Rude Awakenings

by Jonathan Eaves

Grantt immediately as a matter of life and death - went totally unheeded.

  'He's not here,' the Sergeant-at-Arms grunted as he made to close the cell door. 'There's been a public disturbance down at the Craggy Face. Seems that one of the barmaids has been serving up more than drinks, if you know what I mean, and her husband found out.'

  'Which one?' asked Anyx half-interestedly. 'Amethyst or Onyx?'

  The Sergeant paused in shutting the door. 'Sapphire, I think her name was. Thighs like monoliths, apparently. There's no accounting for taste.'

  'So Grantt's down there now, is he, quelling the riot?' enquired the dwarf.

  'Quelling it? He was the one who started it. Apparently the husband is his cousin, or something.'

  'Right. Cares a lot about his family then, does he?'

  'Oh yeah, there's nothing else that brings him joy quite as much as spending time with his daughter, for example.'

  Anyx's stomach flipped, and not for the first time he thought that maybe the Maid A'Veil hostage idea wasn't exactly one of his best. 'His, um, daughter, you say.'

  'Yeah, she's a lovely girl and the Captain just dotes on her,' the Sergeant-at-Arms stated. He leant his shoulder against the door jamb and folded his arms. 'Oh yes, when he's with her it's the only time I've ever seen him look, well, human, if you pardon the expression. And if anyone ever so much as laid a finger on her, well, I wouldn't like to be that person. In fact, that person probably wouldn't be that person for very much longer, if you follow my drift.'

  Anyx, paying due consideration to the conventions of literary narrative, gulped. 'I think I see what you're getting at, yes,' he said. 'Would you mind if I asked you to leave now? I've got a bit of thinking to do.'

  The Sergeant-at-Arms looked aggrieved. 'Well if my company's not good enough for you...' he sniffed, and then slammed the massive oaken door behind him, plunging the cell into darkness.

  Almost immediately Anyx could hear the scrabbling of rats. It was amazing, the dwarf considered, how rodents could play word games; after all, how the bloody hell did they manage to hold onto the tiles?

  37

  A couple of hours passed before the cell door re-opened, although it had felt an awful lot longer, the dwarf reflected, especially because he had been forced to endure listening to an argument as to whether 'mousetrap' was all one word.

  When the door was eventually opened the sudden brightness temporarily blinded the dwarf, and it took him a few seconds before he could discern that the huge shape now blocking the doorway was none other than Captain Grantt. There were fresh nicks around the troll's head and neck, Anyx noticed, and which, he feared, would do little to improve the troll's legendary ill temper.

  'You wanted to see me, dwarf,' Grantt snarled. 'A matter of life and death, eh? It had better be - I don't make a habit of visiting the cells. At least not to chat.'

  The dwarf jumped to his feet, not that it made the slightest difference - the troll still towered over him. Grantt, quite frankly, scared the crap out of him, but he was determined not to show his fear. He cleared his throat. 'I... want to make a bargain.'

  Grantt laughed. 'What could you possibly have in your possession that would interest me,' he scoffed.

  'Well...'

  The troll leaned forward. 'Unless, perhaps, you have information regarding your terrorist friends...?'

  The dwarf took a deep breath. 'It's about your daughter,' he blurted.

  The huge troll was on Anyx before he could move, and in a flash he found himself pressed against the cell wall, his feet dangling several feet from the ground.

  'What about my daughter, dwarf?' The troll's face, never the prettiest of sights, glowered with fury.

  The dwarf struggled to answer. 'She's been kidnapped,' he managed to croak.

  'I hope, for your sake dwarf, that this is some kind of joke,' Grantt growled. 'Because if it isn't, then your life expectancy will be significantly curtailed. To about 7 seconds.'

  Anyx gulped painfully. He had heard enough about the troll to suspect that he wouldn't hesitate in carrying out his threat. 'Listen, I'm innocent in all this... mostly. Have you never heard the phrase don't shoot the messenger?'

  Grantt smiled what was possibly the most frightening smile Anyx had ever seen.

  'Oh I wasn't planning on shooting you,' the troll declared.

  'No?'

  'No. I'm planning for it to be much messier than that.'

  Anyx flinched at the image. 'Listen,' he said - in what he hoped was a calm, friendly, conciliatory tone but which actually sounded more like a terrified squeak - 'if we're both reasonable and don't make any, um, hasty decisions then everything will come out alright.'

  Grantt eyed Anyx with an obsidian stare and momentarily toyed with the idea of torturing the dwarf in order to establish his daughter's whereabouts, but then quickly decided against it; after all the rack was currently in use, he recalled - Cleat the Landlord was currently doing a five to ten stretch, five feet to ten feet - and, what's more, the thumbscrews were threaded. He'd have to order some new ones. Anyway, it was just possible that this dwarf could lead him to the rest of his fanatical friends. He considered the best course of action for a few moments.

  'Alright,' he said at last. He released the dwarf to fall in a heap at his feet. 'I presume you have a demand?'

  'I'd prefer to call it a request,' replied the dwarf, struggling to his feet. He tried to smile. 'It's, um, less confrontational that way.'

  'Just get on with it.'

  'Okay,' said Anyx. He winced as he put his weight onto his feet. He'd obviously sprained his ankle. 'Firstly-'

  'Firstly? You have the audacity to present more than one request?'

  'Firstly you release the Moor, Azif,' the dwarf continued, attempting to ignore the troll's menacing tone.

  'You want the release of the Painted One?' reflected Grantt.

  The dwarf was confused. 'Painted?' he asked.

