he had this meeting with Kanker and everything changed. His thinking was turned on its head and the dusty resignation to his lot was swept aside as though it had never existed.

  It had been the sort of meeting he'd often had with the Senior Knight: short, one-sided and more to do with the receipt of orders than an exchange of views. Kanker didn't want to communicate with Gleeze, he just wanted to deliver a series of commands to him. He was leaving on secret and urgent business. He therefore would not be able to lead this emergency meeting of the Council. Gleeze would have to do it. 'Oh - and by the way, the meeting is to sort out how to deal with a bunch of yokels from Pandiloop - who have either gone bananas or are up to no good - and who are probably mixed up with that blasted Grader. Hell, two of them have supposedly been on his tail for weeks now, and they haven't come up with so much as a reported sighting of the bugger. Hardly surprising if they're working for him. So detain the lot of them and get stuck into some interrogation, some serious interrogation. And if it doesn't work the first time, then do it again - and again. And as many times as it takes. Only just don't let the bastards go. Else the League might decide it needs a new Council. And that could be arranged at the drop of a clanger. Understand?'

  Gleeze did understand. He did understand very well. But then the change occurred, the remarkable change in his way of thinking. And his semi-dormant ambition roused itself and decided to do rather more than just understand. It decided to explore. And what it explored were not the deadly implications of ignoring Kanker's orders, but instead the opportunities such a move might expose.

  It took this course, because over recent months it had become more than a little pissed off. There were a number of reasons for this, not least of which was Kanker's expectation that Gleeze would run the shop when he wasn't around. And increasingly he wasn't around. He seemed always to be away on “secret and urgent” business, so secret that not even the Council was let in on its purpose, and so urgent that the bastard might decide to disappear within minutes. There was a rumour - Gleeze thought started by Kanker himself - that this covert business was to do with some step change in the League's strategy - a tie-up with another organisation or a whole string of organisations. But that was just crap. What organisation could they possibly merge with? And what organisation would want such a “merger”? Answer: none.

  Gleeze suspected it was all more to do with apathy than strategy. He believed that Kanker now had such an all-powerful stranglehold on the League that he was actually becoming bored with it. He just couldn't be bothered with what he saw as the increasingly tedious process of exercising all-embracing power - for every day of his life. However much he still needed the power itself, he was tiring of what that power entailed in terms of responsibilities and commitments. He just wanted to bunk off, let somebody else fiddle around with the detail, and just do as much as he chose to do - as and when he chose to do it.

  He was becoming a part-time knight. Gleeze was sure of it. And Gleeze was letting him. Gleeze was the idiot who filled in for him when he played truant. Good old tosspot Gleeze. Backed by Kanker's authority and armed with his own oleaginous persuasion, he could get anything done that had to be done when his lordship was off on a trip.

  This time the job was to incarcerate the entire Pandiloop office until Kanker returned from his latest sojourn. Gleeze didn't know why, but he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with them being on Grader's payroll. He didn't know this Tenting guy, but he knew Meitchars and For-bin-Ah. And if they'd gone over to the enemy then Grader must be a miracle worker. And no way was he that. More likely, they'd discovered something about Grader, and for some reason this didn't suit Kanker. Or it did, but he wanted it put on ice until his return. And silly old Gleeze would make the necessary arrangements, no matter how awkward they were…

  Well, what if he didn't? What if instead he plunged back into the power game? If he took his chance while Kanker was away and staged a palace coup?

  To his new way of thinking, he had all the ingredients he needed. First there was an unpopular leader who was neglecting his duties (and judging by the pickle he'd got himself into over his name change, a leader who was far from infallible). And then, as a sort of focus for the coup, there was the biggest villain the League had ever had to deal with: Grader. And now, rather fortuitously, there was this bunch of eager adventurers from the sticks whom he could fashion into an anti-Grader strike force. And all he had to do was stir these ingredients into a new vision of the future, one where he would do what Kanker had singularly failed to do - and lead the League first against Grader and then into an enlightened future - a future no longer with Kanker but instead with the guidance of Gleeze. And then he'd force-feed it to the numbskulls on the Council - so damn quickly they'd forget their stupid prejudices and see him as the rightful heir to the League's throne - with immediate effect. In fact, they'd probably be so shocked and so delighted at anybody having a tilt at the great resented one, prejudices wouldn't come into it. They'd go along with it whoever it was.

  The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he could do it. A bit of suitable oratory at the impromptu meeting of the Council, a bit of cajoling of the Pandiloop mob and he was there. He didn't even have to deliver on the promises. Just announcing them and sounding genuine would be enough. And he was a past master at sounding genuine. And then when Kanker came back, tough titties! He'd be yesterday's man. No doubt, just as unpleasant as ever, but now with no job - and no power. That would reside with Herr Gleeze. He'd finally have all the power he'd ever craved.

  It was that simple. Move over Kanker. You've blown it. The age of Gleeze is come!

  32.

