Ticklers

by David Fletcher

  'Grader!' exclaimed For-bin-Ah. 'It is you, isn't it? I can't believe…'

  'Quite right,' interrupted Vorskyn. 'It's none other than the scourge of the League, our very own arch-demon, the murdering scumbag himself. And we've found him!

  'Do you hear that, Meitchars? We've found him. And in just a few hours - while you and your greenhorn mate over there took a bloody age and you didn't even get near him. And you, you the heroic knight who thinks he's so damn good. So much better than his brothers. Well, now perhaps you'll take a different view. And when Kanker gets back and you all end up court martialled, you and your hill-billy friends from the back end of beyond, you'll…'

  'Oops! Excusin' me. I didn't realise I'd be interruptin' anythin'. I sure didn't. And I…'

  It was Boz. He had just entered the office and he was now hesitating in mid stride. Within the crowd of faces in the room, one had clearly caught his attention. His great jaw cracked into the broadest of smiles and he addressed him directly - the bound and bruised one.

  'Hey, Kernik! What you been up to? Looks like you fell out with a fist-fighter - an' a damn good fist-fighter at that!'

  40.

  Renton believed that all his fellow beings in the universe could be divided into just four types, four categories of individuals who were defined by their innate behaviour. There were: “wizards”, “wankers”, “wonders” and “wots”.

  The first, wizards, were extremely rare. Renton had never met one and he doubted he ever would. He did however know what one would be like. He, or indeed she, would be a cross between a genius and a Svengali. How else could a wizard achieve what set any wizard apart from the rest of sentient-kind: making things happen? Not just small things like getting a waiter to the table, but really big things, like changing the way people thought, or the way they lived, or what they would die for. These living change-drivers, these genuine influencers of others, were in such a minority that Renton suspected any number of generations might lack them entirely. In fact, he was pretty sure his own did; he'd observed so little change in the way people were. And he'd certainly observed no change at all in the ways of the “wankers”…

  Everybody has met a wanker. Politics and commerce are full of them. They are the leaders, the ministers, the prime-ministers, the executives, the heads of departments, and anybody else who has accepted responsibility - and a particular responsibility: for building wealth and prosperity - through making things happen - just like the wizards do.

  However, there's a big difference between wankers and wizards. Wankers don't actually make anything happen at all, nothing worth taking the credit for anyway. But that's exactly what they excel in: taking the credit. Being responsible during a period when their country or their company fares well - through the normal chance mix of events entirely unrelated to their own efforts - but then claiming it as their doing. They may or may not believe it was their talents that brought about the achievement. They generally do. But they will always claim it as their own. And even worse, their audience will often accept their claim, choosing to ignore the evidence of the facts and the test of their own intellect.

  Renton didn't care too much for wankers. He much preferred the next type. Indeed he dearly wished he were one of their number. These were the “wonders”.

  Wonders didn't make things happen, nor did they make the claims that the wankers did. They were too intelligent to do that. But with this same intelligence, allied to an unfailing intuition, they were able to read what was likely to happen - and to prepare for it and deal with it - and thereby achieve more than most.

  They were the outstanding soldiers, the guys who led from the front - and were always followed. Or in business, they were the workers and the managers who recognised what needed to be done, and simply got on and did it. And in the Ticklers, they were knights like Meitchars, who did nothing less than keep the whole thing together.

  And then there was the fourth and last category of thinking life in the universe, the category occupied by the majority: the “wots”. And, of course, “wots” were known as “wots” because of their untiring use of a whole string of expressions such as:

  'wots going on?'

  'wots this all for?'

  'wots happening now?'

  'wots coming up?', and

  'wots this all about?'

  They are, in short, the “flotsam”; the humanoids, the insectals, the reptilians and the amphibiads, all just bobbing along in the vast torrent of existence, without any real idea of where the next eddy will take them or what might be lurking 'neath those white-water rapids ahead. They can't make things happen. They simply have no desire to claim that they can. And their ability to anticipate future events can never be much more than patchy. Life is normally a succession of surprises, some inconsequential, some major and some downright puzzling - like finding out that your number one arch-enemy is also the chap who saved your life and the life of the love of your life. And that he's a friend of your best friend. And that makes him your friend as well. It has to.

