by Sean Heslin
He snuffled around the fence, growing accustomed to the new form and after cocking his leg, got down to the business at hand.
First, he scented of the perimeter of the hole. There was a faint whiff of someone, probably human moving round it a while ago, but the wind had been quite breezy recently, plus his own digging, so there was little trace there to go on. He checked the hole itself. Yes, there was the scent of the pinscuttle and a hint of apples.
Rancha the wifflemare roved a little further afield, checking the local area for any smells that may have been locked up amongst sand particles, his specially adapted nose had been evolved this very task. There were some grubs a metre or so below ground, which he resisted the urge to dig for, and some water about a quarter of a mile away, he guessed that was likely to be at the shrine.
There was also something not quite identifiable, almost like perfume or aftershave. This scent was part of some as yet unevaporated sweat sitting slightly below the surface of a sheltered dune. He sniffed more closely, finding that it went away across the dunes in a particular direction, and, yes, there was a smidgen of apple-scent that went with it. He took a bearing of the direction against the sun, nodded and changed back to his human form, passing through winged beast along the way.
A brief but sweltering walk later he came in sight of the shrine and encountered a bemused Perci having the vagaries of management accounting explained to him by a talking pinscuttle. This being far too weird an image, Rancha sought shelter inside the shrine where a three-way poker game had been set up. Pib, who was sat very close to Yrinmet waved at him, and Terand poked the sorceror to deal Rancha in.
“We’re playing for sand grains,” explained a grinning Terand, “so we’re all incredibly rich.” He indicated the grains in question, which were for some reason the size of marbles.
“That was me,” said Yrinmet. “We didn’t have any matches, and Perci refused to let us have the jewel bag, so we had to make do.”
“Five card stud, aces and kings wild,” said Pib, donning a grim, featureless expression that she probably thought was intimidating.
“Yeah, all right. Why not,” said Rancha, who then claimed a perching spot and was passed his cards. His first hand was not good. He was used to applying neutral expressions to his human face due to years of practice, so got some more practice in.
“Rancha?” said Pib. “What do you do for fun, when you aren't being a bounty hunter?”
“I'm not a bounty hunter!”
“Coulda fooled me,” said Terand, putting down his wager. “Got the instinct for it.”
“For the...” Rancha stopped himself, took note of microexpressions. “Hey, this is dirty, guys, play the game, not the people.”
“Don't know what you mean,” said Yrinmet, smirking as he put down a few overlarge grains.
“Okay, if you are going down that road, let's see...for fun, I turn into a beetle and find crevices to hide in.”
“Sounds good,” said Terand, stone in his visage.
“People crevices.”
“Naturally,” said Pib, shuffling her hand, trying to see if she had a win.
“Butt crevices.”
“Sure, who doesn't?” said Yrinmet, proudly placing down three kings and taking the round. “Try harder lizard, squeam is not going to help you in this game.”
Rancha grumbled as another couple of hands were played before Yrinmet was caught cheating; reshrinking everyone else’s sand-based wager when they were not looking. At that point, Perci came into the shrine, attracted by the commotion this caused. He was carrying a knife in one hand and a peeved pinscuttle by the tail in the other.
“Does this belong to anybody?” he asked.
“Tell the dozy shnotdwar who I am before I smite him, would you?” said the pinscuttle, with a large dose of petulance.
“Hey, if anyone is doing smiting, it's me you insect!”
“Insect? Bloody insect? Right, I'll have you!” The pinscuttle wriggled furiously, nipping at Perci's fingers again.
Rancha sighed and told Perci to leave the beleaguered Guardian alone. Then he sighed again and asked the pinscuttle not to sting Perci more than once. Then he asked Pib to fetch the first aid kit before Perci started to have convulsions. The antivenom was produced and administered just as the comatose Perci was starting to turn blue. His muscles unclenched visibly and he drifted into natural sleep. Rancha told the pinscuttle to bugger off and not do that again, to which the pinscuttle informed him that he had had his fun, and scuttled off in a most huffy fashion.
Yrinmet gazed down at the defunct knight. “Why would anyone piss off a Guardian on purpose?”
“He's is a hero, foolishly brave and all that bollocks,” said Rancha, packing away the medical supplies. “At least he is trying to fit the bill.”
“Well, I gotta defend anyone who picks up a pinscuttle like that, deliberate like,” said Terand, contemplating seriously. “Gotta have something big and heavy about ya trousers to do it.”
“Or be a lucky moron,” said Rancha. “Right, crisis averted. Pack up and somebody wake the pillock, we are off. I found out a few things out there and I am sick to the back teeth of suffering from the mushroom principle.”
“Mushrooms?” said Pib.
“Kept in the dark and fed crap. The baddies went thataway, towards Slumberland” said Rancha, pointing, “so we are going thisaway instead. Any questions? No? Good.”
He must have still been wearing his poker face, as nobody said a word.