  'He is painted all over his face.'

  'What, like at a kiddies' party? Tiger stripes, that sort of thing?'

  'He is... tattooed, I think he calls it,' Grantt explained. Then a thought struck him. 'So you don't even know this Azif, whose release you are risking your life for?'

  'Er... I only know of him... through mutual friends, to speak. And I wasn't aware I was risking my life. Well, at least not until a few moments ago-'

  'You're merely the terrorists stooge. Is that not so, dwarf?''

  'I like to think of myself as the Chief Negotiator.'

  'Really?' There was amusement in the troll's voice. Or as much amusement as a troll could muster. 'Then negotiate away, Chief.'

  'Secondly,' (and Anyx had only just thought of this), 'we will need the three fastest horses in the Castle stables.' That way, he thought, there would be no need for them to take A'Veil with them.

  Grantt made no indication as to whether he would agree to these terms. Nevertheless the dwarf continued regardless. 'And thirdly, there will be no trickery at the exchange. You will release me now and I will bring your daughter to a pre-arranged place and you, and you alone, will bring Azif and the horses. At all times an expert archer will be covering you to ensure no duplicity.'

  Suddenly Grantt grinned. 'An archer? An arrow cannot harm me.'

  'No,' agreed the dwarf. And now he forced himself to act confident. It was crucial that the troll believed, beyond doubt, his next words. 'But he may miss you... and hit your daughter.'

  Grantt stiffened. 'You're quite the nasty little bastard,' he growled. 'Hear me, dwarf. If you harm her I will hunt you down and when I catch you, and, believe me, I will catch you, your death will be as long and slow and painful as I can possibly make it.'

  Anyx nodded at the threat - he had expected nothing less. But there was no going back now. 'Do as I say, Captain, and the Maid A'Veil will come to no harm. Besides, you will hunt us down anyway, so is it not better that you do your hunting safe in the knowledge that A'Veil is unharmed?'

  'You are right, dwarf. I will hunt
you down regardless.' The fury on the troll's face was palpable.

  'Of course you will,' the dwarf agreed mildly. 'But you won't simply leave your daughter on her own in order to take up the chase immediately, will you? Returning her to the city will give us enough of a start, don't you think?'

  Grant snarled, but the dwarf was not to be put off. 'And we'll be on horseback,' he continued. 'We'll be miles away before you can even begin your pursuit.'

  'Let me assure you, dwarf, that there is no start big enough to prevent me from finding you. Besides, you forget one thing - our lupine friends. They'll take up your scent and be on you before night falls.'

  Anyx had indeed forgotten about the wolves. But he would have to cross that bridge when he came to it. Or river, maybe, continuing the line of thought. 'Well, we'll just have to take our chances, won't we?'

  Grantt glowered at the dwarf for what seemed like an age. Eventually he nodded his head.

  'Very well, dwarf' he said. 'I agree to your 'requests'. Where is the meeting place?'

  'There is a disused croft half a league to the south, before the road meets the Uppen Downs,' the dwarf explained. 'I'll mark the road where you will need to turn off. Meet me there with Azif and the horses in two hours time.'

  'Until then,' agreed the troll. And he turned and strode out of the cell, leaving the door open behind him. It was only then that the dwarf's false confidence gave away to his genuine terror and he felt his legs buckle.

  38

  As he headed back towards the guard house Grantt struggled to control his fury. He seethed at being temporarily out-manoeuvred, and by a damn dwarf, of all things. Still, he consoled himself, it would only be a momentary set-back. Of that he would make certain.

  The Sergeant-at-Arms became aware of the Captain's approach and immediately jumped to attention. 'Sir!'

  Grantt stopped. Ah, that reminds me, he thought. 'Sergeant, those two fools on the gate; where are they now?'

  'Still on duty, sir. Due to stand down shortly, though.'

  'Have them relieved, Sergeant, and bring them to me. And then get me the fastest cart you can find. Those two are going on a little trip.'

  39

  Wacchus was sitting in the lounge, a book perched upon his knee. He'd been sitting in the same position for most of the endless afternoon, and in that time he had only managed to read four and a half paragraphs. This was because he was in a strait-jacket and although he had tried to turn the page with his foot he'd only succeeded in putting his back out.

  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Zammael enter the room. 'Hey, Zammy! Give me a break and let me out of this thing,' he shouted across to the Keeper of Abaddon.

  Zammael shook his head in weary exasperation, but walked over nonetheless. 'How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Zammy?'

  'Sorry Zammy, force of habit. Now, how about getting this thing off me?'

  You know I can't do that, Wacchus. You're simply not to be trusted.'

  'Just merely trussed, huh?'

  Zammael ignored the feeble joke.

  'Come on, Zammael. Look, it was only a little prank. I swear I won't do anything like it ever again. Besides, this thing's really uncomfortable. It's making my toga ride up something rotten, and my part of my beard has got caught in one of the buckles.'

  The warden rolled (all of) his eyes.

  'Honestly, Zammael, you can trust me,' the ex-god continued. 'It was a minor aberration, that's all.'

  'A minor aberration, you say?' The warden pulled up a chair in order to sit directly opposite the ex-god. 'Is that what you call it? Are you so foolish and self-centred that you don't realise what could have resulted from your so-called prank?'

  Wacchus was momentarily taken aback by Zammael's stern tone. 'But Zammy-'

  'In fact,' the Keeper continued, thinking back to a difficult conversation he'd had with his superior only a few moments before, 'it may already be too late.'

  'What are you talking about?' demanded Wacchus.

  'I have been informed,' Zammael stated ominously,