  Meitchars stepped out of the autocab and looked around. It had been years since he'd last visited this place and he needed to get his bearings. It wasn't easy. Some of the shops were obviously new. And many of those that weren't had long since closed. Their windows were shuttered and their names were faded with age. He started to walk down one side of the street looking for something that was familiar. But there was nothing. The very character of the place had changed.

  He came to an arcade and looked down its length. He recognised not a single shop. So he walked further on. And still he saw nothing that he'd known from the past. And then, where the street met another, he saw this old shop. It was a poster shop, and it looked as though it had seen better days. But Meitchars remembered it from those days. And now he knew where he was.

  He looked around again. The whole area really had changed. Even though he knew he could now locate his destination, he feared that it might have gone the same way of much that surrounded it - either closed forever or replaced forever. He hoped it had not.

  He turned past the poster shop into the new street and crossed over to its other side. After fifty yards he turned into an arcade. It was a narrower and seedier version of the one he'd already inspected, and at its entrance was a toyshop. Beyond that was a rug emporium belonging to a trader by the name of Saggahawkfort. Meitchars noticed that Saggahawkfort wasn't doing a great deal of business. And from the state of his emporium, that he clearly hadn't been doing a great deal of business for a number of years now.

  Then the shops ran out and a little string of saunas took over. They lined both sides of the arcade. Meitchars suspected they weren't doing a great deal of business either. They certainly wouldn't be getting his custom. That was reserved for a trader whose shop was just beyond these saunas - where the arcade turned through ninety degrees. If the trader was still there, that is.

  Meitchars passed the saunas and turned into the next stretch of the arcade. And there it was: a scruffy looking shop with curtained windows and the word “Myno” painted above its door. The trader was still there. And Meitchars knew he'd be open for business. He always was.

  He grinned, walked to the door and let himself in.<
br />
  Time for some Korpulund shopping.

  33.

  Grader gazed at the ceiling. As something to gaze at, it didn't have much going for it. It was cream, and it had a crack in it. But other than that, it held no intrinsic interest. None whatsoever. And what could you expect from a ceiling in a cheap rented apartment here on Korpulund anyway?

  Just as well then that Grader had other things to occupy his mind. Like working out how he might use these Pandiloop guys; how he might further his cause by exploiting their presence here - and what that presence might precipitate in the League office. The Ticklers didn't share too many confidences with him these days, but it didn't take a genius to work out that something was afoot. And that whatever that something was, it could have some interesting repercussions, the sort of repercussions that could open up any number of opportunities… well, at least for a well-known ruthless opportunist.

  Still gazing at the ceiling, he reached for his drink. It was on a table at the side of his bed. But then he just rested it on his chest. He was too distracted by his thoughts to bring it to his lips. For his thoughts were now turning to plans…

  'Yes,' he said to himself. 'I need to be prepared. I need to be ready to strike. If they drop their guard for even a second, then I've got to be ready to move in.

  'And they will. I'm sure of it. Those Pandiloop guys are here to stir things up. No question about it. And when they do, I need to be there to stir things up some more. Their worst nightmare needs to be on their doorstep. Ready to pounce. And when he does pounce… well, for some of those bastards, it'll be very bad news indeed. So bloody bad, that some of them may never recover from it…

  'Yes, if I can pull this off, then there could be a whole pile of casualties. And what's more, it'll be no more than they deserve. No more than they bloody deserve!'

  He raised his head slightly, and brought his drink to his lips. Then he took a small sip.

  'And to think,' he said out loud, 'that there was a time when for Kanker, I had something fairly close to respect. And I certainly didn't regard him as the one person in this universe I'd most like to see dead…

  Then he took another sip of his drink, lay back on the bed, and gazed once more at the ceiling. It was still cream and it still had a crack in it, but it now seemed slightly darker. Or was that just his mood…?

  34.

  Kanker had a ceiling as well. It wasn't on Korpulund though, and neither was it in a cheap apartment. Instead, it was on a far away place, and it was the ceiling of a rather posh bathroom. Kanker was in there now, in its rather posh bath, washing his hair. And as usual, the anti-dandruff shampoo was failing in its rôle. It just couldn't shift that bloody dandruff. It was simply impossible to deal with - just like its host…

  It hadn't been as bad to begin with; dealing with Kanker, that is. And there were even a few knights who could remember him being almost normal - before he'd become “Management”. But as soon as he had that whiff of power in his nostrils, he'd become first insufferable, and then pretty soon after that, downright impossible. And this inability to be dealt with - by any other single person in the League - had actually helped his progression. He'd become unstoppable as well as just plain impossible. And, of course, he hadn't stopped until he was at the very top of the League organisation, until he'd been anointed the League's Senior Knight. And even when he was there, he hadn't stopped being impossible. If anything he'd become more so. And quite recently, he'd become impossibly impossible…

  Kanker, of course, didn't see things quite the same way. It wasn't him who had become more impossible to deal with; it was his position as Senior Knight. In fact, this was just what he was thinking about as he scrubbed away at his head here in the bath…

  'It wouldn't have been so bad,' he was thinking, 'if there hadn't been that bloody Council. They may have been thick, and they may have been… well, compliant. But they were still there, and still slowing things down or cocking things up. And well, that's just not what real power's all about, is it? The absolute right to do anything you want to do - without having to go through some bloody charade - and especially with a bunch of morons.'

