by Sean Heslin
Skuikkel – Often called 'forest lightning', these small, bright blue rodents make their home high in trees and can climb at a rate of knots.
Snufflin – Cute forest creature, tends to be eaten by other things rather a lot. Fully grown is the size of a fox and has lots of thick woolly and oddly strokable hair. Very sharp teeth, yet is herbivorous.
Stands – Currency of Froob, a spheroid made of a standardised weight of gold, silver and osmium. Even after the collapse of Froob, the Stand remains a widespread standard of currency, mostly because nobody can figure out how to melt the things down again and the exact number of Stands produced and present in the world is a recorded fact, so do not generally suffer from the effects of inflation.
Streg – Big dumb and hungry, these trollish folk tend to be about 7 foot, greyish in colour and have pointy teeth. They are usually employed in heavy labour or as bouncers. Some stregs are intelligent beyond basic language and tool-using, so tend to wear ties and engage in hostile business practises.
Sugoat – Usually fat and very hairy four-legged, horned creatures, renowned for their ability to eat pretty much anything and causing an utter nuisance when they inevitably do so.
Trew – Aquatic sentient species, often at war with the land-dwellers, possessing many strange and advanced technologies they use to periodically try and conquer coastal areas.
Undying – Undead persons and creatures who have been granted life anew, usually with the Mark of Yurmuth upon their person. Additionally, Immortals are also classed as Undying, but are differentiated as they never died to begin with.
Urbear – Brown, stripy and massive. Resembles a standard bear, but has long and pointed ears high on its head and sports retractable claws.
Urglon – Shape-changing flying giant lizards, artificially created to be the ultimate in workbeast, with a sense of deference to match. As the world continues to age, many are discontented with their lot and there are many sympathisers amongst the rest of the populace.
Wifflemare - Reptile with downy fur and very sensitive star-shaped proboscis for a nose, adapted to find any scent in a desert environment.
The adventures of Rancha and company will continue in The Crimson Auditor, the first chapter of which is cheerfully provided below.
Excerpt from The Crimson Auditor
PART ONE – RESTORATION
“The world knows itself. We know the world. Who knows us?”
- The Eternally Misquoted Great Prophet Fengal.
From the top. Right. I will start with a memory.
It had begun so simply, with blood, before the scrubbing brushes had taken over.
Though simple is a qualitative term, nothing in this little world of mine is simple except perhaps eating and sleeping.
Even then, I have trouble sleeping. The memories do that.
I digress. It was horrible, that time, but necessary to dwell upon. The day, a year ago; of being summoned to a distant monastery where the local milkman of all people had stumbled on grisly terror.
Terror is another qualitative term in my mind, a great many horrors have been witnessed, a great many fools with sharp pointy objects believing themselves to be all-powerful have waggled said pointy objects in my direction. Perhaps I am the one who is most foolish for bringing such mighty ones to justice? A moot point.
“Reine?”
A voice from outside my cascading thoughts, perhaps fortuitously, broke in but I ignored it, preferring to dwell in the darkness of my thoughts and that day. Better to tease out the narrative that eluded me for so long.
The image, of the rows of bodies in the musty chapel, each clad in a torn cassock and each with their own individually labelled glass bottle at their feet, still warm to the touch from the dark red contents. My stomach then had refused to turn at the sight. In this land of demons and arcane device, of intrigue and rheumy-eyed peasantry, of the mundane lives of homemakers and the high thoughts of kings, anything could happen, tended to happen and usually happened to be nasty. I was used to it.
Time wound on in my mind, the memory of identifying the deceased, gathering obscure evidence and collating it into truth, then acting on that truth. A collection of faces followed, some scowling and older, some weeping, some blank as a new canvas. One face was young though. Young, female and innocent as a babe. I knew differently, had known differently, that the morals and mind of the child were proven to be guilty as blackest sin. She was a walking cliché, straight out of the stories of my profession, brought to life by circumstance and upbringing. What had gone wrong? I knew I had been right! What had gone wrong?
The images I concentrated on dissolved here, into a flicker of shame, of courtrooms and hearings and degradation and failings. A year of my life gone, passed in a wisp of scrubbing brushes, disinfectant and nothing much else. A whole lifetime of bringing justice to those who transgressed, sorcerors, politicians, murderers, thieves, desecrators of temples and heinously corrupt bookmakers. And for what? This? A year of drudgery and turmoil. It was shameful and more horrific than those near-forgotten dead monks.
“Reine!”
The voice outside my personal world returned, a stream of verbal abuse and instruction, this time with a wheedling tone, an admonition or condemnation, I could not tell which and neither did I care. I ignored it again, but my delve of memory had been banished, so I allowed myself the luxury of opening my eyes.
There I was, stood at a window watching the world go by.
The parts of it I could see at least. It was a limited view from this window, so looking down I could see the tops of people's heads, which is never that interesting unless scalps are your fetish.
