by Sean Heslin
“He is a drangl. Or did you mean something else? And do you know, that's not a bad idea. Got any money?”
“What?”
“Money, moolah, copper pieces, Stands, gems?”
“Um,” Perci made a show of feeling around his armour “Now that you mention it, no. I don't tend to carry it, a hazard of high station you know.”
“Course you don't. Then I guess we'll just have to bring these two to the local sheriff station or whatever they have round here and get the bounty. Then, booze.”
“Beer? A fine plan my noble companion! Which way hence?”
“Do shuttup. Try asking someone?”
“Agreed!”
The nearest local who happened by saw them approaching, eyed them up, took stock of the two bodies on Rancha's back, and wordlessly pointed before they had even got past the “Where”.
“What friendly people they have,” noted Rancha loudly, to the world at large. The local rolled his eyes and continued on his business. Perci grunted again and resumed plodding along the wide dusty street in the direction thus indicated. The bounty station turned out to be quite well-established premises, picked out in white marble, incongruously standing out from the rest of the local wooden shacks. The sign above the door read in large stencilled writing: “Harweld's House of Law and Random Justice”.
“Random Justice?” enunciated Perci. “What the hell is Random Justice?”
“As in the dispensing of I reckon” replied Rancha.“Get these two off me would you? I can't fit through the door like this.”
Perci growled, but Rancha in his current monstrous state was much better at growling, so Perci did as requested, dumping the two bodies and the bags heavily onto the dusty ground. A few minutes then passed as he was forced to sit down and wait on the pile while Rancha went round the back of one the buildings with an outfit between his teeth. Shortly, Rancha returned having changed to be smaller and humanoid, clad in the classic adventurer's garb. This consisted of mostly rough brown mooin leather, with a formerly white shirt and practical khaki-coloured trousers which were held up by a worn brown belt with a silver buckle. Peeking out the bottom of these leg coverings were a pair of good, sturdy brown leather boots and to top the whole outfit off was a long riding cloak made of dark spun wool.
“I thought a little credibility would help,” he explained, feeling vaguely self-conscious.
“You look like a dead mooin,” he was told. “Is there any part you aren't wearing?”
“I didn't fancy the udder hat,” said Rancha taking the comment in his stride. He picked up a couple of bags and a leg and he strode toward the building, dragging the cargo. Perci scowled and followed suit.
The doors swung open automatically as they approached. They were partially mirrored glass panels and gave them a pleasant reflection as they passed through.
“Application of technology, you see?” said Rancha.
Perci raised his eyebrows to show that he could see even though he could not, then nodded towards a handy change of subject on their left.
“Lockers,” he grunted. “Let's dump some of these packs for a while.”
“Tired already?” said Rancha with a hint of despair. “Oh, well if you insist.”
The lockers were small wooden doors set into the nearby wall with numbers on their doors. A surly older human bored looking guy sat behind an information desk nearby.
“Want a locker?” he asked. Rancha nodded, Perci even more so.
“They're free for the first hour, and the price after that depends on what currency you got on yez. “ The man had the world-weary voice of someone who was really becoming bored with saying the same thing fifty times a day.
“We won't be here that long. We are just dropping these two off,” Rancha indicated the comatose forms they were dragging behind them, wondering if the man was partially sighted, or just deliberately obstreperous.
“Fair enough.” The man seemed unfazed. Unconscious bodies and just plain body bodies seemed to be a pretty common sight here. “Number twenty-seven then.” He handed them a key.
“Have a nice day,” he told them, then appeared to essentially shut down as he lost interest.
Perci examined the key, glaring and waiting for further instruction that was not forthcoming.
“Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty…ah here we go,” said Rancha dropping a pack.
Perci obliged with the key and the locker door swung open to reveal a small round yellow blob with legs, arms, no nose and an ingratiating grin. A useful adjective to encompass everything about the creature within would be 'squidgy'.
