by Andy Coffey
Chapter 12 – The name of vengeance is Sacred Wind!
‘Are we nearly there, Saffy?’ King Beef Vindaloo-Boiled Rice III said, bubbling with excitement.
‘Honestly, Vindy, you’re acting like a young curry whose rice has just been boiled for the first time,’ Queen Chicken Tikka Masala-Coconut Rice said affectionately to her husband.
‘I know, I know, Tikky. But it seems like ages since I’ve been able to loosen up and just let everything slide around my plate.’
‘We’re just coming into Llangollen now, Your Majesty,’ Saffy shouted, from the driver’s seat at the front of the carriage. ‘I can see The Sheep’s Stirrup from here.’
Within a minute or so they pulled into the carriage park next to the pub and the driver tethered the horses, before disappearing inside, carrying Saffy.
It was now 8:00 pm and The Sheep’s Stirrup had transformed from a quiet country pub into a heady mix of chatter, laughter, music and dancing. People and sheep mingled happily together and conversation was light and joyful, the perfect end to a day of celebration. Two members of the OSO, Oriana Oftsheared (flute) and Cliff Corriedale (cello, and nephew of Charles) were performing a lively impromptu duet in the corner, and a small congregation of children and lambs were showing their appreciation through traditional dance.
‘Hello, General, lovely to see you again,’ Maurice said as the driver placed Saffy on the increasingly busy bar. ‘Are the “special guests” outside? I have a table prepared for them.’
‘They are indeed, Maurice, and it’s equally pleasant to be in your company once more,’ Saffy said. ‘The King is very excited; I thought he was going to lose his chutney at one point during our trip.’
‘Typical! It’ll be good to see Vindy again,’ Maurice laughed. ‘Is Her Majesty still looking as delectable as ever?’
‘She is, and although she’s a bit more composed than His Majesty, I know that she’s really looking forward to the evening. Are the two rooms ready, by the way?’
‘Yes. The King and Queen are in the deluxe suite in Room 1 and you’re right next door in Room 2.’
‘Excellent, and thanks again, Maurice. I’ll go and escort them in,’ Saffy said, beckoning the driver to pick him up. ‘Is there any sign of the other “guests” as yet?’
‘I’m assured that the good Doctor and the General will be arriving at around 10:00 pm. I’ve reserved a room for them too.’
Upstairs, Aiden was just finishing his bath. Given all the trials, tribulations and shocks of the day so far, it was nice to soak peacefully in warm water and suds, letting the stress just drain away. Oldfart had treated him to a quite excellent bar meal of steak and chips, and he was genuinely looking forward to the evening’s events. After he’d dried himself with one of the sizeable, fluffy towels in the bathroom, he started to get dressed and overheard voices in the corridor.
‘Now remember, let’s simply mingle in with the crowd and try not to attract too much attention,’ Mr Breezy said.
‘Understood,’ replied Mr Waft.
‘Let’s see what we can find out about the mine from this Agnar, but let’s not be too pushy and make him suspect we have any ulterior motives.’
‘Good plan,’ Mr Waft agreed.
Aiden opened the door as Mr Breezy and Mr Waft were making their way down the stairs. Although he couldn’t quite make out what they’d been saying, he had an uneasy feeling about them. As he made his way to the bar he saw Cracky chatting to Maurice. ‘Hello, Aiden. How’s your room then?’ Maurice asked.
‘It’s lovely, Maurice, really welcoming.’
‘Would you like a drink?’ Cracky said.
‘I would, thanks. Just an orange juice though, I’m mixing the band later.’
‘Are you now? My, you are full of surprises. Orange juice it is then, and can I have another pint of Riggley’s Piddle, please, Maurice.’
As Maurice poured the drinks, Aiden turned and saw three of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen in his life walking towards him. They were all quite petite, and he almost felt himself physically melt as they noticed him and collectively smiled. There was a stunning blond girl in a green outfit, a sultry brunette, dressed in black, and a gorgeous redhead, whose exquisite face was set off by a mass of copper-coloured curls. She gave Aiden another smile, as they stood at the bar next to him, and said ‘Hi, fella,’ in a lilting Scottish accent. They all had quite extraordinary green eyes, curvaceous figures and very shapely… gossamer wings.
‘Queen Ophelia, what a delightful pleasure to see you and your charming friends again,’ Maurice said. ‘To have my establishment blessed by the sight of such beauty is a gift beyond price.’
‘Oh, you smooth talker, Maurice,’ Ophelia replied ‘Are you flirting with me?’
