“Look, I didn’t have a choice. They were going to grind me up and throw me to the rosemary. And there wasn’t any other way to get us out of the dungeon.”
“The king’s dentist said he gave you a key,” she said, keeping her voice willfully flat. “You were hoping I’d forgotten about that, weren’t you.”
She had me there. “Could you put aside how much you hate me now for a bit? I need to tell you something important.”
“Like what.”
“The Deleter thing in my head.” I tapped my skull. “It’s not telling me things anymore. After we put Drylda’s eyes in my face I haven’t been able to bring any more out. It’s like it’s used up.”
“That’s a shame,” said Meryl, insincerely.
“Look, could you stop being all huffy? I’m sorry, all right? I made a bad decision. Everyone’s entitled to those. We have to move on. Things are getting serious.”
She finally looked at me, her eyes bathed in something approaching pity. “Jim, listen. Forget about the betrayal thing. All that did was make me realize something I should have picked up on a long time ago.”
“Like what?” I asked, guiltily suspecting that I knew what she was going to say.
“That you get really annoyed having me around. You consider me some nuisance to shake off.” Her gaze dropped to the ground. “That’s fair enough. It’s not a rule that everyone has to get on with everyone else. You won’t have to put up with me anymore. We can both find our own way around, now.”
“Don’t be stupid, Meryl. I need you.”
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, an inner voice looked up from its newspaper and raised an eyebrow. Meryl looked at me again, brow furrowed and eyes wide. “What did you say?”
“I said I need you. I can’t sew my own bits back on.”
I mentally smacked myself the moment the words fell out. Her face crumpled with distaste, and she wordlessly drifted away from me through the ranks of the army, hanging her head and shaking it back and forth.
“Wait!” I cried, but then everyone started jostling each other in preparation to halt, and I lost sight of her. A great concerned rumbling ran through the ranks as they took in the scene ahead, and if there’s one thing that’s harder to plough through than an armed crowd, it’s an armed crowd that’s all tensed-up and huddled together for safety.
The main square beneath the tower had certainly looked better the last time I’d seen it, and I’d been looking at it over a horse’s arse. Most of the well-scrubbed white pavement was covered up with hastily-erected tents where locals were being treated and preached to by devotees in white robes. Barry’s army had evidently assumed victory in the actual physical invasion, and had already moved straight onto the “winning of hearts and minds” phase.
Closer to the center of the square beneath the shade of well-kept, slightly bloodstained ornamental trees stood what I had assumed at first glance to be a massive arrangement of last-stage Syndrome victims, numbering in the thousands. As we drew closer I realized that they were in the garb of Barry’s army, and stood frozen, not in nonchalant poses, but in mid-charge. They were still hefting their weapons, but their unmoving legs were caught in mid-sprint and their mouths were silently screaming in fury. Several trebuchets were scattered throughout the crowd, poking out over the rows of heads like nosy giraffes.
“Stay where you are,” said Barry, needlessly. We’d already stopped dead at the first sight of him.
He floated a good fifteen feet off the ground. The glow around his body was brighter, and the lightning that flowed from his eyes and hands extended far enough to tweak the noses and mustaches of the frozen warriors below. His actual physical body, though, had seen much better days. His black vicar suit and collar now hung loosely, flapping in the arcane wind. His hair was missing in clumps, and his eye sockets were sunken enough to compete with mine.
“Ah yes,” he said, noticing me. “How appropriate. All my bugbears come together in a tidy package. Don’t any of you move. You’re going to wait here nice and quietly while we wait for the rest of our guests. Ah, who’s this now?” Approaching the center of the square from a different angle was another army. This one was mostly gnolls, but there was a thick black streak of suited Adventurer’s Guild agents running through the center, so that the whole mass looked like a giant chocolate éclair when viewed from above. They, too, halted in surprise when they drew close enough to see Barry’s current condition.