  And now he was rubbing his scalp more vigorously than ever, because he was just bringing to mind what that bunch of morons had done at that meeting about his title…

  'And yes, damn it! Not only are they all fucking stupid, they're also all fucking reckless. I mean, pissing me around like that! Hell, they must have lost their fucking marbles. Shit, I could have had them, every one of them. There at the meeting….'

  There was shampoo all over his face now. And beneath that shampoo, the rictus that was a Kanker grin.

  'But I didn't, did I? I just went along with it. And I even went to another meeting - with that stupid idiot, Blobe, going on about his fucking biscuits. And they hadn't a clue, had they? They hadn't a clue that their infantile behaviour had made me hurry it along. Had made me make sure that they could stuff their stupid League even sooner than I'd planned.

  'Well, more fool them. That's what I say: more fool them. Because their stupidity and their recklessness… and their… their barefaced, fucking impudence is going to cost them more than they could ever fucking imagine. And sooner than they'd welcome, as well.

  'Yes, it won't be long now. It won't be long before I have it. And when I do, when it's working and when it's mine… well, even Blobe will understand. Even he will see what the future now holds - and who holds the future. And who has outgrown the League…'

  He grabbed the shower from its hook on the wall. He would now rinse his head. He would wash off the shampoo. And he would wash off the Council - and the memory of their impudence with his title - and their stupidity - and every other memory of that miserable League - and all those years he'd wasted in its yoke…

  But, rinse as he might, he wouldn't wash off all that dandruff. That was there for keeps. Just like his megalomania.

  35.

  It was probably the first time that Renton had used the term 'tight-arsed bitch' in months, if not in years. And he was only quoting somebody anyway - and what this somebody had said about somebody else; it had absolutely nothing to do with Madeleine at all. OK, if he'd thought about it a bit more, maybe he might have got there himself - the hyperbollicalling, the shrinkage of everything inanimate in the scudder, the fact that the implant was inanimate… and, most telling of all, the fact that the implant was ring-shaped. But it still seemed a weird place to put it. And he'd had other things to think about, hadn't he? He couldn't get it right all the time.

  Madeleine hadn't seen it like this, and told Renton he could be very hurtful and that he had a sick sense of humour. And she'd prefer it if he took his humour and himself to some other place. Which on a scudder meant to the comms room. And that's were he was now - just opening his profit statement. For-bin-Ah had flagged it as urgent and accompanied it with an explicit message that Renton read it before he arrived on Korpulund. No problem. There was no way he wouldn't. He was, after all, a darn sight more curious about the contents of this than he was about those of Madeleine's body. In fact, infinitely more so. And now the statement was open…

  It was laid out in two long lists. One was of the knights' names in alphabetical order - with their individual profit shares. And the other was of the same knights but in profit share order - starting with the knight with the greatest share and finishing with the most impoverished, probably a chap by the name of Renton Tenting from the Pandiloop office. And it was. Tenting, R, Pandiloop, weighed in at a first year profit share of 6,000 Essics, along with about thirty other knights, all of whom had joined the League with Renton just over a month ago. And 6000 for that length of time meant they were all on about 59,000 a year.

  'Fair enough,' he thought, as he scrolled down the names of these starters. 'At least they haven't singled me out for special ignominy. And that's a relief.'

  Then he scrolled upwards - to the very top of this list - where the top earners resided. And presumably, at the very top would be
Kanker. He might be a real toe-rag, but he'd still have to be paid the most. It was inevitable. But as he was scrolling, he looked away from the screen. He was playing a little game. He was trying to imagine how much Kanker might actually pick up - if the lowliest peasants were on an annualised sixty.

  'Ummm,' he thought, 'about three hundred, I reckon. Umm, but there again, that's five times more than me. Is any knight really worth five times what another's worth? No, of course not. It can't be that much. More like two hundred to two-fifty. I mean, even that's stretching it a bit, but…'

  He was about to look at the screen to check his estimate, but then he stopped.

  'No, you're being naïve, boy. Kanker sees himself as some super-duper chief executive, a captain of industry sort. So it'll be something outrageous, more like four hundred than two hundred. And it won't even be for the money any more. After all, he must be loaded by now. No, it'll be just for the kudos - and the sake of it. Yeah, I reckon about four hundred.'

  Renton looked at the screen. There it was. Kanker, G, Korpulund, right at the top. And against his name a figure of 2,000,000 Essics.

  Renton flinched.

  'Two million!' he said aloud. 'I don't believe it. I just don't believe it!'

  He stared at the figure, trying to grapple with what this dreadful revelation must actually mean. How an organisation like the League could over-reward its top man like this. And why? Why pay anybody so much more than any of the new “working” knights - and something only marginally short of a real friggin' fortune when you compared it to what the League's troopers were paid?