Richard Struggle - Evacuate the Masquerade: (Episodic Novella 1 - Season 1)

by JM Coombs

  "Thanks, mate," the man said before disappearing back into the crowd.

  Elizabeth frowned. "I'm not sure you should have done that. If there are more of them, they'll be all over you."

  Richard shrugged. "I'm sure he was probably what he said he was. He looked decent enough."

  Elizabeth didn't say anything in response except to give him an odd look. They were soon back in the queue at the ticket office, and not long after that, at the stall window buying two tickets for Ophelia Island.

  "The day after tomorrow," Elizabeth said, inspecting her ticket. "Well, that's not too bad."

  Richard looked down at his ticket in indignation, his previously good feelings quickly evaporating. "I've got one that doesn't leave until next Friday, what the hell?" He looked up at the clerk on the other side of the window.

  "I'm sorry, Mister Struggle, but that's your ticket and that's final."

  "But—"

  "Please make way for the next in line, Mister Struggle. If you wish to complain, please do so to the dock master's office."

  Richard swore and together he and Elizabeth walked away a few steps.

  Elizabeth, he thought with surprise, looked a little disappointed. "That's a shame," she said.

  Damn. He liked being with his new friend, despite her being a bit reserved. He certainly didn't want to part ways now just because some tiresome clerk couldn't be bothered to make sure their tickets matched up. Not only that, but if he had to wait so long, he might miss the dragon egg laying season Susie's grandfather spoke of. His jaw firmed. "Well, let's go talk to this dock master, then."

  The dock master, whose desk name plate proclaimed him to be Samuel Peterson, gazed at Richard over the top of a pile of paperwork with a bored expression. "I'm sorry, Mister Struggle, but the boat schedule is extremely tight. We're having to deal with a growing backlog caused by having one less boat than we should — one of them crashed six months ago, you know — and we still don't have a replacement yet. I understand you were hoping to travel with your lady friend, but you'll just have to wait.

  Richard glared.

  Elizabeth stood to one side, leaning against a wall with her arms folded.

  The dock master's expression flickered with a momentary glint of amusement. "Of course, you could always go and take up this matter with the local sheriff, but, well, he and I go way back, and I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time if you do. Heh-heh-heh."

  It was the laugh that did it. It burned through Richard's brain and ignited every ounce of indignation and hatred he'd ever felt. Here was a man who wasn't the victim of a system that made people into criminals like the boys he and Thomas had sometimes protected their orphan brother and sisters from back on Earth. No, this man was someone in a position of power who simply used that power to bully others without caring a wit for their plight — someone who actually took pleasure in other people's pain.

  His fists balled.

  "Richard?" said Elizabeth.

  He looked at her and saw a flicker of concerned warning in her eyes. He took a long shaky breath, stood up, waited for her to join him, and, not looking back, walked out of the office.

  Once outside, Richard took another long deep breath.

  "Are you okay?" Elizabeth asked, her voice making it clear she thought he wasn't.

  Richard looked out across the crystal clear waters of Creakylid. The sun was setting a brilliant orange and the shadows were lengthening. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. It's just more than a little bit frustrating."

  "We still have a day and a bit before I have to leave," she said.

  Richard turned and smiled at her. In the setting sun, Elizabeth really did look stunning, even if what she wore seemed strategically chosen to try and persuade him otherwise. Somewhere along the road it seemed, she'd gone from, 'not wanting to travel with him,' to, 'wanting to travel with him,' and that had to count as a win at least. That he could live with. "Yeah," he said, "let's go find a place to stay and then go shopping." He chuckled. "I certainly have no intention of wasting six whole days." He patted the trunk by his side again. "I have a real trunk to make."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Conspiracy of Stupidity and Greed

  Richard and Elizabeth didn't have to go far up the town's central street before finding an inn with a couple of rooms available.

  "You're lucky we have these," the inn keeper said as they passed over a handful of chads and wicks.

  "Oh, why?" Richard asked.