---
A few hours later they re-entered the dusty town of Franchick, whereupon Rancha sat down heavily on the lip of the ancestral fountain and brooded. The others decided to leave well enough alone for a short while until Perci, still feeling groggy from the dual perils of poisoning and heatstroke, became bored and prodded Rancha in the ribs. The other three did not hear the reply, but Perci walked back to the group pale and shaking slightly. They unanimously decided to find a bar, and to leave Rancha to it.
The selected venue was the Prancing Polyp, which claimed to be famous for its inland seafood.
“I've seen it happen before y' know,” said Terand to Yrinmet while Perci attempted to negotiate at the bar, while Pib found them a table. “Urglons going a bit funny. In the head like.”
“Me too,” sighed Yrinmet. “Even made it happen once. Damn thing ate half the town before they managed to slip him tranquillizers. Pity, Abreci was a good conversationalist.”
Terand thought for a moment. “Abreciliominackirasi? The man who ate Uddun?”
“That's the one. I tried to set him free actually. De-warp his mind in the hopes he would be grateful and help me, well, conquer.”
“How did that go for ya?”
“It worked, to a point.” Yrinmet sighed and nodded gratefully to Perci who had returned with beer. “He basically realised, I mean fully realised, exactly how much he had been exploited over the years by the good people of Uddun and was rather unhappy.”
“Understatement.”
“I hate being exploited,” said Pib slurping from her oversized tankard. “Though the pay is alright.”
“Agreed Ms Pib,” said Yrinmet. “Sad to say a lot of exploitees have no, let us say, class. The average fool willing to overlook morality for the sake of personal gain often misses the point. If the victim is a willing one, so much more can be achieved.”
“Still not right,” rumbled Perci.
“Admittedly,” said Yrinmet, “Though my principles are sound, the actions are rather ruthless.”
“No, I mean the change from the bar. It's not right.” Perci left the table again.
“Point in case,” said Yrinmet, waving goodbye after the knight on his quest to rectify the outrageous case of short-change that was afflicting the townsfolk. “If that one had the inclination to exploit, would the exploitees be happy? He would have a rebellion within weeks!”
“I likes rebellions,” said Terand through a mouthful of beer. He swallowed. “They usually m
ean that somebody gonna get lynched, whichever side they are on.”
“Again, my point made. You have the correct quotient of ruthless Mr Terand to succeed at ruthlessness. Whereas someone like Ms Pib... would you say you are ruthless Ms Pib?”
“Gosh,” she blushed, the alcohol having a much more rapid effect on her tiny frame. “I know what I like and I like what I see,” she fluttered her eyelashes.
“Then you have the right stuff too to exploit, rather than be exploited. Rise up, Ms Pib, be the wonder you can be!”
“Nobody has ever told me I'm wonderful before,” she said with dreamy eyes.
“Uh, yes,” said Yrinmet, suddenly uncomfortable, trying not to meet her enamoured gaze.
A scuffle was breaking out at the bar. Terand looked across, rolled his eyes, stood and proceeded to drag a spluttering Perci back to his seat, forcing him to sit down and handing him a beer.
“Where do you stand on exploitation Mr Yansul?” asked Yrinmet.
“Master Yansul. And I don't stand for it!”
“Oh? Do you not have servants? Followers? Sycophants?”
“Only the ones befitting my station. But the servants are paid well and anyone else, well that's their choice. Slavery is wrong!” he thumped his tankard on the table, sloshing beer across the surface.
“Slavery is wrong,” agreed Pib drunkenly, still eyeing up Yrinmet.
“That is... a noble sentiment?” said Yrinmet in some confusion.
“The words you are looking for ya evil bastard, is bugger to it all, and let’s get drunk,” said Terand.
“Ha! And why not. If I am to remain locked into this pitiful existence, might as well enjoy what I can.”
“Shuttit and get a round in.”
---
The cheerfully drunk quartet returned a few hours later to find Rancha doing coin tricks whilst scowling deeply. They began to feel horribly sober far too quickly in his presence, so they went to find another bar. This one was the 'Japing Jester' and served nachos and dips of unidentifiable origin with their drinks. Terand bought them all frothy, ostentatious red cocktails with umbrellas and Perci spent an hour pouting at his, much to the amusement of Pib who flicked her musical glass every so often, simply to make the knight jump.
“The point, the point I'm making is,” slurred Yrinmet, who had already downed his cocktail and another two besides, “is that everyone deserves a break.”
“Broken arms? Broken legs?” asked Terand, somewhat confused.
“Nonono, broken heart. Gotta feel it at least once so you can try and avoid it and stuff like it.”
“I hate broken hearts,” said Pib wistfully. “Need to find someone who understands that.”
“What flavour is this one?” asked Perci poking a bowl of green sludge.
“Mashed marrot fish. Exactly Pib, exactly what I mean in a meaningful sort of way. Hearts need practice, not sulking about.”
“How the hell did we end up talking about this again?” said Terand, pushing a bowl with spicy red paste hopefully towards Perci.
“Rancha! He seems unhappy. Well I only known him a week or so but, y'know. No, idiot, you have got to swallow it in one go else you will... oh, never mind.” Yrinmet passed a napkin over so Perci could wipe his streaming eyes.
