The Day When The Stationery Was No Longer Stationary – #Blog Battle – March Miscellanarian

Miscellany

To avoid the dangers of The Ethereal stood the ever vigilant Custodians of the Lord God’s Word. Tireless,  Evaluators of Sins and Blasphemies, Dispensers of Justice.

Officially.

Custodian Vernünftig had dispensed with this view of the entire Custodial Office. Therein could be found quotas of time-servers, bombasts, opportunists, and fanatics; each adding their own handful of grit into the workings of the Imperial Machine and the Ecclesiastes in particular, through the Sin of Wilful Stupidity. He worked with a pragmatic dictum. Get the job down sensibly you will survive and possibly succeed.

Which made him valued and sent to deal with difficult, often dangerous matters. He could not make up his mind where this current deployment fitted.

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A small princedom, not very strategic. One lordship within likewise, the noble puzzled more than flustered, welcomed his arrival.

The village did not exude any of the nascent or obvious threats he had grown to discern. The hill was some what abrupt as if someone had put it there to make a point, but not of sufficient dimensions to loom and brood.

‘I can make out the cave Guv’nor,’ Zwanglos said peering through her eyeglass ’Leastways whatever passes for one,’

Respectful to him, eye for detail and spirited. Her common of city speech, barely reverential to the official dictates and naturally her gender barred progress to Custodian. A loss. She would remain his assistant, A Tildelte. They were greeted by a clutch of villagers and the local Translator of The Lord God, a small man who seemed to be bearing the problem with but mild irritation.

‘Good Revered,’ he said as Vernünftig dismounted ‘Has anyone briefed you about the curious events emanating from that cave?’ he gestured with thumb over shoulder in the direction Zwanglos was still addressing with an eyeglass.

‘My Brother in Calling,’ Vernünftig  began, and the Translator nodded at the implied sarcasm ‘Was sparse in his report,’

‘Makes a change,’ Zwanglos volunteered ‘Ol’ Geschwollen usually won’t use ten when a hundred will declare his importance,’

‘To be precise,’ continued the Translator ‘He went up the hill, with Holy Book and Staff declaring loudly for the presence to be gone. There was an even louder ‘Be Gone You’, stuff was thrown out and down he came, rolling most of the way. His book and staff are still up there. White as swans he was. He’s recovering, somewhere, safe,’

Zwanglos fidgeted.

‘Can I get up the hill an’ retrieve ‘em Guv’nor?’

‘Yes Tildelte. But you cannot keep them,’

‘Spiffle,’ was the only audible word. He could guess the rest of the litany. While she was off, Vernünftig continued to converse with the Translator.

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‘So then. How did this all start?’ he might as well have been discussing unexpected early blooming of spring flowers, his preferred approach.

‘A traveller came through. At first we thought he was a bit lost and offered shelter. But the pest snuck out at night up the hill. The first we knew was a sudden bright light from the cave a loud cry of ‘Be Gone thief,’. By moonlight we saw him scampering off westwards never to return. It was never much of a cave more like a dent, one for shepherd to huddle in when it rained. When all that happened. Well I notified Custodian Geschwollen,’ a grimace ended the account.

‘His expertise,’ Vernünftig said, with little solemnity ‘Is more in ensuring adherence to the minutiae of religious decorum,’ he observed his Tildelte’s progress, she had the staff and the holy book ‘I fear he underestimated the problem,’

She had stopped some three quarters of the way, crouched behind a rock then directing her attention to the cave called out.

‘Wotcha! Got time for a chat?’

The illumination was bright even in daylight, the reply ‘Begone’ a boom which unsettled the escort and their mounts, Zwanglos ducked as a shower of small objects erupted from the cave.

‘Please yerself,’ she retorted and pausing to scoop up some of the missiles made an orderly retreat.

‘It’s very deep cave Guv’nor,’ she said on return and began to comb small items  out her hair.

Vernünftig, with the eyeglass studied the cave entrance, his practiced eye noting the slightest of hint of two outlines, between which was a greyness. He concluded the larger of the two outlines was the usual which the folk saw, its lighter shade indicating shallowness; therefore the deeper dark was an entrance within an entrance which had recently arisen and he did not doubt leading to some Ethereally bound location.

‘Acorns,’ said Zwanglos, offering him a handful for examination.

‘They are blue,’

‘Noteworthy that. All back to the Age of Conceits. Many experiments going on then. Some reckon as to why The Ethereal Arrived; because of footling about with cheap machines. Dunno why blue acorns though, no records about nowadays. Another thing,’ in her other hand were slender metal objects curled down at each end, since she was getting more animated Vernünftig let Zwanglos continue unabated ‘Now these. Legendary. Staples,’

‘Staples? That’s a new word on me,’

‘Definitely Age of Conceits stuff. You load them into a device. Push paper or parchment into it, thump it, and they fix all the papers together. The LifeGuard probably got one,’ she shrugged.