  'Wots this all mean?' thought Renton. And then he felt the torrent swirl around him and he gasped for understanding. He needed a draught of clear explanation as quickly as possible or he would drown in the flood of events.

  And then it came. Just in time. And courtesy of For-bin-Ah. For while everybody else in the room was still struggling to come to terms with the implications of Boz's announcement, For-bin-Ah had released Grader-Kernik from his bindings and had then invited him to speak - and to speak on any subject he chose. At his leisure.

  The doppleganger accepted the invitation. And the subject he chose was Kanker, someone on whom he proved to be quite an expert. He even had some previously unpublished data on the man - to surprise not just the flotsam in the room. But he began by addressing Boz on a non-Kanker point.

  'Sorry, Boz,' he started, 'Kernik's an invention. Grader's my real name. But I'm afraid I couldn't tell you that at the time. Nor a few other things, come to that. But you'll soon understand why. And it won't happen again. Lying to you, I mean. You have my word…' he turned to For-bin-Ah '…everything I utter from this moment on is the truth. I swear it.'

  There was a desperate tiredness in his voice, but also a trace of deep elation - and relief, the relief of one who has endured and endured but who has finally made it - despite everything.

  He drew a deep breath and then he embarked on his tale.

  'I need to take you back in time. Back to the time when I was just an ordinary Knight of the League. To when the name Grader meant nothing to anybody. To the time before my murderous reign of terror…'

  Renton's eyes widened. He was admitting to it. Or was he?

  '…or so Kanker would have you believe.

  'It's over four years ago now, although I remember it as though it were only yesterday. The day I found out that our beloved leader was something more than just our own leader. That as well as being the Senior Knight of the League he was also running his own little army, a gang of mobsters no less, some of them League knights and troopers, and all of them helping…'

  'A gang of mobsters?' jeered Vorskyn. 'With Knights of the League in it? You expect us to believe that?'

  'I don't expect anything of you,' snarled Grader. 'Or of any of your kind. You've not known what's been happening for years now. And certainly not what Kanker's been doing. How could you? After all, he's your paymaster, isn't he? The all-powerful, all-generous one. And he's blinded you. Even if you'd looked, you wouldn't have seen what he's been up to. How he's been leading another life. Another terrible life…'

  Grader paused and glared at Vorskyn.

  'You and your friends on the Council should be so ashamed of yourselves, so ashamed that… Ah, but what am I saying?' He smiled. 'You've not the sense or the honour, have you? And anyway, you've distracted me from my story. Now where was I? Oh yes, Kanker's private army and my stumbling across it, something that nearly cost me my life. It was here, here on Korpulund that I discovered it. But they were on
to me in minutes. And I only got away by the skin of my teeth… I was lucky. I could so easily have… well, so easily, you know, have ended up like all those others who stumbled across the same truth after I did. All those his bastard henchmen tracked down and killed… and then blamed on me. It started with Paraker and Chloda, the two knights I'd come to Korpulund with. He had them killed within hours of my escaping. I'm not sure they'd even discovered anything. But Kanker knew that by killing them and putting the blame on me, he'd immediately make me an outcast. And I'd not be listened to by anybody. After all, he was the Senior Knight and I was just a murdering renegade. And then a monster. The more victims he had killed, the more he could pin on the madman, Grader. And I became a real untouchable, an un-person, a living devil - and, of course, someone who'd never get a hearing…

  'And it all worked very well. As more people tripped over his little secret and needed to be extinguished, there was this convenient mass-murderer to hand. The elusive Grader had despatched another one. And nobody thought to question it. Why should they? It was Kanker, our Senior Knight, providing the story. So why should anybody suspect?

