Prize for Poetry[19] but it's not the style that's important, it's the substance.'
'Okay,' replied the doctor, trying to placate the leper. 'But what does it mean? It doesn't seem to make much sense.'
'Simple,' Lenny replied. He perched himself on the edge of the desk. 'It means that Wacchus is languishing within Abaddon which is a sort of limbo for the Gods.'
The doctor leaned forward and stretched. 'Sort of?' he asked.
'It's a halfway house, so to speak,' Lenny explained. 'Or perhaps a retirement home would be a better description. Anyway, should there be the desire of a sufficient amount of people to resurrect Wacchus-'
'How many?'
'Not that many I would suspect,' Lenny replied. 'No more then half a dozen; Gods like to hedge their bets. Anyway,' he continued, 'should there be such a desire then , well, someone or something will come forth and lead the people to the birthplace of the God and recite the God's First Word. Thus the God will be resurrected.'
The doctor looked unconvinced. 'You got all that from one crappy little poem?'
Lenny bent his head, almost shyly 'I've been studying theological texts for more than seven years,' he muttered.
'Wow,' replied the doctor, raising his eyebrows. 'Seven years, huh?'
'Yes,' answered the leper wistfully.
The doctor sensed that this was a sensitive subject and so decided to return to the matter in hand. 'Okay, but there's a few issues here, aren't there?' he pointed out.
Lenny raised his head. 'Such as?'
'Well, firstly, do we know of anyone, other than yourself, who has a 'yearning' to see Wacchus resurrected?' the doctor asked.
Lenny shrugged non-committedly. 'I'm not sure. I don't tend to get out much...'
'Secondly,' the doctor continued, 'who is this Awakener character?'
'I don't know,' Lenny conceded. 'At least not yet, anyway.'
'Thirdly, where exactly is Wacchus's birthplace?'
Lenny remained silent.
'Fourthly,' persisted the doctor, 'when is his Praise Day? And lastly, what the hells is this First Word thingy?'
'Well there is one thing I know,' Lenny replied, a small smile upon his damaged lips. 'What date is it today?' he asked.
'The date? Um... I've never been able to get the hang of this new-fangled Trollian calendar, but I think it's the 21st of Sedimentary.'
'In that case,' Lenny calculated, 'Wacchus's Praise Day is in three day's time.'
'Really? Well, I'll take your word for it.' The doctor paused. 'Okay, it's a start' he eventually admitted, 'but it doesn't give us much time. And what about all the other stuff?'
'I'm afraid I don't know,' Lenny replied.
The doctor heaved a deep sigh which, characteristically, threatened to turn into a yawn. 'Come on, Lenny, you must have some idea. You've been studying for seven years, after all. Let's face it, you could have got a bloody doctorate in that time!'
'Is that how long it took you, then?' asked Lenny, disingenuously.
'Ah, well, I um, took a little longer.'
Lenny peered at Dosodall under beetled brows. 'You are a real doctor, aren't you?' he asked.
It was at that opportune moment that Chester burst into the library, much to the doctor's relief. He skidded to a sudden halt, an impressive trick for such a large man. 'Lenny,' he wheezed. 'There's... been... a...' he gulped, 'a... commotion...'
'Take it easy,' urged Lenny. He shuffled over to the librarian and guided him to the armchair. 'Try and get your breath back.'
'...outside... the... Griffin... Explosion!.. Terrorists, so they say!.. Merrie... Men...'
'Slowly,' said Lenny. 'Take your time.'
'Rebels...' Chester gasped. 'Captain... Grantt... said... Merrie... Men... some... kind... of... terrorists... plotting...'
'Rebels, huh?' mused Lenny. He considered Chester's news for a moment before turning to the doctor. 'I wonder...'
'You wonder what?' the doctor replied distractedly.
'These Merrie Men.'
'What about them?' The doctor found himself fascinated by the librarian. Surely someone that red-faced and breathless should at the very least be having a heart attack by now.
'Well,' Lenny replied, handing Chester a glass of water, 'maybe they're followers of Wacchus.'
The doctor managed to tear his eyes away from Chester and gave Lenny a questioning look. 'What makes you think that?'
'Wacchus is the god of merriment and these... rebels, well, they call themselves the Merrie Men.'
The doctor dismissed Lenny's theory. 'Just coincidence,' he said. 'They sound more like a bunch of theatre players to me. Gone underground 'cos of the trolls, no doubt.'
'You're probably right,' Lenny conceded. He turned back to the librarian. 'Chester, are you alright?' he asked, concerned.
The librarian managed a nod.
'Are your sure?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Okay.' Lenny headed towards the doorway. 'Theatre players or not, I think I'd like to find out more about these Merrie Men,' he stated.
'I think you might be barking up the wrong tree,' the doctor replied.
'Well, it's the only tree we've got at the moment. Come on.'
'Where are we going?'
'To the pub.'
'In that case, count me in.'
21
Anyx ran as fast as his legs could carry him, which, given the length of his legs, wasn't particularly quick. For now, however, it was quick enough to escape the clutches of that scary mad troll bastard, Grantt.
The dwarf headed home, but he knew that he would have to lie low, maybe even leave the city for a while, now that he had come to the attention of the sadistic guard. All thanks to the Merrie Men! 'Those bloody stupid tight-wearing idiots,' he muttered. Still, he'd been thinking about moving digs anyway, seeing as he owed five month's rent.
He hurried down the Northgate Road, turned into Culpepper Street and cut through Love Alley onto Offal Pit Lane where he rented (in a manner of speaking) a room from Mrs Phyllidia Phlood, an elderly widow whose only companion was a rather large dog called Wilkes; Wilkes and Anyx didn't see eye to eye - and this wasn't only because the dog was about half a foot taller than the dwarf.
