by SJB Gilmour
‘What happened to her?’ Melanie asked weakly.
Angela seemed surprised. ‘I thought you knew,’ she murmured. ‘Your sister couldn’t find a suitable male counterpart so she gave up in disgust. She went and joined an Amazon tribe as a healer.’
Melanie was outraged. ‘What?’ she demanded, her voice going up several octaves. The air around her began to sizzle and spark. ‘Are you telling me that Apollo messed her up so bad she went gay?’ Again, Melanie’s words were more colourful.
Her aunt laughed. ‘Oh I don’t think she went that far, Mel. I think she just wanted to get as far away from men as she could. The Amazons still have Apollo and Ares as their gods. Apollo’s very conservative. Hera is the one you should watch out for, and Ares, well, we’ll discuss Him another time,’ she said in a disapproving tone. ‘Anyway, despite popular belief, most Amazons are quite normal women. They do have to ensure the survival of the race, after all.’ She gave her niece a meaningful look. ‘And that’s not exactly the sort of attitude I expect from you, Melanie,’ she chided. ‘Sally certainly doesn’t care which gender she’s being romantic with. That’s well known, but remember she’s a product of a generation where that kind of thing really didn’t matter at all.
‘As for the Amazons in general, despite the rumours, they actually have quite a successful breeding program. When their biological clocks begin ticking, Amazons are encouraged to choose suitable males from similar military forces for the purpose. Male children are raised until they’re of suitable age and then they usually enter the service of their father. The female children stay with the Amazons.’ She smiled. ‘Interesting that you used that term before, Mel. The tribe Sally joined is called Anthropophagi or man-eaters. Sally has raised quite a number of sons. She wouldn’t be able to do that if she was a lesbian.’
Melanie clamped her mouth shut and flushed guiltily.
‘So the Amazons aren’t—’ Sarah began to ask then paused, not knowing quite the best way to put it.
‘Of course not,’ Angela replied calmly, giving her head a slight shake so that her golden archer earrings tinkled. ‘Well,’ she shrugged. ‘There is always a small percentage in any population, but by and large, most Amazons are normal women. Their society simply works better segregated. Remember, they’re trained and bred warriors. Unlike arguments between normal human couples, domestic disputes between Amazons and their spouses usually end with fatalities.’
‘Oh man,’ Melanie groaned and walked towards the door. ‘I can’t take any more of this. I’m going fishing with Cromwell.’
Sarah cocked her head to one side and looked at her teacher. Another thought had occurred to her.
‘What happened between you and Apollo back on the mountain?’ she asked. ‘Rufus said Apollo was going to give up the centrepiece when He got married.’
Angela sighed. ‘Well, I can’t blame you for being curious,’ she said absently. She gazed out the window for a long moment, then drew in her breath, straightened her shoulders and smiled resolutely. ‘He proposed,’ she said simply.
‘So? From what you’ve just said, He’s been doing that for ages.’
‘I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t say no, and that’s enough for Him at the moment. If He thinks we’re betrothed, then there’s not a lot I can do about it.’ She made a face. ‘I know it might seem odd that He’s keen on me and keeping an eye on Melanie at the same time, just as He probably is on Sally and all His other girlfriends, but He is a god. He can spend an infinite amount of time with an infinite amount of women and none of them would complain for lack of attention.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘But, that’s an issue between Him and me. I’ll not be one of many, regardless of who my husband is.’
Sarah sat up, very still and stared at her teacher with big, yellow eyes.
Angela held up one hand. ‘Enough for now, dear. Apollo’s spent thousands of years courting me. Any betrothal could easily last just as long. There’s plenty of time to deal with the consequences of letting Him think He’s won me over.’ She gazed out the window again. ‘I hope.’
Chapter Eleven
On another planet in another galaxy — about as far away as it’s possible to get from Earth — something most out of the ordinary was about to happen. Ronald Trustworthy Mason, gnome adventurer and renegade, marched bravely down through the Tunnel of Gnumph. The dark, cavernous tunnel led several hundred meters down through a mountain, straight to the Royal Burrow from where His Majesty, King Roger Heraldstone The Nineteenth had ruled Gnumphlatia for more than a thousand years.
