by Sean Heslin
The comfortable dump of a hotel room they eventually found themselves within did not warrant a description in Rancha's opinion; suffice to say it was mercifully free of decapitated wildlife.
Shortly, the pair had partially unpacked, had eaten some biscuity rations and Perci, after having argued over which bed was more suitable, was now attempting to sleep with a velvet blindfold across his round brow. Rancha sat on the other bed rooting through the crap that they had brought with them, attempting to deposit some excess ballast.
Perci's covers were wrapped around him far too tightly and Rancha was having trouble in finding anything that could be considered useful amongst all of the rubbish they had strangely decided to bring. A ball of string he could understand, but an entire bag of oversized clothes pegs? A pair of sandals with a compass attachment? A book on how to read? Junk! It was all junk! For a while, Rancha had thought that they had picked up the wrong bags at the lockers by mistake, but no, he recognised some of the items as those he had picked himself. Whatever possessed him to think they needed a hosepipe sprinkler attachment was beyond him.
Perci muttered unintelligibly in his sleep. Rancha glanced around, sighed and began repacking the packs. His hand closed on a lumpy fake velvet bag. Puzzled he pulled it out for further inspection, causing a piece of metal tent frame to clatter on the floor.
Perci suddenly sat upright, ripping off his blindfold.
“That's it!” he roared. “I've had enough of your and your irritating rattling and rustling! You will now go to sleep and…hey isn't that a shoehorn?”
Perci leaned over and pulled from one of the packs a long object that was indeed a shoehorn.
“Why do we have a shoehorn?”
Rancha shrugged. “Just one of those things, I suppose. We even have some waterproofing gel for all your shoecare needs.”
Perci stared wonderingly at the items for a while, turning them this way and that to make them more visible in the dim candlelight. The room was equipped with an electric lamp as well, but the cheap technology had no dimmer switch on it, so sat unused. He glanced up a moment or two later and nodded towards Rancha's hands.
“What's that bag?”
Rancha looked down at the lumpy fake velvet bag he was still holding.
“Don't start that again. I am not sure, I think it looks like the bag of stuff we got from that room with the purple thing in it.”
Perci nodded sagely and waited expectantly.
Then he frowned - not a pretty sight.
“Aren't you going to open it then?”
“Hmm?” uttered Rancha, obviously thinking about something else. “Oh, sorry I was just waiting for something interesting to happen.”
Perci's frown deepened. “Why? Just open the damn thing and have done with it.”
“Fair enough,” said Ranca, and duly opened the bag as his figurative master had bidden.
“Hmm,” he hmmed as he peered inside.
“And?” asked Perci.
“No, not really, just a couple of bits of carved wood, some sort of pipe, a metal thing and that amber globe Ihjundas gave us.”
“Tip them out then,” said Perci, impatience causing the usual reddening. Rancha's glands felt that he might be deriving a bit too much pleasure from stringing out the process just to wind Perci up. He told his glands to shush and tipped out the bag. Lo, the contents were exactly as described.
Perci lumbered over and started to prod the articles. Rancha rolled his eyes. “What's wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said Perci. “Just curious why they were all locked up in that vault room. This one has hinges, look…”
Perci lifted and opened a small wooden block about the size of a cigar box.
“It's a cigar box,” Perci stated, “Don’t recognise the brand. There's a bit of paper in here too.”
He unfolded the paper and squinted at it. He frowned again and gave a snort of disgust.
“Now what?” Rancha enquired, looking up from the odd pipe object.
“I can't read it, its all very small pictures, you know like from ancient times.”
Rancha took it from him, and squinted also. “Or indeed from modern times as used on a lot of the southern continent. They are a brand of sorcerous cigars know as 'Firedrakes'. 'Lighte onee ande laughe withe glie as your enemies scater before its wrathe' Hmm, 'glie'? Best left well alone methinks.”
To Rancha's surprise, Perci sagely closed the box and put it back in the bag.
“What's that?” he asked pointing at the pipe.
“I can't be sure, but I reckon it’s a set of scuba gear they were trying to make in Poitia in the couple of years or whenever it was.”
Perci's face was a picture of bafflement.
Rancha sighed, “It's quite clever really, you just stick this long bit in your mouth and breathe normally. This bit on the end…” Rancha indicated a small and intricate wicker cage on the end of the tube, which seemed to contain a speck of glowing yellow light. “…is actually a dimensional hole to someplace else where the air comes from. You can sit underwater for as long as you like and never run out of air because you are just breathing as if you would on land. See?”
Perci scratched his head and said he saw, but still frowned in further puzzlement. “Why have I not bought one by now then? I like swimming.”
“Seriously, do you not even pick up a newspaper once in a while? They were taken off the production line because somebody realised that they'd make a very good stealth assassination tool, because there are no bubbles you see. Also, some other clever bugger spotted that the other end of the dimensional hole could be commandeered, and all sorts of nasty things could be piped through, without anybody knowing. Except for the suddenly drowning person that is.”
“Is that one okay?” asked Perci with an oddly murderous gleam in his eye.
“I'd rather not try it unless I have to thank you very much. There could be anything on the other end.”
