inquired.
'Why, the Merrie Men!' the giant announced proudly.
'Really?' replied Anyx. 'The Merrie Men, huh? Can't really say that I've actually heard of you-'
'Ah, well, you won't have heard of us. 'Cos we're a secret organisation, you see.'
'Is that a fact?'
'Yes. Very hush-hush.' The giant incongruously placed his fingers on his lips, rather like a chastened schoolboy.
'Hush-hush?' asked Anyx.
'Exactly!' The giant relaxed his grip on his staff and sat down upon an upturned barrel. 'We have to be very careful, you know,' he confided. 'If anyone found out, we could be in real bother.'
'Then why,' asked the dwarf slowly and deliberately, 'are you telling me?'
The bearded giant hesitated. 'Um... yes, good point.' Embarrassment coloured his face. He leaned forward. 'You see, we're all a bit new to this secret society malarkey; we haven't quite got the hang of it yet.'
'Yes,' said the dwarf. 'I can see that.'
'Today's our first meeting. We're going to hold them quarterly.'
'Really?' asked the dwarf. 'Do you think you'll last that long?'
The giant seemed not to have heard him. 'Yes,' he mused, 'Our very first meeting. Quite a good turn-out, don't you think?'
'Yes,' replied Anyx. 'Very good, I'm sure.' He looked behind the giant towards the other Merrie Men. He'd hoped to see some semblance of common sense amongst them; a look, perhaps, which suggested 'humour him - we're only here because he's much bigger than we are', but they all seemed to be nodding in agreement at the giant's mad utterances. Insane, Anyx suspected, the whole bloody lot of them.
'Listen,' he said, 'why don't I just get on with my cleaning, and you lot can get on with your... secret organising.'
'Um, yes, that may be best,' agreed the giant, rising to his feet. Then something seemed to occur to him. 'Oh, forgive my lack of manners!' he exclaimed. He thrust a huge fist forward. 'I'm Little Ron, by the way.' He reddened once again, an incongruous reaction for such a big man. 'It's a kind of joke, you see,' he said shyly, 'because I'm quite large... Oh damn! Shouldn't really have told you that, should I?'
'What, your name? As the secret leader of a secret society, probably not,' Anyx sympathised.
'Oh, but I'm not the leader.'
'No?'
'No, we're led by Robin B'La Clava, Prince of... oh bugger!'[15]
Anyx sighed. The sight of the big man blushing had an unexpectedly endearing effect on the dwarf. He was surprised to suddenly feel protective towards him. 'You really need to be more careful with that tongue of yours,' he warned the giant in a kindly tone. 'What if I was a guard?'
'But you're not a guard. Are you?'
'Of course not,' Anyx replied. 'But I could be.'
'No you couldn't,' said someone at the rear. 'Everybody knows that these days only trolls can be guards, and it's quite obvious you're not a troll.'
Anyx peered towards the back of the cellar, straining to see who had spoken. It seemed to be a man wearing bright red tights. 'Can you be so sure?' the dwarf asked.
'Course I'm sure,' Red Tights replied. 'You're a dwarf. You've already said so yourself,' he pointed out.
'It could be a very good disguise,' Anyx replied. 'Or maybe I'm a secret guard?'
''Ere, what are you getting at?' said Ron, obviously confused.
'Well, you're a secret society, right?' said Anyx.
'Yeah... I mean, we could be,' said Ron
'So what's to stop me being a secret guard?'
The giant scratched his head. 'Um-,' he began.
'About three and a half feet and insides made of squishy bits instead of rubble,' interrupted Cleat from the top of the cellar steps. 'Now get on with your mopping, dwarf. And you lot, you've got ten more minutes...'
16
Anyx had been, albeit unknowingly, close to the truth when he had talked of secret guards. Marasmus did, in fact, have a secret force of guards, who were so secret that they themselves weren't actually aware they were supposed to be secret. After all, nobody ever told them anything. How could they, when they didn't exist..?
And of these secret guards, Captain Grantt of the Gneiss[16] tribe, was not only the most widely known but also the widest.
Grantt had been born to be a guard. Well, actually he had been born to be a psychotic, homicidal maniac but, nowadays, in Marasmus, it was pretty much the same thing. He was a massive slab of a troll, well over seven feet tall and as craggy as a weather-worn outcrop. His rocky face, dominated by his obsidian eyes and a cruel crack of a mouth, was fierce and forbidding, and his chest had the girth of a fully grown oak tree.