“Don’t mind me, I was just having some kip,” explained the blob to the frozen duo, covered in guilt. She was rather cute and smiled at them prettily.
Rancha unfroze and forced a wary smile on his face. “Do you mind getting out of the locker please, we want to put our bags in.”
“Righty ho, that’s what they are there for,” grinned the yellow personage hopping down to the floor, seemingly relieved. “I'm Pib,” she told them extending a hand upwards. She was about seven inches high and was wearing orange lipstick and a very tiny skirt. Rancha graciously, if gingerly, bent and shook the proffered hand. He noted that the nail polish matched the lipstick. “Please don't tell him I was napping.” She waggled towards the disinterested man at the desk.
“Rancha, what the hell is it?” asked the beetroot cheeked and shaking Perci.
“She is a member of the…” he counted on his fingers, “…fifth most common sentient species on the planet. An iccle. Don't mind him,” he said addressing Pib directly. “He doesn't get out much.”
“No worries. And we are the third most common really,” said Pib, helpfully “Stregs are too stupid to fill in a census properly and the urglons don’t count because they weren't created naturally.”
“I'm an urglon,” said Rancha with a tooth-filled smile.
“Apologies, sir!” she squeaked, wide-eyed, horrified at what her mouth had just caused. “I didn’t know! We get all kinds! I can't always tell! Honest!”
Rancha was tickled at the unusual terror that the name of urglon was inspiring for a change and decided to throttle back on the latent rage a bit. “It's fine Pib, I mean look at my friend here, you wouldn't think he was a philanthropist, but he is ever so heroic; he barely touches the ground when danger strikes.”
“Now wait a minute...” Perci began, slowly working this out while Pib giggled.
“Pib!” shouted the man behind the desk. “I can hear you, c'mere! I got work!”
“I'm just serving these two gentlemen, sir!” the now re-quivering Pib shouted back. “I'll only be a moment!” She turned back to the pair, her eyes wide with desperation. “Please good sir and sir let me help you before he finds out I've been asleep,” She lowered her voice. “Anything you want, just say it.”
“Well you can put these bags in the locker for a start,” commanded Perci.
“Now really Perci, I don’t think…” began Rancha.
“No problem!” Pib bubbled up with a new smile, and lo, the packs were quickly and efficiently stowed in the locker. “Anything else?”
“Well, um…” said Perci, stammering in light of there being a seven-inch blob with drastically disproportionate strength present. “You could show us where to take these specimens for the bounty.”
Pib's face fell. “So, you are bounty hunters then?” she asked slowly.
“Oh no, no, no. He's the bounty hunter,” said Rancha, pointing at Terand, “We just found them on the road and figured we could just…”
Pib was not listening any more, the two having dropped massively in her estimation. “This way gents,” Pib told them curtly, grabbing a foot of each unconscious figure and pulling them along with ease.
“But we…!” protested Rancha, but it was too late and they had to follow the rapidly disappearing trio.
Two corridors later they arrived at another large desk that practically screamed 'Important'. It was manned by an
even surlier human who was being irked by a piece of paper that was being held a few inches from the end of his nose. There was a sign behind him that read 'This isn't my day, so it isn't yours either'.
“What?” he hissed.
“These gentlemen,” Pib replied pointing at Rancha and Perci, “Are here to get the bounty on these two,” she said pointing at Terand and Yrinmet. Her eyes lingered on Yrinmet for a few moments before she shook herself and the professional face slid back into place.
“Names?” the man grunted.
“Well I’m Rancha and this…”
“Their names please,” the man informed them, with spittle rising in the corner of his mouth.
“Oh! Right, just a moment.”
The man tapped his pen on the desk rapidly as Rancha scrabbled in various pockets for the pilfered bounty documents. He stopped and looked at Perci. Perci looked blank for a moment, then produced the relevant material from somewhere on his person, glad to be showing his importance.
Rancha snatched the documents with a scowl and scanned the paperwork. “Terand The Brave and…” he took a breath, “Yrinzametaphicalogispolymoboincat. The All-Powerful.”