‘I might be Your Majesty,’ Maurice said, smiling. ‘Would the Queen like her customary gin and tonic?’
‘Yes, please, Maurice. Roisin, what would you like?’ she said to the raven-haired beauty.
‘Ooh, let me see, can I have a vodka and lemonade, please,’ Roisin replied, in a beguiling Irish brogue.
‘What about you, Mara?’ Ophelia asked the lovely redhead.
‘I’d like a whisky and blackcurrant please,’ Mara replied. ‘Not too heavy on the blackcurrant, though, Maurice.’
Cracky gave Aiden a quick dig in the ribs. ‘If you don’t close your mouth soon, my lad, you’ll be letting flies in.’
‘Oh, right,’ Aiden said, tearing away his open-mouthed gaze and trying to regain his composure.
‘I gather you’ve not seen too many faeries before,’ Cracky said, smiling
‘Er, no, not really.’
‘The blond girl there is Queen Ophelia,’ he explained. ‘She’s engaged to Olaf, believe it or not. Her two friends are actually her hand maidens. I think Mara has her eye on you.’
‘Hey, Cracky, who’s the new eye candy?’ Mara said, pointing at Aiden.
‘This splendid chap here is Aiden Peersey,’ Cracky said, putting his arm on Aiden’s shoulder. ‘He’s visiting these parts, although somehow he’s managed to get himself a job mixing the band tonight.’
‘Nice to meet you Aiden,’ Mara said, winking at him. ‘Perhaps we can have a chat later on.’
‘Mara, you’re such a flirt,’ Ophelia said, giggling. And with that the three girls grabbed their drinks, waved at Aiden and were escorted to an awaiting table by Maurice.
‘It’s quite a night for royalty, you know,’ Cracky said, taking a long slurp from his tankard. ‘Do you see that table over there in the corner? Well, believe it or not, that’s the King and Queen of Wrexham. They visit every so often, but always unannounced.’
Aiden looked over at the two young people sitting at the table, with three plates of curry in front of them. ‘They look so normal,’ he remarked.
‘Well, as I said, they don’t like to draw attention to themselves on trips like this, so they tend to dress down a bit. Would you like me to introduce you?’
The closest Aiden had ever got to meeting royalty was when the Queen of England waved and smiled at him on one of her visits to Wales. He was only three-years old at the time and dropped his ice cream in the excitement. As he’d already had the pleasure of meeting one queen this evening, and given that he didn’t have an ice cream in his hand…
‘Yes, I’d be happy to.’
‘Okay, I’ll pop over to say hello and ask if I can introduce you.’
Cracky wandered over to the table and shook the hands of the two young people whose smiles and easy manner indicated they’d met him before. After a brief conversation, Cracky beckoned Aiden over with a wave.
‘Very pleased to meet you Your Majesty,’ Aiden said to the young man, bowing slightly and keeping a firm hold on his drink. ‘And also you, Your Majesty, and you look radiant, if I may be so bold,’ he said to the beautiful young woman.
‘Oh, he’s very charming, Cracky. I see why you like him so much,’ the young woman said, without moving her lips.
‘Indeed, he seems like a splendid fellow. Pleased to meet you Aiden,’ the young man said, also not moving his lips.
Given Aiden’s previous experience with telepathic cats, he remained completely at ease with this new-found form of communication. He even tried it himself by thinking ‘thank you, Your Majesty.’
‘Am I to understand that you are meeting some “friends” later?’ Cracky enquired.
‘We are,’ the young woman said, again without moving her lips. ‘The good Doctor and General should be joining us around 10:00 pm. It’s about time we got together to talk.’
Then the young man actually spoke. ‘Pardon me, Your Majesty, but some of your mango chutney is about to slide off your plate, shall I take care of this for you?’
‘Oh, yes please, Harold,’ King Beef Vindaloo-Boiled Rice III said.
Aiden dropped his glass on the floor (See appendix 3).
‘Are you alright, young man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ General Lamb Korma-Saffron Rice said to him.
Aiden realised that this new voice seemed to be coming from the third plate of curry on the table, bubbling ever so slightly as the words hit his ears. ‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks. My glass just slipped that’s all, I’ll go and get a cloth.’
Maurice had already heard the noise and appeared armed with a cloth and a small dustpan and brush. ‘Sorry, Maurice,’ Aiden said.
‘Oh, don’t worry about it these things happen all the time in here. It won’t be the last broken glass this evening.’
‘Anyway,’ Cracky interjected. ‘We’ll take our leave at this point and let your Majesties drink up the atmosphere, and importantly the music. The band should be arriving shortly.’