“What’s all this about?” demanded the agent at the head of the Guild army, whose brimmed hat and sharp suit identified him as the King’s advisor from my massively unfair trial in the throne room. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
A burst of white energy from Barry’s hand blew the advisor’s hat into ashes and lit his hair on fire. He promptly fell back, desperately slapping himself about the head. “I told you all to be quiet. Negotiations haven’t started yet,” said Barry, with the voice of a secretary chairing a meeting. An involuntary shudder rippled through the office workers behind me. “All my opposing forces must be gathered here together. It’s much more efficient to demoralize you all at once.”
“Er, actually, glorious LORD,” said Benjamin. He was on his knees, holding his hand up for attention like a schoolboy but keeping his eyes averted. “This is it. These were all the resisting armies I could find.”
“Seriously?”
“’Fraid so, gift of Heaven. Everyone else either ran for it or let themselves get killed.”
“Well, frankly, I’m disappointed. The biggest city in the world, and the populace can only be bothered to scrape together this measly lot. Doesn’t say a lot for faith in the current leadership, does it.”
The sound of grinding teeth could be heard coming from the king, who was a few feet away. Mr. Wonderful leaned towards him and whispered, “Careful, Mr. Dentist, you’ll set a bad example.”
“You were saying something about negotiations?” said one of the senior Guild agents.
“When I say ‘negotiations,’” said Barry civilly, “I basically mean that I’m going to say what’s going to happen, and you’re going to make it happen, or I’ll unfreeze my army of berserkers down there and you can all consider yourselves written off as acceptable losses.”
The agent conferred briefly with his colleagues. “What are your demands?”
“They’re quite simple. I ask merely for an occupying force established within this and all cities of Lolede, a headquarters in your palace, for all decisions affecting national policy to be approved by me, and for an agreeably manageable tribute to be paid annually. Life for most of your population will be exactly the same as before, with only a small, manageable increase in oppression.”
“Is there anything in this for us?” probed the Guild agent, being a businessman, and therefore well-acquainted with putting profit above self-preservation.
“But of course,” said Barry sweetly. “None of you will have to worry about how to spend your Sundays anymore. Attendance will be mandatory at approved churches to hear the teachings of the great god Si-Mon.”
“Si-Mon,” echoed every devotee in earshot reverently.
“I am the bringer of His message,” continued Barry. “I am in communion with Si-Mon—”
“Si-Mon,” went the devotees again.
“—Daily, and my will is his. Si-Mon—”
“Si-Mon.”
Barry was clearly wishing he’d never got them onto that. “He is the one true God, initiator of the Infusion and omnipotent caretaker of us all. Hail S . . . hail Him.”
“What’s your position on the adventuring industry?” continued the Guild agent.
“As long as the Guild remembers who is in control, I see no reason to make alterations to current policy in that area.”
An even smaller amount of conferring took place between the gaggle of Guild agents, featuring numerous sidelong glances at Barry and his frozen army, before the spokesperson turned back. “Hail Si-Mon.”
“Si-Mon.
”
“Hail Si-Mon, ’scuse us,” said Mr. Wonderful, making his way out of our army and into the Guild’s.
“We feel our presence in this army will shortly be regarded as a conflict of interest,” added Bowg, following him.
“Right then,” said Barry, dusting his hands. He seemed slightly disappointed. “I will move onto the next item in the agenda . . .”
“Wait just one minute!” cried the king, stepping forward. “The Adventurer’s Guild are not the true rulers of this land!” He almost believed it, I’m sure.
“You keep out of this,” said the Guild spokesman.
“You forget yourself, sir!” He took hold of his hood and dramatically flung it back. A golden crown glittered royally in the moonlight. “I am the King!”
The appropriate stunned gasp resolutely failed to occur. “Yeah,” said the Guild agent, low on patience. “We know. You’ve got the sword.”
“I borrowed it! I mean, no I didn’t! It’s the real sword and I’m the real King and I say that no invading army will waltz in and seize my country without a fight!”
Barry watched him rant himself out, then turned to the Guild again. “Is this truly the King of Lolede?”
“The King? Surely not,” said the Guild agent. “That is clearly an impostor. He looks more like a dentist to me.”