“Right. Fine. Wait.” The man swivelled his chair and opened a filing cabinet. Then another one. Then another one. Perci whistled tunelessly under his breath. Pib sat down and started to pick her fingernails, glancing across at the sleeping Yrinmet every so often, whose face was delicate from enforced slumber. Rancha shuffled his feet and tried to remember the lyrics to a popular song. The debt-officer turned back to the idle activity and gave a very pregnant pause before speaking.
“Half the usual bounty for Terand the Brave because frankly he’s cost us enough money already, and…” he double-checked his piece of paper and his eyebrows raised. Rancha had the impression that it was rare for those hairy facial features to go much higher than an inch on the man's piggy face. “Thirty-seven hundred times the usual for this other guy, he’s up pretty high in the local most wanted list. Classed as semi-uncatchable. Huh, I’m impressed. You two done much bounty work before?”
“No, we aren’t bounty hunters, we just found them on the road,” admitted Rancha.
“We knocked them out,” said Perci with some pride.
“Well you are damn lucky people then, what currency would you like it in?”
Rancha glanced at Perci who was technically the leader.
Perci noticed the gaze and started speaking rapidly. “What? Oh, erm whatever the local one is.”
Rancha coughed loudly, and very deliberately shook his head without looking directly at Perci.
“No? Okay, the most common one then. Easiest to carry.”
“Really?” The man took on a shrewd aspect. “You’ll have to go see The Boss then, we don’t give out that kind of money down here.”
Perci looked agitated at the mention of the audibly capitalised “The Boss” and appeared about to complain, but Rancha caught his eye.
“That will be fine,” said Rancha, not breaking eye contact with Perci. “We’ll go to see him.”
The man nodded. “That would be most wise. Pib, will you take them upstairs?”
Pib, who had idly dozed off against Perci's foot, sprang awake at the mention of her name.
“Yessir! Right away sir! This way sir and sir!” Pib dashed off, leaving Rancha and Perci with mouths open. Pib’s eyes reappeared round the corner. “Keep up sirs!”
Rancha and Perci lumbered into gear and followed the blurred yellow blob around the corner and up several flights of functional stairs. Perci was quite red and panting when they reached the top floor.
“Don’t you have staircases in your castle?” said Rancha, barely out of breath.
Perci managed to nod. “Yes…that's…why we have…a lift…and several…electric...chair-rails…” He collapsed into a comfy armchair, one of several lining the room at the top of the stairs. With a couple of coffee tables and some generic pictures on the walls, it looked just like a waiting room.
“This looks just like a waiting room,” noted Rancha. “Wonder what we are waiting for?”
Pib piped up. “Mr Harweld is a very busy man, a lot of paperwork, you know?” Pib lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. Apparently, it was her favourite kind of tone. “Between you and me I just think he gets some sort of kick about keeping people waiting, the selfish git.”
Rancha responded at a similar volume. “I take it you are not overly fond then?”
“Not really, no. He pays me with peanuts, you know? I once told him I'd work for peanuts, because I was desperate at the time, and he thinks it is soooo funny to put a bunch of nuts in my pay packet every month. I mean, yes I get the other money too, but still.”
“Why don’t you just get another job?” said Perci, puzzled at the easily solved problem. “Stop you wasting people’s time.”
“Because, my dear arrogant red-faced customer he is a wizard with contracts, and even better at getting them signed. I'm stuck here until, and I quote from the small print I didn’t notice until I used a magnifying glass, '…shall be under all terms of employment, including Wage Allowance Measures paragraph C) iii) part 9, until services are disposed of by us, the company, or until the End Of The World (destruction by biolytic plague or meteorites or comets or forced extinction or mystical practises are not viable as suitable Ends, so invalidating this clause…)'. And it goes on for about three pages with the rest of the reasons why I can't just go and get another job Mr Red-Faced Arrogant Customer.”
“Quit and marry rich,” said Perci with a barking laugh.