Despite looking like an over-sized night club bouncer who'd lost his tuxedo and fallen into a skip full of quick drying cement, Captain Grantt was endowed with guile and a certain amount of intelligence, traits not usually associated with trolls. Grantt therefore tended to punch first and ask questions later (whereas most other trolls tended to punch and sod the questions); this might not sound intelligent but he simply figured asking questions would just take up time that would be better used for more punching. He might have had brains but he was still a troll first and foremost, and an evil bastard of a troll at that.
Everybody in Marasmus had heard of Grantt...
And Grantt, somehow, had heard of the Merrie Men.
As far as the troll captain was concerned, the Merrie Men were nothing more than minor troublemakers and rabble-rousers, little more than irritants, but that didn't mean they weren't dangerous. They were the first droplets of water that trigger the torrent and so they had to be stopped. And Grantt, of course, was just the troll to stop them.
17
Back at the Griffin, the meeting had broken up, and the Merrie Men had adjourned to the bar, where they proceeded to make merry, as they were required to do under Rule Xii, sub-paragraph 3 of the Handbook of Rules and Conditions of the Secret Society of the Merrie Men (1st edition).
They were still making merry[17] an hour or so later when Grantt walked in.
Anyx was sitting in a corner, nursing the dregs of the single tankard of ale Cleat had begrudgingly given him. He had never set eyes on Grantt before, but like most Marasmans he had heard of the troll's reputation.
Slowly and deliberately, the troll captain looked around the tavern, exuding menace without even really trying. His dark eyes seemed to bore into everyone, until at last his stare fell upon Cleat, who gulped before nodding in what he hoped was a friendly, welcoming gesture.
Grantt grunted and slowly cracked his knuckles, making a sound like a game of marbles.
'Which one of you is Robin?' he demanded in a low, threatening voice.
Little Ron, who lacked brains but clearly not courage, stepped forward and thrust out his enormous barrel chest. 'We don't know nobody called Robin, do we lads?'
Behind him came a drunken chorus of 'certainly don'ts' and 'never 'eard of 'im's'.
''Specially nobody called Robin B'La Clava,' continued Ron.
There was a sudden pause in which the air seemed to be sucked out of the room by a communal intake of breath so sharp it could have cut through Grantt's toenails. In his corner Anyx groaned at the dim-witted giant.
The troll walked slowly towards Ron. 'How,' he asked in measured tones, 'do you know I'm looking for somebody called B'La Clava?'
As slow on the uptake as Ron was, realisation dawned relatively quickly. He flushed and beads of perspiration erupted upon the giant's brow.
'Um, well... that is... I thought that maybe-' he stammered.
And at that moment the street outside the Griffin exploded. Several chickens, in a precipitate attempt to steal the limelight, erupted in a cloud of feathers, but they were upstaged by a single cartwheel which, with perfect timing, rolled through the splintered archway that had, only moments before, contained the door of the Griffin. It slowly descended the steps, before gently coming to rest at the feet of Grantt.
'Rebels!' the troll roared. 'Terrorists!' he howled, before r
unning out into the street. Nobody else moved.
After a few seconds, Anyx broke the silence.
'Um, may I make a suggestion?'
The Merrie Men turned towards him.
'Go on,' said Ron.
'I think it may be a good idea if you leg it.'
'What?'
'Run away, you bloody fools, whilst you've got the chance!'
18
Chester had gone for a late lunch leaving Lenny to look after the library for a while. There was nothing unusual in this. After all, it was very rare for anyone other than Lenny to use the library. Occasionally someone might stroll in by mistake or to get out of the rain, but most of the time Lenny was left undisturbed whilst Chester was away. He was deep in study when he became aware of someone entering the library. He slowly raised his head. 'Can I help you?'
'I hope so,' replied Doctor Dosodall. He removed his hat and smoothed back his dark hair. 'I'm looking for somebody.'
Lenny smiled sympathetically, although it was hard to tell. 'This is a library, sir,' he lisped softly. 'We usually get people looking for books rather than people. Missing Persons is three doors down,' he added helpfully. 'Or at least they used to be, until they went missing.'
The doctor looked Lenny up and down. All he could see was a pile of rags. He unconsciously took a step backwards. 'Well,' he said. 'I was wondering if you had a copy of Who Do You Think You Are?'
'Oh yes. Of course,' replied Lenny apologetically. 'Forgive me. You should find a copy in the Reference section, third shelf down, right next to What Are You Looking At?'