“CHAAAAAARGE!” cried the King, holding his sword aloft and leading by example.
There had once been a time, in more savage eras, when the King would have had to be the biggest and toughest bastard in the land, in order that he might be able to hang onto his crown while every other bloke with land and a gullible militia was trying to prise it from his grasp. But generations of peace and misguided genetic theory had done away with that.
Then again, even if he’d been eight feet tall with muscles like mahogany, I doubt he would have lasted very long against Barry’s counter-attack. The King was barely halfway to the vicar and our army was still internally debating whether or not to follow when Barry waved a hand and a great pillar of white light slammed down. The silhouette of a rapidly skeletonizing human form was visible writhing painfully for a few seconds too long for comfort before the light faded, leaving nothing of the king but a black stain and a few extremely well-maintained teeth.
A deep silence followed before Barry spoke again. “Very well, if that’s the way it’s going to be,” he said. “Chaaaarge!”
He threw up his arms like a conductor and his frozen army of berserkers became animated again. They stumbled a little at first, confused by their surroundings, but were soon confidently roaring towards us.
The dockworkers at the head of our army gripped their sledgehammers in white-knuckled hands. Every man was probably thinking the same thing: that nails and rivets very rarely run around trying to split your head in half, and honest worker’s grit didn’t make them as qualified for this as they’d thought.
One of the berserkers was proving to be faster than his fellows, and was a good few yards ahead of the charge. It was the same heavily accented northern barbarian we had encountered in Applewheat and Yawnbore. The clapping of his great sandaled feet upon the cobbles was becoming louder by the moment. His robe was utterly soaked through with blood, sweat and oil, and clung tantalizingly to his chest muscles.
A lot of our soldiers were taking quick glances behind them and uncertain half-steps backwards, not wanting to be the first to abandon the pretense of bravery and make a break for it. I was just about to seize the initiative when the heavy footfalls abruptly stopped, and the barbarian’s scream faded away.
A manhole had opened under his feet. The three marauders directly behind him lost a battle of wits with momentum and fell down the same hole. Now that I was looking for it, I could see adventurers disappearing rapidly downwards all throughout the oncoming horde.
A skinny white figure emerged from the first manhole, crawling on all fours with a dagger clenched between its teeth. It scuttled into the mass of advancing warriors, nimbly dodged through the gauntlet of flailing legs, and disappeared from sight. Shortly afterwards, two barbarians in the front line immediately upgraded their screams of rage to screams of agony and collapsed, squirting blood from gashes in their ankles.
Similar events were taking place all over the square, as more and more albinos poured out of the ground. Those members of Barry’s army who weren’t getting their ankles slashed were tripping over the ones who were. Before long, the advance had halted completely. The already undisciplined mob had become a heaving mass of pain and confusion with skinny cave dwellers scuttling all over it like ants on picnic scones.
“CHARGE!” cried the burliest of the burly dockworkers, who were quickly regaining their confidence at the sight of Barry’s stricken horde. As one, their sledgehammers collided with the heads of the nearest convenient enemy soldiers, and as one they rebounded from the adventurers’ helms with a musical “bong.”
The berserk adventurers had gone into suspended animation again. I saw a few confused albinos vainly trying to stab a couple of muscular ankles that had suddenly become as hard as diamond. I returned my gaze to Barry, who was completing the last few finger-waggles.
“Stop it! Stop it! What is this?” he said, scolding tolerantly like a playroom nanny. He made a complex gesture, and one of the underground people was yanked into the air with a squeak of surprise and dangled upside-down in front of Barry’s face. “What do you people think you are doing?”
“W-we are the emissaries of the t-true LORD,” replied the albino, shaking and stammering. “You are-are-are a despicable burnt oven chip on—hup—on the b-baking tray of the universe.” His words had a rather familiar turn of phrase.
“Thaddeus?” came Meryl’s voice. I spotted her about ten dockworkers away, standing close to Mrs. Civious, and began shouldering my way towards them.