“Have the blue one, it calms down the swelling,” said Pib. “But Rancha is so powerful, how can he ever be unhappy?”
“That's just it,” said Yrinmet, sloshing his glass about. “He still is and probably will be regardless. I mean, I'm powerful and look where it's gotten me.”
“In good company!” enthused Terand.
“Go' co'any!” said Perci through his mouthful of food, raising his glass in a toast.
“What?” Oh, right, yes.” Yrinmet grudgingly raised his as well. “I hate this. I want to go home and hex stuff in peace. It was a simpler time.”
“I'll take you home,” said Pib, the determinedly coquette.
Conversation continued and a steady level of drunkenness was achieved by the quartet, facilitated by the helpful barlady, who was making her first fortune for years, the morality of serving the already drunk be damned.
Staggering, they had worked up enough alcoholic courage to enquire as to the exact nature of Rancha’s upset, to reassure him that they loved him, that he was their bestest friend in the whole wide world and attempted to hug him. Prising them off, and removing Pib from her enthusiastic clutching of his hair, Rancha huffed away a few steps and folded his arms in exasperation. He shimmered into his natural lizard shape and wrapped himself around the fountain, which was a state that was much tougher to hug and greatly harder to shift and he somehow gave the impression that the arms he did not have any more were still crossed.
“Meanie! Meanie!” they chanted, much to the disgust of passers-by. Passing a bottle between them, they eventually fell asleep in the bowl of the dried-up fountain, still warm from the day's heat. The sun was well and truly setting now.
Rancha stared into the distance.
The night drew in.
The air got colder.
The streets cleared.
The shadows filled every corner.
The stars emerged.
The sky wheeled.
Finally, it happened. The event that Rancha had been waiting for happened, albeit somewhat sooner than he had been expecting.
A door across the square creaked open and a dishevelled and bedraggled elderly man carefully peeked around the frame. He spotted Rancha staring back at him, his eyes went wide, and the door slammed shut.
A moment or two later it was pushed back open and the man slowly approached Rancha.
They looked at each other.
“Not dead then?” asked the man.
“No,” said Rancha.
“Nice town.”
“Yes.”
They looked at each other for a moment more.
The man gave up. “Oh, fine. Pick them up and come inside.”
Rancha nodded, shrank, adjusted his clothing, woke up the others with little ceremony and herded them so that they all blearily shuffled through the open portal.
The man glanced round to check they had been unobserved, eyes widening as he spotted that they had actually had been observed by a shadowy figure who was advancing very swiftly across the square, so just as swiftly shut the door behind him as the running person began to say something.
A moment of displacement...
“Really, I don’t know why you couldn’t have just used that amber stone I gave you, honestly!” complained Ihjundas, checking the door was secure and removing a couple of rags from his temporary disguise.
“Sorry, I thought it would be better this way. Those three could have been a security risk or something if they knew how it worked. Especially him,” said Rancha indicating Yrinmet, who like the others, had collapsed back into a half sleepy, half-drunken stupor on the balcony. “Glad to hear your voice is better by the way, what’s outside look like now?”
“Don’t change the subject,” grouched the now audible Ihjundas. “They got me out of bed for this. The bloody cosmic tracking department spotted you hadn’t moved from one point for hours when it was not even night-time, decided you were both dead and sent me to collect the bodies. Ruddy gits. This happened a few months back as well when the guys stone got nicked and stored in a fence’s office for a week. Someone nearly did die sorting that mess out, made us rewrite policy so we check sooner. Anyway, why are you so desperate to get back here?”
“Well, I decided it would be extremely helpful if someone told us what we were meant to be doing instead of us wandering around for hours, clutching at straws and banging our heads on all the ignorance floating around,” said Rancha with more than a hint of a growl.
Ihjundas looked as if his feet had just told him how badly they smelt in a squeaky voice. “You are meant to be saving the world! You got me out of bed to bring you back and you can’t even figure that out? Bloody hell, Rancha, what happened to you out there?”
Ihjundas was dumbfounded.
“!” he emoted, expressively.
“A hint at least?” pleaded Rancha.
Ihjundas started to look thoughtful. “I think I see your point. I’m going to go back to sleep. Get someone to carry that lot and come and find me in the morning. I’m too old for this sh…”
But Rancha had already wandered off in search of help.
---
In the township of Franchick the wandering scarred warrior had finally slumped through the gates of their destination. A moment had been taken to gather bearings, then to head straight for the memorial fountain with a vague gleam of satisfaction that the long toiling journey was over at last. Now with one job done, they could rest for a brief while before starting the next vicious but necessary passage, boon companions in tow and destiny to be fulfilled.
The crumbling dried-up edifice came into view and a tear very nearly spilt forth. Things were not as they should have been, so the pace was quickened in unaccustomed panic. The warrior had arrived just in time to see the motley crew walking into a building and a wizened rag bound man squinting around before widening his eyes and quickly shutting the splintered sandblown door.
The traveller recognised him easily, just as he had very easily spotted the sprinting approach – Ihjundas, The Keeper of Stables, departing swiftly to the other side of the planet.