  The inn keeper gave him a jovial look. "Haven't been far up Main Street have you?" The silvery coins disappeared behind the counter.

  Richard shook his head.

  "Its all metal houses up there. Not a plank of wood to be seen."

  Elizabeth gave him a confused look. "Why is that a problem?"

  "Would you want to sleep in a building that some up-to-no-good elemental could puddle his way straight into?"

  Elizabeth froze, ponytail slipping off her shoulder and down the small of her back.

  The inn keeper smiled grimly. "Quite."

  By the time they'd dumped their backpacks and made their way back outside, the sun had almost set. By the time they'd got back to the market, people were starting to close up their stalls, packing away their wares, or, in the case of the more permanent stalls, locking firm looking wooden doors.

  "Split up?" Elizabeth asked. "I'll go find food?"

  Richard nodded. "Sounds good." And he set off in the direction that the rotund Mister Offwood plied his wares.

  "So, you're Mister Richard Struggle." Mister Offwood looked Richard up and down from where he'd been overseeing the packing up of his stall.

  In the middle of the stall, Richard identified the knife wielding woman he'd seen from before. She'd changed out of her long-sleeved shirt and now wore a simple blouse and blue jeans. She was doing the actual packing up and looked exhausted — quite a contrast to the bright faced and cheery Mister Offwood.

  "Yep, that's me," Richard said. "I understand you can sell me trade wood."

  Mister Offwood gave a half nod. "Normally, yeah. Got a bit of a shortage at the moment, though, what with the building boom going on, but we'll have another shipment in soon."

  Richard's heart sank. "How long?"

  "Should be here by next Friday."

  Richard groaned. "Doesn't this island have any tree thumbs?"

  Mister Offwood stroked his chin. "Got a few, yeah, but everyone's using all the land we have for food — so many people coming through, see? — and the council fenced off the whole other side of the island — to preserve the local wildlife, they said."

  Richard cursed under his breath.

  Mister Offwood clicked his fingers. "But don't you worry about that. Got a proposal for you, I have."

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah. Why don't you stay here and work with me? I've heard about your miniature trunks." He looked at the trunk by Richard's side with undisguised interest. "People would pay large amounts to get one when they come through. You do the making and I do the selling. I could pay you a stipend to get you settled in, say twenty chad a day, and then a half share of the profit."

  Richard shook his head. "Sorry, I already have my ticket out of here."

  "Ah, don't let that stop you." Mister Offwood leaned forward. His smile widened. "Tell you what, I'll even buy your ticket back from you. You want to take this opportunity, trust me — you won't find another like it too soon."

  Richard leaned back slightly. "Um, no thank you." It didn't sound half bad, but he certainly wasn't dropping his plans to explore Creakylid just like that.

  Mister Offwood looked slightly disappointed. "Okay, but I'm here if you ever change your mind. I deal all the wood on this island and you won't find any anywhere else."

  Richard shook his head again, thanked him for the offer again, bid his goodbyes, and walked off, wondering just what he was going to do now that he couldn't even build his trunk. He spotted Elizabeth waving him down from one of the few stalls still open, pointing to two la
rge pewter bowls of piping hot stew.

  He told her about Mister Offwood and his offer over dinner at one of the many aluminium benches just outside the stew stall.

  Elizabeth frowned. "Richard, I've just been around checking the prices for food here. That stipend would barely have kept you fed, let alone clothed and sheltered."

  Richard paused with a wooden spoon of stew half-way to his mouth. "There was still the percentage of profit."

  Elizabeth put her head in her hands. "Yes, the profit, Richard, the profit."

  "So?"

  "So, who sells you the wood you'd use to make the trunks?"

  Richard swallowed the spoonful of stew and looked uneasily down at the bowl. "Mister Offwood…"

  "So who controls the cost of production?"

  Richard suddenly felt ill. "Mister Offwood."

  "And who controls the selling and, therefore, the pricing?"

  "Mister Offwood."

  "And therefore, the profit?"