During that very long time, almost nothing exciting or in the least bit dangerous had ever happened. His subjects, because of that very fact, loved King Roger, The Nineteenth. He had kept gnomish society out of any sort of scandal or skirmish so that a gnome could say with pride that he and his fellow citizens knew how to keep their noses clean.
As Ronny passed the Royal Guards and assorted courtiers and dignitaries, he drew nervous glances and could hear hushed whispers about this strange and adventurous gnome who dared show his face after being declared renegade!
‘How dare he?’
‘No good will come of this, I tell you!’
‘Stay away from him! He’s a bad, bad gnome!’
Ronny had called in a large number of favours to get through the long waiting list even to be allowed into the Royal City. Ordinarily, a gnome could wait several years before being allowed to walk the Tunnel of Gnumph. Ronny had cut that waiting time down to just over four months.
Luckily for him, Ronny had a great many friends who still owed him favours from when he had worked for his cousin at Gnumphlatia Manor. The life of a hotel concierge often skirted the edges of legality and even more frequently, morality. To make sure they had everything they needed, Ronny often had to procure just about every sort of contra-banned substance or person for his guests.
The chief of admissions recognised Ronny and remembered the lengths that Ronny had gone to, to make sure that on his “business” trip, he met several very professional “business” ladies of various species other than gnome – a particularly frowned upon predilection within respectable gnomish circles. So, Ronny’s name somehow managed to appear several thousand places ahead in the line than it would ordinarily have been.
Next, he came to the Customs department where he found a few high-ranking officials with tastes for certain illegal substances. One in particular Ronny had had an arrangement with. In exchange for letting certain shipments through Gnumphlatian borders, Ronny had arranged for the gnome to receive some of the narcotics within those shipments. Of course Ronny had never been directly part of the exchange — he had merely greased the wheels, and this gave him an extraordinary amount of leverage over the corrupt official.
So, the clerks who stamped and double-stamped Ronny’s papers were instructed by their suddenly very grumpy boss, to let the gnome through. Thus, Ronny was waved through without having to mention various tastes for vice the customs gnome had, or his involvement in smuggling.
In his previous line of work, Ronny had met all sorts of disreputable characters and was quite used to displays of hostility from such types. He wasn’t so used to it from ordinary, respectful gnomes.
He tried to ignore the stares and whispers and pressed on through the halls towards the Royal Throne room. The long tunnel finally led him to two massive wooden doors, reinforced with iron beams and studs. Two gnome soldiers guarded the doors with long spears and short swords. As Ronny approached them, they lowered their spears to point them directly at him.
Ronny stopped dead still while one of the guards quickly patted him down to check for weapons. Finding none, he stepped back a pace and set his spear aside.
‘You have your security pass?’ the soldier demanded.
Ronny nodded and produced the small card. The soldier gave it a cursory glance and waved at his comrade who then opened one of the massive doors.
‘In you go,’ the soldier said in a bored sounding voice.
&
nbsp; Ronny thanked the guards and, feeling very nervous, he walked into the throne room.
Dozens more guards lined the walls and other entrances of the massive hall. The Sergeant of the Guards stood to one side where he could see every entrance to the great room. Unlike his soldiers, who were by and large quite bored and there more for ceremonial reasons than any other, the Sergeant watched every move in the room. The Sergeant had no spear. Instead, he wore a slightly larger version of the standard guards’ sword at his side. Watching Ronny carefully, he loosened his sword in its scabbard.
King Roger The Nineteenth was sitting on his enormous granite throne, quite obviously bored out of his mind by the constant nagging and inane chatter of the assorted courtiers and fops that hung around. As Ronny walked past the stunned, overdressed crowd, silence fell as everyone turned to stare in horror. He approached the throne and bravely (though really, and he’d never admit it of course, he was just about as terrified as a gnome can get!) bowed low before his king.
King Roger sat up and peered at the curious spectacle in front of him. Here was a gnome, disgraced and declared renegade, daring to show up in front of everyone… How outrageous! How interesting! How unusually brave this gnome must be? And what could possibly be so important that a gnome would risk further embarrassment by doing this?