Anyx had few possessions, especially now he was down one war-axe, but what little he did possess he valued, so simply legging it wouldn't be an option. He paused for a moment to consider his options. Getting in and out of the house without attracting the notice of Mrs Phlood would be easy, on account of her diminishing sight and almost non-existent hearing, but Wilkes, on the other hand, was very much a different matter. The dog seemed to be able to smell Anyx from a mile away. Although these days, it had to be said, so could pretty much anyone else.
As he came up towards the front door the dwarf formulated a plan. It wasn't, he had to admit to himself, a particularly ingenious plan but it was a plan nevertheless. He would simply walk in through the front door and allow himself to be bowled over and mauled by the dog. Then, once Mrs Phlood had managed to pull the beast away from him, he would mutter something about having the rent in his room, make his way up the stairs, grab his stuff and make his escape through the window. Of course he would feel bad about leaving Mrs Phlood without her money but, looking on the bright side, at least she was getting rid of a lousy tenant.
Just as he was plucking up the courage to face the dog a huge hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him round. Recognition was instant. 'Ron! You scared the shi... hell out of me. I thought you were Grantt!'
Ron guffawed, which is, apparently, something only very large men can do.[20] 'Luckily for you I'm not,' the giant replied, an inane grin on his over-sized face.
'What do you mean, luckily for me?' Anyx retorted indignantly. 'It's because of you and your crazy mates that Grantt is... oh, it doesn't matter. What do you want, anyway?'
'We think that you should meet Robin.'
'Well, the thing is I'm in a bit of a hurry right now, Ron. Tell your crazed leader that I may have a window in my schedu
le sometime next week...'
'Oh, Robin isn't interested in windows,' Ron replied. 'He lives in the woods. And that's where we're going.' With that he picked up the dwarf, flung him over his shoulder, and headed towards the South Gate.
22
The door to the Golden Griffin was firmly locked, and there was a sign pinned to the door - 'Closed due to the management being arrested. Sorry for the inconevi invocen sorry if you're not happy. The Asistent Managar.'
Lenny peered at the sign 'Oh dear,' he muttered. 'That's a shame. We'll have to come back another time...'
The doctor stepped forward. 'Seven years, huh? I didn't take you for a quitter,' he said, and proceeded to bang heavily on the door.
After a moment or two a voice came from inside. 'Can't you read? We're closed!'
The doctor didn't reply. Instead he just kept knocking.
'Alright, alright,' the voice from within protested. 'Keep your hair on!'
The door opened a crack and a small, round and pimple-strewn face appeared, strikingly similar to Cleat's but on a smaller scale. 'I said we're closed!'
The doctor pushed the door open and brushed the youth aside. Although generally not one for any physical activity of any sort the doctor could be very imposing when he felt there was cause. 'We'll only keep you a moment,' he informed the affronted youngster. 'Your sign mentioned something about somebody being arrested.'
'My father, the landlord.' confirmed the youth sulkily. 'Cleat.'
'And you are?' asked Lenny gently.
'Obadiah Pancreatic Cleat Junior,' was the surly response.
'Well, Junior,' said the doctor, pulling up a chair, 'we require information about a group of men we think your father may have had some business with. In return we may be able to help your father...'
'At some later stage,' Lenny interjected.
'Indeed, as my companion here says, probably at some later stage. We also require two flagons of ale. Now, about these Merrie Men...'
23
Ron set off at a furious pace and Anyx found himself being jolted about mercilessly. 'For crying out loud, Ron,' he cried, from somewhere around the giant's kidneys, 'this is ridiculous.'
Ron continued at the same speed. 'Seems like a good idea to me.'
Anyx managed to grab hold of the giant's beard. 'Will you please just stop, you bloody great oaf!'
'Ow,' Ron replied. 'That hurts.'
'Well if you don't put me down I'll pull the whole bleeding thing out!'
'I didn't mean you pulling my beard. I meant you calling me an oaf.'
Despite being mercilessly jerked about Anyx somehow managed to shake his head in disbelief. 'Ron, please stop. I know you think this is a good idea but there are several reasons why it isn't.'
Ron slowed but still didn't stop. 'What reasons?' he asked cautiously.
'Well, firstly it's your idea, so it's hardly likely to be a good one, is it?'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean that thinking isn't exactly your strong point.'
Ron considered this. 'No,' he admitted at last. 'Being strong is my strong point.'
'I'm sure that's right,' Anyx agreed. 'Ron, please stop, I'm beginning to feel sick.'
'I don't think stopping is a good idea.'
'Again, you're trying to do the thinking thing. Why don't you let me do the thinking for you?'
Ron slowed to walking pace. 'I still think you should meet Robin,' he said, re-adjusting the dwarf upon his shoulder.
Anyx sighed. 'Okay, why don't you tell me why you want me to meet another of your barking mad buddies?'
'Because I think he'd like to meet you. To thank you, you know.'
'To thank me for what, exactly?'
'Well, you saved us from being arrested, right?' Ron pointed out. 'That makes you very important, probably.'
Anyx groaned. Ron and his buddies were all obviously nuttier than a packet of cashews... but, well hey, what else was he doing right now anyway? He made his mind up.
'Alright Ron, I'll come with you, but at least let me get my stuff. You'll need to take me back to my lodgings.'
'You don't need to worry about that, dwarf,' Ron replied. 'Will's already nipped in there and got all your things. He said you didn't have much. Oh, and that the dog is
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