'Right, thank you.'
Lenny bent back into his book whilst the doctor went off to browse the shelves, but before long the leper's innate curiosity got the better of him.
'Er, excuse me.' He wearily hauled himself to his feet and took a step towards the doctor. 'Who is it exactly you are looking for? I'm very familiar with Who Do You Think You Are? Maybe I could be of some assistance?'
The doctor turned around. The leper, for the doctor was sure that the talking pile of rags could be nothing else, seemed friendly enough. It surely couldn't do any harm in taking the leper into their confidence.
'Well,' he began, 'it's all a bit of vague, to be honest.' He stifled a yawn. The short walk form the Griffin to the library had tired him out. Pretty much any activity exhausted the doctor. Including sleeping. 'I don't know the surname but I'm looking for someone called Leo, or something similar. It's a bit of a long shot, I know, because the only other thing we know about him is that he's apparently looking for something, and has been for quite some time, apparently-' Dosodall stopped. 'Um... are you alright?' he asked.
Lenny had frozen, and what little colour his face possessed had drained away like water draining from a bath. Never the most healthy looking of people now he looked as if he was about to faint. The doctor rushed forward.
'What is it?' he asked.
Lenny waved away the doctor's assistance and shuffled back behind the desk to sit down heavily. 'I don't suppose you know what it is that this...Leo is looking for?' Lenny managed to gasp.
The doctor shook his head. 'Not really,' he replied, 'but my associate has got a message for him.'
'A message?' Lenny asked. 'And where exactly is your associate at the moment?'
'She's waiting outside.'
'Well,' said Lenny, recovering a little. 'Please, invite her in. I would like to talk to her.'
'I'm afraid that wouldn't be possible on either account,' the doctor explained.
'Really?' asked Lenny. He suddenly had a vision of a very, very large lady, who was also hard of hearing, but he was far too polite to give voice to the image. 'In that case I shall come out. I'm interested in what she has to say.'
Lenny pushed himself to his feet and shambled towards the door, followed at a distance by the doctor. As they emerged from the library Lenny managed to hide his shock surprisingly well at suddenly being confronted by an elephant. He turned to look at the doctor who was leaning against the doorframe. 'Is this your... associate?' he asked tentatively.
'May I present Annabel, the world's greatest medium,' the doctor introduced. Annabel bowed her head in acknowledgement. 'And I am Dr. Dosodall, at your service.'
Lenny didn't offer his hand to shake. He generally knew what the reaction would be - an involuntary jerk backwards - and besides, he didn't want to lose it. But he did offer his own name. 'I'm Leonardo De Matitis. Most people call me Lenny.'
'Well, Leonardo, it's a shame people don't call you Leo instead of Lenny,' the doctor laughed. 'It would save us a whole lot of trouble.
Lenny didn't immediately reply. Instead he turned towards Annabel and, very carefully, gave the elephant a small bow.
'And Annabel also doesn't happen to know what this Leo is looking for, I presume?' he asked.
The doctor shrugged. 'Just 'something' was the message.'
'Mmm,' mused the leper.
'Why do you ask?'
'Well, I'm sure there can be no possible connection but, it so happens, I'm looking for something myself. And, indeed, have been for some time.'
The doctor looked at the leper with renewed interest. 'And what exactly are you looking for?' he asked.
'That's just it. I'm not quite sure,' Lenny replied with an apologetic smile.
Annabel let out a low, almost imperceptible, rumble. The doctor stared at her for a second before returning his gaze to the leper. 'She seems to think that you may indeed be the Leo for whom we search.'
'You can... talk to her?'
'After a fashion,' the doctor confirmed. 'Could you and this Leo be the same person?'
Lenny considered the possibility. Could this be the breakthrough he'd been waiting so long for? 'Possibly, I suppose, but what makes Annabel think that I'm Leo?' he asked eventually.
The doctor waved his hands in the air. 'She's a medium. Second sight, that sort of thing, you know. Don't really understand it myself but-' He was interrupted by another deep rumble. 'Alright, alright' said the doctor, 'I'll ask him if you give me a chance.' He turned to Lenny. 'She asks, despite the fact that you don't really know what you're searching for, what is it that you hope to achieve by your searching.'
Lenny gave a wry smile. 'I'm just hoping to find an answer, that's all.'
'But what's the question?' asked the doctor gently.