‘I’m really looking forward to seeing them,’ Tikky said, bubbling. ‘They play such great songs. I’ll just have to watch that my husband here doesn’t get too carried away.’
When they returned to the bar, Cracky gave Aiden a look which suggested he already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. ‘So, I’m guessing that you’ve not seen too many curries either?’
‘Oh, I’ve seen plenty of curries before, Cracky, I’ve just haven’t come across any with the power of speech.’
Cracky laughed. ‘Well, as we said, let’s have a chat tomorrow. I’m beginning to think the more I understand of your situation the more I’ll be able to help.’
Aiden ordered them another drink and it was at this point that he noticed a large plaque behind the bar.
‘The Sheep’s Stirrup is hereby granted a license to permit flatulence in this establishment under the following conditions – Monday to Saturday inclusive:
1) No more than a total of ten farts per hour from the hours of 12:00 – 2:00 pm.
2) No more than twenty farts per hour between the hours of 6:00 – 9:00 pm.
3) No more than thirty farts per hour from 9:00 – 11:00 pm.
A special dispensation is also granted, thereby permitting a “happy hour” of unlimited farts at the proprietor’s discretion on a twice weekly basis. Flatulence is not allowed on Sundays under any circumstances.’
It was signed ‘B V Blacktie’.
The atmosphere in the pub was building nicely and Aiden was enjoying himself. Mr Kneepatcher had arrived feeling ‘all of a dither’, wearing a bright blue shirt and cravat, and Maurice introduced Aiden to his brother, Henry Fluffywool. Henry was delighted at the compliments Aiden paid to the OSO. ‘You have sublime taste, young man,’ he’d said.
Mr Breezy and Mr Waft were sat at the end of the bar being generally cordial, without getting involved in any meaningful conversations. They had asked Maurice if he would let them know when Agnar arrives, to which Maurice had cryptically replied ‘oh, you’ll know when he gets here’.
Aiden was wondering where Oldfart had disappeared to when he arrived at the front door, with a strangely dressed companion; a very short man with a floor-length black cloak. The hood of the cloak covered the majority of his face, with the remaining features obscured by a tightly-wound, black scarf. His hands were barely visible at the end of the sleeves and he seemed to be wearing ill-fitting gloves. He was holding a large notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. Oldfart led him over to the table next to the mixing desk and then headed straight for Aiden.
‘The band will be here any minute,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and get ready.’
Next to the mixing desk was a cassette deck. Oldfart produced a tape out of his jacket pocket, inserted it into the deck and pressed play. He also pressed a button on the console adjacent to the desk and dry ice started to fill the room. Maurice switched the pub’s main lights down low and Oldfart flicked a couple of switches on the lighting console. Four strategically-placed spotlights lit up and shone through the atmospheric fog. A low rumble emanated from the PA speakers and then erupted with the sound of thunder.
‘Today, four great warriors will take to the battlefield. They have been sent by Odin himself to vanquish the foes of freedom, to conquer the enemies of valour, and to triumph over those who repress our right to fart freely.’
The crowd cheered.
‘For vengeance has a name, and let this name strike fear into the hearts of all who seek to follow the path of injustice, tyranny and persecution; for the name of vengeance is SACRED WIND!’
The crowd cheered again.
Anthemic orchestral music started to blare through the PA as the narrator said ‘Can you hear the sounds of battle? Can you feel the thunder stir your bowels? They have the power of wind and metal coursing through their veins, and they have come to free you from fear and destruction. Behold, they are here!’
Oldfart ran over to the front door of the pub. ‘Prepare for Sacred Wind. Your salvation has arrived!’ he exhorted, opening the door and pointing outside.
The crowd didn’t need that much of an invitation and the vast majority ran out into the street. The air was still and all was silent, apart from the faraway hooting of a solitary owl, a melancholy lament echoing wistfully in the night. And then the silence was broken by the sound of hooves, distant and indistinct to start with but growing closer by the second.
Coming over the bridge in front of the pub were two giant, black horses, their riders twirling their weapons above their heads. On the road to the left another black horse and rider could be seen, and then another on the road to the right. They were equidistant from each other and approaching at breakneck speed. They screeched to a halt in front of the pub and the riders reared their horses, clashing weapons in a show of solidarity. ‘For metal, for glory, for honour and for Odin!’ Olaf the Berserker shouted, twirling his huge broadsword around his head. ‘May Odin bless your wind!’
‘May Odin bless your wind!’ the crowd outside shouted.
‘Right,’ said Oldfart, ‘let’s get the flashbombs ready.’