I did however like to enjoy this view. In the entire building, this was the only window an observer such as myself could see the distant enigmatic horizon peeking through the gaps in the surrounding town, symbol of something or other I could never quite remember. Gods, I love the physical poetry of place, it had an inestimable beauty that most overlooked.
You know how it is, during idle moments you have intensely profound thoughts about something...
“...are you getting this? Reeeene? Hello?”
...which due to inevitable interruptions you immediately forget and spend weeks trying to remember. If, against all probability, you actually manage to remember the damn thought again and tell people about it out of context, they look at you in that special way that makes you feel tiny and twice as stupid for having brought it up.
Gods, I love people as well. Such charming and entertaining denizens of the place I like to call home.
Well, technically I do not call anywhere home, I don't tend to have one any more of those due to my former occupation. I call the world that I live upon, something ‘eloquently vulgar' as mother used to put it. I have to pass my days here, so I usually figured that I might as well make it comfortable by enjoying even the worst of people. Mostly.
I gazed out over the rooftops, which helped me forget for a while. Forget what, I could not remember, so presumably it was working. The sun was glinting prettily off windows and tiles and puddles of rainwater, filling my gaze and mind with much more welcome images. These triggered my sense of deductive reasoning, wherein lay the question that I had not actually seen it raining, so how come everything was wet?
“...on the third floor with a cloth!”
During my musings, I gradually became re-aware of a steady droning emanating from the mouth of my immediate superior. I had thus far managed to filter out his dulcet tones, but now the distinct voice had come back, as insistent as a rock drill.
Sighing, I tore my gaze away from the magnificent sights of the world beyond and attempted to decipher the animal noises of an overgrown ape. Though perhaps that image was a side effect of indulging my hyperactive imagination.
“…as soon as possible. Are you getting all this?”
I fixed him with a steely stare from my very best stock. “Yes, I am getting all this, please continue your scintillating converse, so I might be f
urther instructed.”
Penkton's brow crinkled as he attempted to decipher my ape noises. There was a lot of this in our relationship. I did not normally speak with such airs and graces, but I did so much enjoy winding up Gern Penkton, almost as much as he loved his work. Which, as far as I could tell, involved bullying people into doing things he was supposed to be doing himself and harassing the young ladies who did the quantum-typing downstairs.
At this point Penkton had abandoned his derailed train of thought and had decided to resort his all-purpose response.
“Don't get smart with me, I am your superior. Me talk, you listen, got that?”
I sighed again and applied my best ‘browbeaten employee' expression to my face. “Yes, Mr Penkton. I will try and remember that you are superior in future. I apologise, could you possibly repeat yourself?”
His countenance shifted into his other favourite: ‘triumphant smugness'. “Of course Reine, wouldn't want you to get things wrong would we now?”
I winced as once again Penkton mispronounced my name. My name was indeed spelt Reine, but it was pronounced like the stuff that falls out of the sky, what royalty does, or the thing that causes direhorses to get neck cramps. The lovely Penkton insisted on using his version of Reeeeeeen, which I am never entirely sure, but I harbour an inkling that it means something obscene in a language I don't know.
My first name never gets used in its entirety as few people can pronounce it, myself included. I don't even know how to spell it properly having never seen my birth certificate. The best guess I can give is Gelineroasophema, but I don't even think that has the right number of syllables. My friends call me Gep, or Ged when they can be bothered to, but then Penkton was not amongst these so I was stuck with Reeeen.
“Well then Reine, I suggest that you mop the second-floor landing and when you are done, clean out the conference room on the third floor from yesterdays meeting, and when you have accomplished that mighty task please take your arse to the lockers to get changed and accompany me to the main lobby, we are having some visitors and it is my job to show them around, allegedly ably assisted by your charming self. Is that all right with you?”
Sarcasm from a man like Penkton? There had to be a law against that one.
“Delighted,” I muttered.
“Good they arrive in half an hour, so bugger off and get on with it. Ta ta.”
Penkton gave a deep mock bow and waddled away giggling in his high pitched fashion. I was tempted to flick some apt hand gestures at him, but a passing secretary beat me to it. I grinned at her and she casually returned the favour, sticking her tongue out before carrying on with whatever she was doing. Probably being more useful than me.
After the secretary was out of sight. I gave my umpteenth sigh of the day and with a last lingering look out of my window, I went in search of a mop and bucket.
---
The conference room was a sh…ambles.
About the Author
Never content with just one aim in life, Sean Heslin has turned his hand to teaching science, furniture sales, art, acting, biology, adult education and finding interesting ways to keep busy.
He has many articles and short stories out in the world and has been a member (and Chairperson) of Southport Writers’ Circle for over a decade. He encourages everyone to put their words on paper, because that is the best place to keep them.
One of his proudest achievements is having his first published story when he was 5 (His mother has a copy).
To find out more about his work, including dark multiverse sci-fi, Personal Army and the rest of the Creation Falls series, visit his website:
www.seanheslin.co.uk