Lenny threw caution to the wind by throwing his arms out wide. 'Look at me. I'm falling to pieces. Literally. I just want to get better, but I don't know how. You're a doctor, do you know how to make me better?'
The doctor shook his head. 'I... don't practice anymore,' he admitted.
Lenny nodded. 'Doesn't matter,' he consoled the doctor. 'The medical profession has never been able to find a cure for leprosy. It has always been in the hands of the Gods. But now... what with the Gods gone-'
'I'm sorry,' said the doctor. 'I wish we could help.'
'Thank you,' Lenny replied. 'You mentioned a message. Could you tell me what this message was?'
The doctor translated. 'She thinks the message is from someone or something called Gus. He sounded as if he needed help. He told us to look for a Leo who was looking for something and he said that, whoever this Leo is, he's very close to finding it. He just needs to think bigger. That's all, I'm afraid. Does it make any sense to you? Could you really be the Leo were looking for?'
Lenny contemplated what the doctor had said. 'It's not impossible, I suppose, but if I am this Leo, then I'm afraid the message doesn't make any more sense to me than it does to you,' he replied. 'Think bigger, huh?' he mused. 'What does that mean? And Gus says that Leo is close. But I've searched through every single book, journal, pamphlet and leaflet there is in this forsaken library.' He sighed. 'It's impossible.'
'Maybe the answer's not in the library. Maybe you need to look elsewhere.'
'If I am Leo then I'm close, according to Gus. It follows that if I am Leo then it must be here somewhere.'
'Perhaps you may have overlooked somethi
ng,' the doctor suggested. 'Perhaps I could help you.'
The leper gave a gentle shrug of resignation. 'I've read and re-read every single word in every single section,' he explained, 'except-'
'Except?'
Lenny froze. 'No, he couldn't possibly mean that, could he?'
'What?' asked the doctor, feeling more than a little confused.
'I'd assumed that the message was cryptic, that Gus was telling this Leo to raise his ambitions, maybe, or broaden his horizons. But it could just be that Gus is talking literally.'
'Why?'
'Because the only place I haven't thoroughly researched is the large print section.'
19
Outside the Griffin it was as if an extremely localised tornado had struck. In the immediate aftermath of the explosion Grantt had instructed a handful of his trolls to clean up the damage as best they could and a few others to start taking statements, whilst he, furious but, given the evidence, no longer suspecting terrorist activity, re-entered the pub, where he found only Cleat and Anyx remaining.
'You,' the troll pointed at Cleat, 'are nicked!'
Cleat put his hand up to his face. 'Really,' he asked in all innocence. 'Where?'
'What?' said Grantt.
'I am a bit careless when it comes to shaving,' admitted the landlord. 'Do I need some tissue?'
Grantt glared at Cleat. 'Are you trying to be funny?'
'Um... no, of course not.'
The troll captain nodded. 'I'm pleased to hear it.'
'It was just that you said...'
Grantt thrust a huge club, incongruously adorned with a yellow ribbon, into the face of the frightened landlord. 'What I meant to say was that I am arresting you for corporate manslaughter, damage to public property and breach of the peace. You do not have to say anything, but if you do, I will re-arrange your jaw-line, and interpret your words in any way that suits my purpose. Do you understand?'
'You're arresting me?' the landlord replied disbelievingly.
Grantt heaved a great sigh. 'Is your name Obadiah Pancreatic Foremost Cleat?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'And are you, or are you not, the landlord of these premises, known as the Golden Griffin?'
Cleat nodded.
The troll leaned back on his heels. Anyx was suddenly struck by the impression that had Grantt been wearing braces he would at this moment thrust his thumbs into them. 'And,' the troll continued menacingly, 'did you, or did you not, own the barrel, marked Mudbucket's Ridiculously Strong For No Good Reason Old Country Ale, which, having been left outside, in direct sunlight, exploded not one hour ago, causing extensive damage to several yards of cobbled paving, numerous shop-fronts, and an unspecified amount of passers-by.'
'Unspecified?' asked Cleat timorously.
'Currently the number of legs doesn't match the number of heads.'
'Ergh!'
'Indeed,' commented Grantt.
'But I didn't have any barrels outside,' protested Cleat. 'Certainly no Mudbucket's anyway,' he went on quickly. 'I only leave the empties outside and they were all picked up this morning by the brewery. The only barrels of Mudbucket's I have at the moment are all full and, besides, I've not had any cause to open the cellar door this morning-'
The penny dropped, and Cleat looked around desperately, but it was too late. The dwarf had disappeared.