  'Just as they'd never imagine that some of those murders were never murders at all. These were the ones where the body just disappeared, where Grader had made off with the remains to satisfy some monster urge or other. Of course, the reality was that the bodies were still very much alive. They were Kanker's own men: knights and troopers who needed to withdraw from their League duties to take up… well, other less savoury work - well out of sight and well out of mind…'

  'But why have you never approached anyone?' interrupted For-bin-Ah. 'In four years… I can't…'

  'Danger,' responded Grader sharply, 'danger to me if I approached the wrong knight. And danger to whomever I approached who wasn't on his payroll. Make no mistake about it; Kanker would have anyone killed without a second thought, and for any reason. And if you'd been tainted by contact with Grader, and he found out about it - and he would - you'd be Grader's next victim - before you even knew it.

  'So sorry, For-bin-Ah, but it was never really on. Never, that is, until I could get my hands on some real evidence. Something that would be more than just my story…'

  'So your promotion to a terrorist leader was Kanker's doing as well,' interjected Meitchars. 'Those pirates Renton and I had the misfortune to meet on that halogen planet. They were part of this secret army of his. And that would account for them using a League code.'

  'Spot on,' replied Grader. 'And again it all served his purpose. Now he could cover up even really public cock-ups like that one…'

  'And like the abductions from Kerra-Dust,' added Madeleine.

  'Exactly,' confirmed Grader. 'I was becoming the perfect scapegoat for anything he did anywhere in the universe. Even though for most of the time I've actually been here on Korpulund - eavesdropping on Kanker and his cronies at short range - trying to get some of that evidence I needed.

  'That's how I met Boz…'

  Grader nodded in Boz's direction.

  '…I was listening in on Central League Intelligence - because I was sure he'd got his own men in there. And I found out that I had a fellow spy in the vicinity. And it seemed like a good idea to join forces. But without exposing Boz to any danger - as far as I could - by not… well… by not telling him quite everything I was interested in…'

  'Well, Mr Grader sir,' said a smiling Boz, 'I 'preciate your gesture, an' I'm more in your indebtedness an' all than I was there before. Oh, an' I'm assumin' yous ain't tellin' no fibs no more - on account of you soundin' so honest like. Even though you were before - if you get my drift. Which I'm sure you does.'

  Grader smiled back. 'Boz, this is all for real. As I promised it would be.'

  'Never doubted it. Never doubted it for one minute.'

  'Ah,' said Renton, feeling it was about time he participated in this saga. 'So, Kanker had me and Meitchars scudding around in space on a real fool's errand. We really were being given bum information. And I remember thinking that at the time… that it was… errh, like… errh… purposeful purposelessness, if you know what I mean.'

  'Absolutely. You were a perfect distraction. As long as you were sailing around looking for Grader and his gang - who, of course, were quite clearly responsible for both the Tap incident and the Kerra-Dust kidnappings - Kanker could avoid any irritating enquiries, and he could get on with whatever else he needed to do…'

  'But then you…' stumbled Renton, 'I'm sorry, I mean Kanker, I mean his men… then they went and attacked us - at the museum. Then they chased us to the moon…'

  'That was the letter from Madeleine. Of course, they'd opened it when it came through Korpulund. And that really got Kanker thinking - that when all three of you met up and compared notes… well, that it would be just too dangerous. With what you knew and with what Madeleine knew, it would be running too much of a risk.'

  'Uhhm, uhh,' observed Renton decisively, 'uhh, I'm not sure I follow. Why should our meeting Madeleine pose such a threat? What errh… what errh, would we have worked out between us, that we wouldn't have…?'

  'Ah!' exclaimed Grader, 'I haven't told you, have I? I haven't told you what Kanker needs a secret army for. I've not got round to telling you about his dust world.'

  It was as though the room had been flooded with some sort of paralysing nerve gas. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. There was absolute silence. Then the silence was broken. By Grader in reflective mood.

  'Hey, it's just come back to me. Renton Tenting. Knight Tenting. We spoke, didn't we? When I was playing at being Knight… errh Knight…'

  'Kent,' assisted Renton in a whisper. 'You were pretending to be Knight Kent.'