The usually quite bored guards were all now not quite so bored. They followed their Sergeant’s lead by readying their weapons.
King Roger stared down at the gnome bowed before him. Yes, he saw what everyone else saw — a disgraced gnome. A renegade risk-taking gnome who shouldn’t dare be seen in decent society. A gnome who wouldn’t dare be seen here unless he had an awfully important reason. What King Roger also knew about this strange gnome was what his Military Information Secret Service (or MISS) had told him. Ronald Mason had risked great danger and fought fearsome odds in the name of duty according to his Gnomish Accommodation Almanac, and had fought very bravely alongside a Golden Mane werewolf. That fight, Roger knew, wasn’t over yet.
Knowing this, King Roger saw a gnome who had the guts and determination to see a good job done to the end, whatever the cost, and fight for the common good. And it gave him an idea.
‘Arrest him,’ he ordered, assuming his best poker face. He waved at Ronny negligently.
Two burly guards immediately pounced on Ronny.
‘Take him to Yuk,’ Roger ordered.
Ronny paled and struggled as the guards dragged him away. ‘No!’ he wailed. ‘Your Majesty! Please! Not Yuk!’ He kicked his stumpy legs out from under himself, forcing the guards to drag him more slowly. ‘Your Majesty!’ he wailed. ‘I have to talk to you! Earth’s—’ Whatever Earth was, Ronny didn’t get to say.
‘Shuddup you,’ one of the guards growled and cuffed Ronny in the mouth, fattening his lips and loosening a few teeth.
The courtroom buzzed with excitement as poor Ronald Mason the renegade adventurer, was hauled away to the nastiest place in all of Gnumphlatia — Yuk Prison. The beauty of it all, King Roger thought to himself, was that nobody had any idea that the now absolutely terrified Ronald Mason was about to be part of what he was sure would be an event that would go down in history.
Roger waited for the excited buzz in the courtroom to die down. Then, quite calmly and mildly, he gestured for the Sergeant of the Guards to come forward. Sergeant Quartz, a hundred-year veteran, marched forward and saluted smartly.
‘Ahh, Quartz,’ began King Roger quite mildly, ‘Would you mind explaining to me just how that dangerous fellow managed to get inside this courtroom?’
Quartz swallowed nervously. ‘Sire, everyone who comes through the main gates has to pass security checks.’ He nodded at some of the courtiers in the courtroom. ‘Everyone here has a security pass.’
Roger pretended to ponder this for a long moment. Then using a secret code he had created just for this kind of occasion, he tapped his stubby fingers on the arm of his throne.
Don’t take this personally, old boy, he tapped in the code. I’m going to make a bit of scene here. You’re not in trouble. Roger then rose and walked to stand so close to Quartz that their noses almost touched.
‘THEN SOMEBODY’S NOT DOING HIS JOB!’ he thundered as loudly and as angrily as he could manage.
The courtiers and hangers-on gasped and stepped back nervously. Quartz bravely held firm. One part of the trained soldier was feeling very nervous at seeming to draw His Majesty’s displeasure. Another part of him was very, very curious about just what his Commander In Chief had in mind. After all, life could be pretty boring for a soldier if there was nobody to fight.
‘Seal the palace!’ Roger yelled and waved at the startled crowd. Then he turned back to Quartz who was doing a very good job of looking nervous. ‘And when you’ve done that, find the gnome responsible for letting that madman in here and bring me his ears!’
Quartz saluted and bolted out of the courtroom, yelling orders to the rest of the guards. Roger then stormed back to his throne. He was relieved to see that his security forces could react quickly if the occasion called for it. As soon as he sat back down on his throne, he was immediately surrounded by a dozen of his own guards. Several dozen more ran into the courtroom and blocked all the entrances. Even more soldiers with their long, razor-sharp spears, gathered all the civilian courtiers and herded them into the middle of the room. The guards then marched all the courtiers, many of which were now just as terrified as Ronny had been earlier, out of the courtroom. Then they took up positions outside each door, and locked and bolted those doors shut. In a surprisingly short amount of time, Roger found himself, for the very first time in his entire life, almost all alone.