“Are you an idiot?”
“Ahem,” interjected Rancha. “So, Harweld sounds like a fun guy then?”
Pib looked at him with an odd squint. “It's funny you should say that.”
“Why?” enquired Rancha, suspiciously.
“Well, it's only that he actually is a…”
The revelation was cut short by the double door at the other end of the room opening. A crashing, booming voice came through it, along with an indefinably strong musty smell.
“Enter!”
Chapter 20
“Fight for something you believe in or get the hell out of my office!”
- Ulriac Bossman, head of the Froobian Gladitorial Commission, just before being carried away by the striking mob of his workforce, 1563 C.M.
Slogging alone across the barren plains, the warrior crept ever further from the Chasm. A decrepit tattered leather sack dangled from tired shoulders and a sword clatters against worn belt.
The wounds from the earlier battle had long since turned to faint scars, and long matted hair swung freely in the cold, cruel breeze. A dust cloud appears on the horizon, and the silently trudging figure stops and regarded it with a mix of interest and an apathetic gloominess. The cloud expanded and faint dots can be seen amidst the mucky swirl. A sigh, a silent estimation of the distance, and then a hole is dug with the sword. Minutes later the leather sack is buried and the warrior sits waiting cross-legged, sword lain carefully, ready upon lap. Another few minutes, and the cloud was nearly upon the figure. With a grunt of effort, they stand up and wait with sword held by side, apparently relaxed, but obvious to any trained eye that the weapon could become a whirring storm of death in but an eyeblink.
The dark spots in the dust resolve themselves into fearsome horseback riders, covered in evilly curved armour and vicious spiky bludgeons. They approached the figure, and dismounted a few metres away; their enormous direhorses were already becoming edgy and hard to control. They marched in an imposing line, the sun glinting horribly on the polished black bones that seemed to make up so much of their attire.
The apparent leader reached the figure first and growled, releasing a noxious scent from beneath the grim, concealing helmet.
The traveller stood there unfazed.
The leader said something that was more like a roar, which would have made lesser men quake at the sound. He performed a crashing series of intimidating gesture
s, showing knives and sharpened bone spikes to their full deadly effect. The black armour reflected light in a way it should not, making unpleasant images flash across its oily expanse. Blood started to leak from the corner of his mouth, and dripped unrestrained to the hot dry ground. More growling and then he posed with weapons held to the sky, waiting to see what effect his terrifying display had caused.
The patiently waiting traveller raised the arm holding the sword and wordlessly pointed the tip toward the distant hazy horizon.
The leader grunted, roared again, a deep and spittle filled sound. With an imperious sweep of his tattered cloak turned back to his giant, dark-hided direhorse beckoning the rest of his hunched and dangerous horde to do the same.
The warrior watched them mount and depart, waiting until they were a speck on the horizon once more. Then, they sighed, taking the time to dig up the pack and soon resuming the lonely trudge away from those bloody tourists.
Chapter 21
“When you are in charge, it does not matter what you have for lunch any more, only that you get to have it!”
- King Albunt III, forward-thinking monarch of Dermia, 3914 C.M.
Pib stood arms akimbo in front of the open door, eyeing up her charges with occasional nervous flicks of her eyes to the interior of the room beyond.
“Come along gents!” she urged, mild desperation seeping into her voice. “Don’t want to keep the nice Mr Harweld waiting now do we?”
The two adventurers exchanged a brief look, then Rancha and Perci carefully walked through the door into Harweld's office, with Pib dragging Yrinmet and Terand by their feet.
They stopped a few paces within, having just seen what was there, then stood in stunned silence. The aural void was duly filled by an excellently refined and carefully acoustically tuned boom of a voice.
“Now then gentlemen, what can I do for you?”
Perci and Rancha remained struck dumb.
“What's the matter?” the voice laughed. “Jejen got your tongue? Pib, shut the door, will you? There's a draught.” Pib nodded and scurried to her task.