  Richard slammed down his spoon, looked off to the side, and scowled. "I can't believe I didn't spot that!"

  Elizabeth nodded grimly.

  The two continued to eat for a little while more and talked of other things. Richard put the business with Mister Offwood out of his mind. The sky's oranges and reds gradually faded to dark blues and blacks and a million stars twinkled down on them.

  All around them, people ate, chatted, and laughed. They clapped and cheered an older man when he threw a set of metal spheres into the air and started juggling with elemental magic, expertly moving the spheres around his head without letting them touch his hands. "Now that's good control!" one man shouted when the elemental finished with a flourish.

  At the table next to them, an older woman was deep in conversation with a younger couple. "I mean, you two make such a cute pair, but time is moving on," the older woman said to the young man who sat beetroot-red embarrassed next to his amused girlfriend. "Don't you think it's time you two found a nice girl and settled down?"

  Richard shot Elizabeth a silent smirk, which she returned with interest.

  Suddenly a figure loomed over the two of them and a loud, happy, and extremely familiar voice said, "Well, look who it is!"

  Richard looked up in surprise at a dark-skinned figure with a jaw-droppingly pretty girl hanging off its arm. It was Thomas.

  The tavern looked like a tavern, all wood beams and thatched roof. The only difference was that every roof and floor beam looked like it had only been hammered into place yesterday. It hadn't had time yet to accumulate that drunk-in tavern feel that comes only after a hundred thousand drinks have been downed and, occasionally, upped.

  Richard suspiciously inspected the liquid in the metal tankard in front of him.

  "Drink up, mate. It won't kill you." Thomas took a drink from his own tankard.

  Elizabeth and Thomas's new girlfriend, Cynthia, had disappeared off somewhere on some private errand of their own.

  Richard took a sip. It tasted sweet and thick and strong enough to knock out a horse. He coughed. "W-what is it?"

  "Stripe."

  Richard raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of it."

  "It's new. They make it from a native berry a bunch of thumbs found on the mainland." Thomas leaned back and took another swig. "So, any news from back at the orphanage?"

  Richard shook his head. He glanced sideways and noticed a startlingly familiar man loudly drinking with an equally loud group at a table on the other side of the tavern. Empty tankards filled the table they sat at. It was the baseball cap wearing man he'd thrown a coin to down at the docks who was supposed to be saving up to leave.

  The man spotted him and gave him a drunk thumbs up.

  Richard shook his head in mild disgust and turned back to Thomas. "Not really," he said. "The girls miss you. Alan's promised to look after them." He pushed the drunk man out of his thoughts and gave Thomas a sly look. "What about you? Cynthia seems nice."

  "Aye, she is." Thomas kept his face straight, but Richard could recognise the signs. His best friend was bursting to tell him something.

  Richard grinned. "Go on, out with it."

  "I got a prophecy!"

  Richard stared in shock. "What! Already?"

  "Yeah! I was working on one of the new inns way up Main Street and one of the iron beams snapped from the rope that was lifting it up. Cynthia happened to be standing underneath. It would have killed her, but I just acted on instinct, you know? Used my elemental magic to push the beam away just in time."

  Richard whistled. "Good thing it was iron."

  Thomas took another drink. "I'll say." He waved the tankard vaguely. "Well, it was steel really, but you know it doesn't matter."

  Richard nodded. "So, what happened then?"

  "Well, Cynthia had fallen backwards on the ground and was just staring at the beam — I think she was in shock — and then this male voice filled the entire street — the most determined, awe inspiring voice I've ever heard."

  Determined and awe inspiring. Richard licked his lips. "Chadwick Driven?"

  Thomas nodded, grinning all the while.

  "Well?" Richard leaned forward on his chair. "Go on! Stop dragging it out."

  Thomas cleared his throat.

  "Three times round the hero goes,

  Three times treasure the hero earns,

  Iron bends and melts and makes,

  And all the time does evil quake,

  For if the chosen one should fail,

  The Iron Lord his place must take."