20
Excitedly Lenny ducked back into the library and headed towards a small shelf tucked away in a far corner. The doctor turned to Annabel who gently flapped her ears. He shook his head, before following Lenny into the library.
Above the shelf was a sign which declared that this was the shelf upon which the intrepid, and probably short-sighted, reader would find the large print books.
'Er, that sign-,' said the doctor.
'What about it?' replied Lenny distractedly, pulling a book from the shelf.
'Well, it's just that... wouldn't it be a good idea if the sign for the large print section was, well, in large print? I can hardly read it myself, and I've got pretty good eyesight.'
Lenny glanced up at the sign which did indeed read Large Print Section. 'Oh, that's just Chester's little joke,' he lisped. 'It's not the busiest of libraries and he has a lot of time on his hands.'
'Chester?'
'He's the librarian,' Lenny explained as he grabbed another book. 'He's a good man,' the leper continued, leafing through the pages like an speed reader on, well, speed. 'He keeps this place going without any sort of government funding, you know. It's the only library remaining open in the city. Trolls don't hold with learning and I sometimes think the only reason they haven't closed this one down is because they've simply overlooked it.'
'It is particularly small,' agreed the doctor. 'Well, good for Chester,' he continued absent-mindedly. 'Not sure about his sense of humour though.'
Lenny smiled indulgently, though it was hard to tell. 'It keeps him amused,' he explained, and returned to the task in hand. After a few seconds he discarded the second book and reached for a third.
This could take a while, thought the doctor, and settled himself down into the old horse-hair stuffed armchair that was squeezed behind the librarian's desk. He closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep when he was startled awake by a yell.
'This is it,' cried Lenny. 'This is it, I'm sure.'
'What is it?' asked the doctor, stifling a yawn.
'Listen to this,' urged an excited Lenny. 'This book is called 'Bott's Miscellany of the Gods'. And here, between 'Typical Manifestations of the Eastern Gods' and 'Divine Sex and Seduction' is 'Out of Print Prophecies and Dated Divinations.'
'Sounds like a real page-turner,' the doctor replied sarcastically. 'What does it say?'
'Well, there's one here which is attributed to Wacchus. As I'm sure you know He was effectively the patron God of Marasmus; a larger than life deity, by all accounts.'
'So?'
Lenny was leafing through the pages excitedly. 'Well the thing is, I've read just about everything there is to read about Him; how He didn't want to become a God and very nearly defied His father by running away to join the circus, the scandal of the, you know, the Vested Virgins[18], everything-'
'And this guy got to be a God?'
Lenny ignored him. 'And yet-'
'What?'
'I've never before come across any prophecy that is in any way connected to Him.'
'Okay, but what's so special about this Wacchus?' asked the doctor.
'Wacchus!' Lenny replied. 'Don't you see? Wacchus is Gus. Get it?'
'Not really,' answered the doctor.
'Annabel misheard. Maybe it was a bad line or something but it's not Gus who was communicating with her, it was Wacchus.'
Dosodall slouched against a shelf and folded his arms. 'Are you sure? I don't want to pi... pour water on your parade but that's a bit of a leap, to say the least!'
'I am sure, I just know it!' Lenny cried. 'Listen to this:
'When the God of Mirth has believers no more,
And dwells in Abbadon, according to Lore,
There is but one hope for existence returning,
From within the people, there should be great yearning,
And from the races of the Farthest North,
One Called the Awakener shall be called forth,
Known across all the lands as a learn-ed healer,
But also, beware, a spirit-stealer,
And at His Birthplace on His Praise day,
Before the Great Orb has sailed away,
By quoting His First Word He'll awaken the God,
And all shall pronounce 'You sharp little sod!'
The doctor looked bemused. 'That's it?' he asked eventually.
'Yes,' replied Lenny excitedly. 'I'm sure it is.'
'But it's... crap!'
'What?'
'Well, you know, it's frankly terrible. It hardly scans, its rhymes are laboured, and what's that last line all about?'
Lenny regarded the doctor
closely. 'It's a translation from an ancient dialect,' he explained. 'It might lose a little something but what does that matter?' he asked. 'It's not literature. It's a prophecy. Besides, I've read a lot of this stuff and, generally speaking, they're always 'frankly terrible', as you put it.'
'But-'
Lenny shook his head at the doctor's failure to grasp the point. 'Look, I admit, it's not a contender for the No Bull
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