  'That's right. I remember now. Fancy me forgetting…'

  'Dust world?' interrupted Vorskyn. 'A dust world? You're mad, completely mad. And we've been listening to you all this time. I can't believe it…'

  'I can,' snapped Meitchars. 'It fits. It fits like a glove. Why else would anyone kidnap dust workers - and construction workers - and all their equipment?'

  'Bullshit,' countered Vorskyn. 'It's just a fairy story. There's not a scrap of truth in it. None whatsoever. Oh, except the bit about his not having any proof. Or am I mistaken, Grader? Perhaps you've actually found some now? While we've all been standing here like idiots.'

  'You know I haven't,' spat Grader. 'And you know why, you bastard. Because you and your cronies stopped me looking…'

  'Oh really!' smirked Vorskyn.

  Grader turned to For-bin-Ah. 'It's how they caught me. I knew they were running around in a panic in here. So I thought I'd make use of that panic - by slipping into the base and getting into that room over there…'

  He was pointing to the safe-room, the one with the bio-lock.

  '…I'm sure the evidence I want is in there. I'm sure it is. And much more. Like where the dust world is. And what they're doing there and what his plans are. I don't know any of that. And the longer we go on without knowing, the more danger there is - for all of us. I'm sure of it. It's not just for me that I want to get in there; it's for everyone. Kanker's a madman, and he could be doing anything with that dust world.'

  'Could be doing anything with that dust world?' queried Vorskyn contemptuously. 'Oh come on. Even if one accepts the existence of this damn dust world - which, of course, I don't - what the hell do you think he'd be doing with it? Making a soddin' fortune out of it, that's what he'd be doing. What else? What else can you do with a dust world?'

  'Vorskyn,' announced For-bin-Ah quietly, 'if you say one more word before I tell you you can, I'll rip your head off. Do you understand?'

  Vorskyn nodded that he did understand. His blustering bravado appeared to have drained from him in an instant.

  'OK, Grader,' continued For-bin-Ah. 'Let's take a look in that safe-room. Meitchars, I think we were about to apply some brute force and ignorance, weren't we? With some of Renton's assistance. So I suggest we proceed as planned.'

  'Uh,' ventured Boz, 'before you
does that, can I jus' like point out that… uh… well, that that there bio-lock is a Pudsey Mark 4 - with a cannon-action, tri-panide override.'

  For-bin-Ah looked nonplussed. So did Meitchars. Renton had never seen them look quite like this before.

  'Uh,' continued Boz. 'Like I mean, yous ain't gonna get in there, not with no amount of force an' ignorance, not now and not ever. An' I can guarantee that. An' I can also guarantee that if yous gets anywhere at all, it'll be to heaven - on account of this here override feature. Uh, like it's designed to despatch heaven-wards any dude who upsets it too much by meddlin' with it… I mean, like forcin' it. Oh, and it does that with explosive certainty, my friends - like it all jus' blows up. And if its owner has chosen an optional setup mode - which havin' heard a lill' bit about him, I'm sure he has - the contents of that there room will be simililary explosively obliterated. Uh, like, bye bye us, and bye bye any evidence or whatever.

  'Uh, beggin' your pardons, an' all. But I thought I should let yous all know.'

  It was Renton who responded first. And when he asked the question on everybody's lips, he already knew the answer.

  'Boz, how the heck do you know all that? And even the make of the lock…'

  Boz turned his large eyes to the floor.

  'Uh, well let's call it "continuing professional education"… errh, for the detective-type profession. I has to keep abreast of the latest developments, on account of my service standards for my clientele. Hell, sure way to upset a client is to go an' get yoursel' killed in the line o' duty like, an' to cause damage to property in the process. Well, hell, that's real sloppy, real right unprofessional. So I keeps up to date. An' I can assure you that that there Pudsey ain't gonna' let no one in, not with all the force and all the ignorance on this here big planet. So there. Now yous all know.'

  It was as he suspected. For once Renton had known what was coming. His friend Boz had not let him down. It was as he thought: a manifestation of private-eye professionalism at its best. But that was it. He now hadn't a clue what would happen next. It was flotsam time again. Time for a 'wots the way out of all this…?'