Perci tsk'ed at the folly of invention, and stowed the pipe away as well.
They looked together at the remaining items.
There was an intricate rectangle of wood that looked as if it had been woven rather than carved as its various lengths twisted in and around each other in a way that made the eyes hurt. A flat panel marked the top, with a series of numbered dials set into the framework. A couple of tiny screws held on some sort of serial number on the inside edge of one of the bars, and there was some sort of slightly raised button on the front. It was definitely not mechanical in origin but Rancha could feel the power humming through it when it was picked up.
The other remaining item was an unknown grey metal, and looked almost exactly like its wooden counterpart. The differences were that it had no serial number, no button and its dials had symbols rather than numbers on. After some squinting, it was decided that its chunky weave was in a different pattern to the wooden one as well. It too hummed when picked up, and sparked in the centre of its cage a bit.
Rancha and Perci looked up at each other, and with yet another soundless agreement decided to leave well enough alone.
“Like I said, it's all junk,” said Rancha with a yet another sigh. “But these things normally happen for a reason. Been questing long enough to know that much.”
“How long is that?”
“About twenty years give or take. Possibly longer.”
“How old are you?”
“Old enough.”
“Right!” exclaimed Perci suddenly, making Rancha jump. “I'm now going to sleep, and you are going to put that lot away and keep quiet, yes?”
Rancha was baffled. “Why? We have to get up now, it's morning already and they are serving breakfast downstairs.” Rancha pointed at the imp-clock-face on the wall, which stuck its tongue out at him.
Perci blinked. “But I only just lay down!” he wailed plaintively. “Where did all the time go?”
Rancha shrugged, “I don’t know, but you certainly sleep very soundly, it's been hours and I never
heard a peep out of you.”
“Hours! Are you sure? I'd swear I'd only just lay down.”
Rancha shrugged again. “I've been sat here for most of the night, although I did go for a wander to stretch my wings a bit just before dawn. Unless someone's been fannying about with time, I've watched the whole night go past.”
“You don't sleep?” Perci asked in disbelief.
“Not usually,” answered Rancha, smug. “I don’t need to except after particularly strenuous journeys, and about once a month to replenish my fluxes.”
“Fluxes?”
“Don't ask.”
“Right.”
---
A few busy minutes later, they were sat in the hotel's dining room, tucking into an enormous fried, fricasseed, frittered and foamy breakfast. Or rather Perci was. Rancha was regarding him with disgust, and munching on a dirk lizard sandwich while looking at the rest of the clientele with vague interest. There were representatives from most of the world's upright and talking population, and they were all, unlike the world, happily eating breakfast and chatting pleasantly together. It was almost uncanny.
There was a notable lack of beheaded walls in this room, leaving just some quite well-rendered paintings. Rancha was grateful for this, as he would not have been able to finish his sandwich. However, when he looked at the pictures more closely, the lizard tried to crawl back up.
They were well-drawn, but so were most of their subjects. Quite graphically so. The animal inhabitants of the frames seemed to be depicting some very nasty and inventive tortures, and Rancha was forced to concentrate fiercely on the sugar bowl.
Perci noted this discomfort as he reached for another platter, glanced at the walls, glanced at the platter, glanced at his plate, and quickly left the room in the direction of the toilets.
He returned sometime later looking less green, but obviously anxious to leave.
“I want to leave!” he said.
“So do I, this place is too creepy.”
“No, I mean I want to leave as in sinking roots in soil, putting forth branches and never having to eat anything ever again.”
Rancha's mouth hung open as he pondered this one. “That was almost funny. Come on then, ask for a doggy bag or something and we'll go.”
Perci nodded. Obviously, his appetite recovered faster than his actual stomach, and he took what could be better described as a wolfhound sack.
They went back upstairs and collected their bags, and then departed out the front door after dropping off their key to the receptionist. She looked mildly upset that the two amateur assayers were leaving without also leaving a tip.
The nasty shock Rancha had been waiting for and had in fact been watching out for all night, thanks to his species driven insomnia, did not occur as they stepped out the hotel door, but instead waited until they had crossed the town, emerged onto the scrubland road and had made their way a good distance away from immediate civilization.
“Boo!” said the appearing figure.
“Argh!” said Rancha and Perci.
A very energetic moment later, Terand the bounty hunter, who was the one that had jumped out from behind a nearby boulder, stared up at a tree and down at a bush with some amusement. This year's fruit seemed to be overripe humanoids.
“That weren't bad,” he commented to the foliage containing Perci, who was trying to look nonchalant while less than casually sat on a branch. “Very athletic.”
“I meant to get up this tree, this is something I do often.”
“Aha,” said Terand. He then prodded the bush. “Come on you daft sod, I know you're in there. Come out before you get hedgepigs.”
“I'm quite comfortable thank you,” said Rancha, his voice filtering out from between the leaves.
“And so am I,” Perci’s voice lilted from on high. “Can we help you at all or do you just like scaring the excrement out of people?”