‘How do we know about them?’

I found out footling about in that old archive of archives, when we was investigating them heretics of Fraud’

‘Oh yes. Very tiresome,’

‘Not so bad,’

‘For you. We need to reflect and approach matters in the dawning,’

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Before sunrise the pair made a cautious approach, Zwanglos with her prize, the staff, Vernünftig never felt the need for one, he indulged her.  At the rock Vernünftig halted and called out in a stern, calm commanding tone.

‘Sir. A word with you please,’

There was a pause before the expected demand for him to leave.

‘No Sir. I cannot do that. You are causing upset to the local folk by your sudden, albeit understandable actions. I am obliged therefore to request your discourse,’

There was a silence, Vernünftig felt whoever they were they were thinking over matters. Always a tense interlude.

Then the voice boomed ‘No’

At the first inclination he was diving to cover, counterpointed by Zwanglos standing up staff pointed at the cave entrance.

Objects of varying sizes appeared, just as she yelled ‘Nah ya dont’ and blue flared from the staff, meeting the objects which halted and fell to the ground at the cave’s entrance.

Vernünftig viewed his Tildelte with mild paternalistic censure.

‘You are not supposed to be able to do that Tildelte. Yet, while whoever is shocked scuttle up there and get as many of those objects as you can,’

‘Takin’ me staff,’ she said with heavy dignity.

By the time she was back unscathed, and laying out her booty Vernünftig had made some evaluations, he viewed the variety.

‘What are these?’

‘Treasure Guv’nor. Safety pins. Erasers. Pencils. Sharpeners for Pencils. Plugs – lucky he didn’t have a basin. All sorts of small stuffs,’

‘Thank you Tildelte,’

He strode forth calling out.

‘Sir. Please cease. We have come only to discourse. Know you that you are in another time?’

There was another silence.

Then the voice came out questioning.

‘Another time? How say you? On what assurance have I?’

‘Well come forth?’ and to Zwanglos

‘And you Tildelte put that staff away. It will make the fellow nervous,’

A smallish man came out of the gloom, he was dressed in functional clothes of greys, before his eyes rested glass framed in metal. He peered out.

‘Oh my goodness. What happened to the city?’ he looked up ‘The skies are uncommonly clear. I hear not the sounds of war. All is actually calm. I thought they had come to steal and destroy? Thieves in the night,’

Vernünftig altered his pose, a slouch, hands into pockets, ironic grin.

‘My dear sir. We have much to discuss and educate each other on. We must talk, here and now. We will not be interrupted,’

There was a muted grumbling behind him.

‘Gladsome day Guv’nor. It starting rain and we’re gonna have to sit in the open while Master Mystery has the comfort of a cave,’

‘Be stalwart Tildelte. Our service often requires our discomfiture,’

She had a feeling he was making her squat in the rain for unauthorised use of a Custodial Staff. She pulled up her hood.

‘You have the evidence of your own eyes, ears and nose,’  Vernünftig reasoned ‘Time and circumstances have taken away those surroundings you knew. Were you not aware of the passage of time? Master?’

‘Thaddeus Greylane,’ it seemed as if the fellow was unsure how he felt about the name ‘I am an archivist. Not of wonderous things but the small items which mean much to ordinary folk. It is not a profession with great reputation. Yet, when The Ethereal arrived and under the weight of its implications came the subsequent failure of innovations which had been deemed necessary, then perceptions changed. It seemed as if everyone with any motivation of preservation was trying to store items and information,’ and this point he shrugged ‘And it all came my way. Small objects, books, memory containers, poured, into my offices. There was no help either. So many people were involved in survival, machinery and fighting. The influx was such that I fear my offices sunk somewhat, in a gentle way, which I assumed to be through causes Ethereal, until eventually I was blessed only with artificial illumination. What else could I do, but carry on my work, it was either that or go quite mad,’

‘I see you point,’ Vernünftig said in all sincerity, a not uncommon outcome when in pursuit of or the maintenance of knowledge. ‘Were you aware of detailed events?’

‘I could not say for sure. All measure of days passed by. I had some idea that frightful matters were taking place and unearthly creatures were abroad, but no one or nothing threatened me. I continued and itemised some fifty -seven thousand, four hundred and thirty two major items, each with their sub-categories, averaging fifty-two and then there was the issue of classifications,’

Vernünftig conducted some mental maths.