  "So there is a chosen one," Richard whispered. He then looked at his friend, nonplussed. "The Iron Lord?"

  Thomas' grin threatened to break free of his face. "The - Iron - Lord."

  "Why the hell do you get such an awesome title?" Richard mock pouted. "I want one."

  "Go get your own."

  Richard chuckled. "Sure." He then turned serious. "Sounds like you're going to have to do something quite important though. Whatever the chosen one's task is, it sounds like you're the back up."

  Thomas nodded.

  "Any idea what the task is?" Richard asked.

  Thomas shrugged. "In stories it's always about saving the world or something, isn't it?"

  "Yeah…" Richard stared off at the wall "What could the world need saving from though? We've already run away from one world. We've only just got here."

  Thomas shrugged again.

  Richard smirked and held his tankard up. "Well, anyway, here's to your prophecy, 'my lord' — to justice and making evil quake and everything that goes with it."

  Thomas grinned and clunked his tankard against Richard's. "And here's to yours. I've no doubt you'll have one of your own soon enough. Cheers."

  "Cheers." Richard gave Thomas a wry smile. "I have to get off this damn island first, though. How come you're still here, anyway?"

  Thomas shrugged. "Should have listened to you and prepared more. Didn't have quite enough money to buy a ticket off."

  "Ah." Richard took another sip.

  "But I do now!" Thomas reached into his pocket and drew out a ticket. "Plenty of jobs around for a good strong pair of arms, or the right kind of elemental. You should check out the hero jobs board yourself. It's actually a good thing you and that pretty girl of yours ran into us when you did. We're off at first light tomorrow."

  Richard smiled at Thomas' categorisation of Elizabeth as 'his,' but didn't bother to correct him. He certainly wouldn't mind if it were true.

  Richard woke up the next morning to find a note laying outside his room.

  Mister Richard Struggle,

  You have post waiting for you at The Second Island Post Office,

  Please come and collect as soon as you are able,

  - Stan Robins, The Second Island Post Master

  Richard idly flipped the note over looking for additional clues, but there were none. After a quick breakfast, which did include eggs, Richard and Elizabeth waved goodbye to Thomas and Cynthia and made their way up main street. They
walked past several new sheet-metal buildings, which looked like they'd been put up in a rush, and which Elizabeth declared to be, 'the ugliest things she'd ever seen.' "They don't even have windows."

  Richard shrugged. Glass wasn't a thing he'd seen even once yet in Creakylid. The windows of their own rooms had been covered with wooden window shutters, but he supposed it was true that a building without windows of any kind at all did look unappealing. These buildings had a shanty town kind of feel that he found hard to appreciate.

  Moments later, he and Elizabeth reached a pair of actual wood buildings, one on each side of the street. On one side, the post office, and on the other, the sheriff's.

  They wandered over to the sheriff's office, which looked like a mage tower that had received its exams back with a 'must try harder' comment scribbled at the top. Only the bottom two floors were wood. The top floor, which looked like it had been added on later, was sheet metal. On the ground floor wall hung a large cork board, covered in job ads. It hung under a sign that read, 'HERO JOBS BOARD.' An older woman was busy tacking another ad to the board.

  Richard read one of them.

  Wanted — Strong young men for heavy labour. Food and board, plus five chad a day. Earn your passage in just one month! Ask for Toby — 15 Main Street.

  The other ads were all similar. Richard frowned. "I know Thomas did manual labour to earn his passage, but I was expecting they'd be something more… interesting. It is called a hero board after all."

  "Well, what did you expect?" asked the old woman who'd just finished pinning up her ad. "We've had hundreds of young people come through here thinking they're going to be prophesied heroes — not a useful skill among them. This is the real world, you hear? You think there'll be a dragon kidnapped maiden for every one of you?"

  Richard smirked. "My best friend received a prophecy just a few days ago."

  "Good on your friend, then. But until you get one too there's plenty of real work that needs to be done." The woman walked off.

  Elizabeth crossed one arm and tapped her chin. "She might have a point."