Terand grinned like a watermelon. “Well, you see here, I have this situation on my hands which you two might be able to help me with.” A hand pulled a long serrated knife out and gently started to toss and catch it in the air. “Y’see, somebody seems to have taken what I had claimed, and cashed in on it. And not only that, they cashed in on me as well. I just see that as plain antisocial, what d'you think?” The tree and bush seemed to be hypnotically following the knife's arc. Terand grinned some more. “I see you understand me. Now, you two can either give me a share of what you got, or of what you are going to get, because y'know, you seem like the sensible questing types you see and I just knows you are going to help a guy out, or I'll have to, how can I put it? Take my business elsewhere. My business.”
The tree seemed to be shaking with fear.
“The choice is entirely yours my friends, as the phrase goes 'My money or your life'. Which one you choose don't matter to me, because I benefit either way.”
No, the tree seemed to be shaking with something else. Laughter? Terand frowned. “Now I figure you folks are just plain trying to provoke me, don’t I even deserve an answer? How rude.”
A glimpse of movement caught his eye. Someone had casually thrown a leather jacket into the road. Terand grinned again, sauntered over to the jacket and started to rifle through the pockets. “I'm glad to see there's still good sense in this world…wait just a damn minute, there's nothing here!”
Terand turned back to the bush, the knife aloft and ready to throw, when the bush erupted into a full-sized urglon who casually snaked his head down and plucked away the knife between very pointy teeth, holding it for a moment right in front of Terand's arrested face, before tossing it away. Terand swallowed his grin gently. “Now I'm sure there's some arrangement we can come to,” he said as a razor talon tapped at a nearby log, causing it to suddenly develop carpentry.
“Something?” he pleaded.
A brief pause as Terand was treated to an unparalleled view of Rancha's nostrils and everso large teeth. Terand held very still as the huge mouth opened…
“Would you like a job?”
Chapter 24
“Artificiality is the bane of a good fight!”
- A remarkably in-depth interview of Maxus Oppressus, world-class belt wearing wrestling champion, 1992 CM.
A vicious battle was taking place. A group of bloodthirsty brigands had run hard and waylaid the dusty wanderer. For money, or for meat, the horrifying streg captain did not care what the foolish prey was good for, all he knew was that the wanderer was pitifully alone and such easy pickings would quickly fall to the band's blades and clubs. They did not even bother with threats in simple cases like this. They would simply spy out their target, hit them fast, kill them quickly and glory in the blood and loot. It was a difficult life in these parts and becoming worse by the day. Ill-educated as they were though, they had never heard the stories of this particular traveller.
They were now beginning to learn the folly of their ways. The warrior's sword flashed in the early sun, here removing an arm, there gashing an incautiously exposed torso. The traveller's skill seemed only to be matched by boundless stamina, as they continuously repelled all attacks whilst laying devastating blows on the unwary.
The giant grey leader of the bandits was tiring, and his men quailed in fear as their infamously savage and unstoppable captain soon slumped from his wounds and crumpled into a pathetic, leaking ball upon the dusty ground. His black piggy eyes closed forever and the battle was truly joined as the men dived in to avenge the monster's death.
It was to no avail. Every blow swung was dodged, every slash riposted. Even the most disgusting insults were met with a smile and an even filthier insult in reply. The bandits fell one by one, their lifeblood soaking straight into the dusty soil beneath.
Much, much later than the ferocious brigands had hoped, the battle ended with a punch to the throat and the blood-spattered gurgle of the last fool who had stayed to fight.
Those who had not fled the scene of carnage lay in crumpled heaps upon the stained earthen track. The fi
nal man, desperately clutching at his neck for breath, felt his head being lifted by his matted, grime-ridden hair and was forced to look into a pair of eyes that were oblivion unleashed. He saw, with mounting fear in his gullet, a look of utter contempt, and knew without a word being spoken that he and his remaining men would be a long way from here tonight, injured or not.
His head was casually flung to the ground, his body following it down to the sticky earth. He sensed the figure, out of the corner of his remaining eye, scrabble around in nearby bushes for a pack, shoulder it, and stride off without a backward glance.
Chapter 25
“Party like you mean it, merrier is more, and more bring bottles. -hic-”
-The Eternally Misquoted Great Prophet Fengal 4181C.M.
Rancha, Terand and Perci were walking single file, in that order, along their new path. Terand was the proud owner of quite a lot of money, in the form of gems, Rancha was the ambivalent owner of a new body, and a pale shirt pulled from the pack to match, and Perci was the extremely dour owner of the world’s second-biggest sulk. He was quite unaware that the biggest sulk at that moment was five hundred and sixty-nine miles away from their location, and was being had by a six-year old anti-vegetable activist. Perci was trying his best to be the most pouty though.
“What’s to stop him robbing us in our sleep?”
“Hmm, good question I suppose,” said Rancha, who had been answering several variations on the same line of questioning for the last few minutes. “Terand, are you going to steal our meagre possessions in the night?”
“Nosir. Too damn boring.”
“There you go Master Yansul, perfectly trustworthy.”
“Mostly,” added Terand with a toothy grin back over his shoulder, highly amused with proceedings.
Perci was unsettled, mouth trying to frame the words his brain would not provide.