‘Well, what do you know,’ he murmured to himself. ‘It worked!’
He waited for perhaps an hour or so, quite enjoying the experience of not having any company. Eventually, Sergeant Quartz returned with two guards in tow who were dragging a petrified customs officer.
‘Lock him up with Mason,’ Roger ordered. The two guards banged their spare fists on their burnished breastplates and took the gibbering customs official away.
When the doors shut again, leaving just King Roger and Sergeant Quartz in the courtroom, Roger broke into a broad grin.
‘You know exactly what I’m doing here, don’t you Quartz?’
‘I’ve an idea, Your Majesty,’ Quartz replied carefully.
Roger nodded. ‘I’m going to pull off a little coup that will go down in the record tomes as one of the greatest moments in Gnomish history,’ Roger boasted. ‘You’re now part of a conspiracy, Captain Quartz.’
‘Umm, I’m a Sergeant, Your Majesty,’ Quartz replied nervously.
‘Not any more, Quartz. I’m declaring Martial Law. The place is obviously overrun with terrorists. One of them even found his way into the throne room to try to kill me!’ Roger winked at the newly promoted soldier.
Quartz broke into a broad grin. ‘I’ll make sure the word gets out, Sire,’ he promised and turned to leave. As he approached the door, he paused and glanced back at his grinning monarch. ‘Umm, Sire?’ he asked nervously. ‘Did you really want me to cut off that custom guy’s ears?’
Roger shrugged. ‘He’s corrupt,’ he suggested. ‘The whole Customs department are the greatest bunch of un-hanged scoundrels around. If he’s not guilty of laxity so bad it’s almost treason, he’s probably done plenty that he just hasn’t been caught for. The bribes those gnomes manage to get are enough to make me want to abdicate and actually work for a living. Whatever Mason paid him to get in here is probably just a fraction of what that guy burrows away.’
Quartz’s grin was now positively bloodthirsty. ‘The Custom’s department’s pretty large, Your Majesty.’
‘Yuk’s bigger, and so’s the army,’ Roger countered. ‘Arrest everyone in the department who’s too dumb to handle a weapon, conscript the rest into the infantry and then let the blokes from MISS take over the department. Give ‘em free reign.’
Quartz nodded mercilessly.
‘Keep a few of your more trustworthy fellows on the inside, though.’
‘You don’t trust MISS, Your Majesty?’
‘I trust ‘em now, but right now, they’re on a short leash. This’ll give ‘em a lot more power. You know the old saw about absolute power—’
‘Corrupts absolutely, Your Majesty,’ Quartz finished with a knowing grin. ‘I’ve got a few loyal gnomes with more than tunnels between their ears. They’ll keep a line of information straight to me and then to you, Your Majesty.’
Roger shook his head. ‘Just to you, Quartz. Another important thing to remember is the best way to keep a secret, and those boys infiltrating MISS will have to be kept secret or they’ll be dead, is don’t tell the boss. The ears on me aren’t just on the sides of my lumpy head. I don’t want problems delegated up to me. The gnang stops with you. If they can’t deal with whatever the problem is, then it’s your job to slice a few necks.’
Quartz saluted and marched out the door.
‘And alert my generals!’ Roger called after him. ‘I don’t care where they are, what they’re doing or who they’re doing it with but get them here yesterday!’ Then he leaned back on his throne and grinned to himself.
‘And now we wait,’ he mused to himself. ‘Roger, old boy, you’re a genius!’
He wasn’t alone for much longer. Soon, his Royal Person was once again surrounded by guards and military officers, many of whom were more than a little embarrassed by the fact that His Royal Majesty had somehow managed to be unguarded for a full ninety minutes before anyone asked ‘Who’s watching the king?’ More embarrassing was that person, who of course had to remain nameless, was one of the very spies King Roger had alluded to moments earlier.
After another hour of fussing and chaos while the various arms of the military gathered in the throne-room, King Roger led them all into a large ante-chamber off to one side that had until very recently been used as a cloak-room for visitors to the Royal Burrow. Now it had been cleared out and the only thing remaining from it’s former purpose was a persistent odour of moth-balls.