Sure enough, Thaddeus was emerging from a manhole close to our front line. He was a little scuffed and dirty, perhaps a little paler, if that was even possible. He was wearing a shabby fur cloak and a makeshift crown made from the ends of tree roots. Several albinos immediately broke from the crowd and threw themselves at his feet, planting their faces between cobbles.
“Unhand my brother in faith,” commanded Thaddeus. “You are an aberration in the LORD’s perfect vision for the world.”
“How can I unhand him? I’m not even touching him,” said Barry innocently, displaying his hands as the levitating fellow in question spun nauseatingly end over end.
“Your army is defeated,” Thaddeus continued. There was a general shaking of sledgehammers and staplers and a chorus of adrenaline-fueled “yeah’s”. “Leave this place and sully the sacred overlands no more.”
“Defeated,” repeated Barry, shifting his mouth around as if sucking a boiled sweet that was turning sour. Then he made a twirling gesture with his finger.
A few short shrieks broke out among the office workers as some of them risked a look behind them. I did likewise, and saw that there were adventurers behind us. They weren’t moving, but they weren’t frozen in the same way as the others, and they weren’t wearing white robes. Judging by their good looks, bizarre dress sense and identical battle stances, these were all Syndrome victims.
I took a wide look around. While we’d been distracted a thin layer of them had gradually surrounded the entire main square.
“The biggest point rewards in history,” announced Barry. “Help our army of brave liberators chase these unprincipled bandits from the city of Lolede.”
“Probably terrorists,” added one of the Adventurer’s Guild men. “They certainly make me feel uneasy. Do they scare you, Mr. Wonderful?”
“I’m quaking so hard my shoes are about to tunnel into the ground,” he replied.
“Ha!” scoffed Mrs. Civious suddenly, causing Meryl to jump. “We’re not afraid of your puppets!” Another “yeah” rippled through our fighting men, slightly less confident than the previous one.
“Ugh, you people are so stubborn in your ig
norance,” sighed Barry, floating forwards and getting ready to talk down to us as clearly as he could. “I’m not asking you to be afraid of my soldiers. They’re just here for the occupation. I’m asking you to be afraid of me. Observe.”
He held out his palms in the traditional spellcasting manner, then slowly pushed upwards. The air began to taste of metal, and my eardrums popped so hard that one of them fell to the ground and rolled away.
More of Thaddeus’s army of scuttling mole people were plucked from the ground to join their fellow in mid-air. They shrieked and flailed their arms madly until Barry clenched his fists and the neck of every single albino snapped, one by one. It was like listening to someone cooking popcorn while eating raw carrots. He let the moment sink in for a second or two before the bodies clattered to the ground. “Queue Ee Dee,” said Barry.
There was a pause before Thaddeus spoke again. I noticed that he had moved a little closer to Barry’s army and was now facing us. “Oppose not the healing wind of change! Repent your sins before the true LORD, Si-Mon!” he yelled.
“Si-Mon,” went the devotees, uncertainly.
I nudged Meryl. “So how many times is he allowed to betray us?” She scowled, and ducked back off into the crowd. I was about to follow, but I wanted to see what would happen next.
“No . . . no, look, you can’t just switch sides,” said Barry. “You’re still an aberration in Si-Mon’s eyes.”
“Si-Mon,” chanted the devotees.
“Yes,” said Thaddeus, smugly nodding at us. “Cease ye aberrant ways, ye wearers of filth.”
“I’m talking to you, you idiot,” said Barry.
“Hear his mighty words of peace and wisdom, uneducated masses.”
“Hey!” Barry cast a bolt of lightning at Thaddeus’s feet, spraying him with bits of searing-hot grit. “You! The disgusting stinking undead man in a robe! The one standing right there with his back to me! I am now addressing you and only you!”
Thaddeus spotted me in the crowd. “Turn around when the LORD is addressing you, wretch.”
Barry angrily swept his hand through the air. Another telekinesis spell pulled Thaddeus off his feet and dangled him in front of the vicar-god. White energy pinned his arms and held his head in place so he couldn’t look away.
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