‘Your archive must be vast,’

‘When one relies on clerical records, yes,’

The man’s whole demeanour had quite relaxed, Vernünftig thus pressed on.

‘Thus came the day when you were aware of someone?’

‘Indeed, a furtive, vulgar air intruded. I was alarmed, all my hard work being pilfered. Not being a person versed in weaponry, I threw disposable things, and tried to sound in authority,’ he peered around Vernünftig ‘I fear your assistants caused similar alarm, although this one less bombast and more protective,’

Zwanglos managed a feminine smile and brief wave.

‘She is young, enthusiastic and loyal. I fear my predecessor lacked diplomacy,’

The fellow had obviously been thinking over matter.

‘So much change, in surroundings, dress, accents. How much time has passed?’

‘The Ethereal,’ Vernünftig began as it seemed common ground ‘Was and still is a vast field for study. You may have travelled through and not passed centuries,’

‘Oh my,’

Zwanglos had squelched up.

‘Ethereal takes a bit of getting used to,’  she said ‘That said. Since you could throw lots of pins and things around I reckons you got Ethereal in you, therefore could be quick on the uptake,’

Vernünftig clapped a hand on her shoulder, she sagged.

‘Splendid idea Tildelte. You will stay here and exchange information with Master Greylane. You are ideally suited .It might take a year or so, but will be good and worthy work,’

He began to pace down the hill.

‘Where you going Guv’nor?’ she demanded.

‘I am going to find that wretch who started this, learn what he knew and what was his purpose,’

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Greylane addressed his puzzled attention to her.

She had to admit such rummaging did sound compelling also bringing the fellow up to date. And she kept the staff.

‘Firstly. Can I come out of the rain?’ she asked, adding ‘Why blue acorns?’

 

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The Way Things Work January #BlogBattle-Dynamic

Out There Navigate

He awoke like wading through jam. There was that rhythm of a brightly delivered  knock on his quarters door.

‘Compositor. If you please,’ and there was the high cheery voice.

After the customary reflex swear word Sylan opened one eye.

‘Yeah. On my way ’ the gruff bark was acceptable in the situation.

As the door slid open a slender face, bright yet with some concern looked up at him, at the caller’s side a large dog stood tongue out, tail wagging. Sylan scowled at both.

‘Lady Ensign Croí Eadrom,’ he said being as civil as possible.

‘This is my dog. Reluctance,’ she said in mock sincerity ‘Thus you can see I am disturbing your precious rest with great Reluctance,’

Sylan pinched the bridge of his nose. Irrespective of her superior lineage, exasperation begged he should empty the nearby jug of water over her. Thankfully her  whimsicality stilled the urge.

‘We have an issue?’ a fatalistic question. This was the problem with serving on a scout corvette, no room for two shifts of Compositors.

She grimaced remaining wide-eyed, again comic

‘A cluster of titchy Depressions. A light year out and closing. Popping in and out. C’mon,’ she said to both Compositor and dog and they followed, Sylan not sharing the carefree easy canine gait. How and from where?  In the meantime he had to consider those fist size version of black holes, darting out of the Four Dimensions seeming not to be adhering to The Speed of Light.  Corvettes could dance away from them, the larger the ship, the greater the time and space needed to steer away from them; hence corvettes, a wide gossamer, scouting ahead, seeking these, the latest unexpected  and broadcasting the warnings.

When it came to the welfare of the World Craft, five hundred myles long and an irregular width at maximum of a hundred myles, warnings had to be  multiplied to scales of years of time to react. Initially all on the shoulders of a few. He supposed that was how it worked. He only dealt in figures, not ramifications.

The Ensign as usual chattered away about how she loved the corvette, the stars, the mysteries of The Universe. She made the whole vista of danger seem, so natural, to be met and respected.

Lorgaire Thall captain of the Corvette Gealbhan was again reading It Doesn’t Work Like That. A somewhat bold treatise on The Ethereal by controversial theorist Maighdean Ardea. Nonetheless he oft referred to it for perspective. Unknown and Unexpected being the trade of The Avant Squadrons. The constant challenge of matching the Four Dimensions with depths of The Ethereal.

‘I maintain this is more evidence of White Hole possibility Captain,’ said his navigator handing him the summary ‘This clutch of Depressions did indeed just appear. Flung out as it were,’

‘The Ethereal was enough of a trial upon The World, Navigator. Out here in the Cosmos these seeming spontaneities would have us believe travel between stars   near impossible,’

‘As we journey we learn Captain,’

‘Indeed we do Navigator. At one Inspiring and Humbling,’

‘Once long ago, around and on The World we The Ard Tiarnai thought ourselves knowledgeable above all. The High King did warn us,’

‘Captain,’

Captain, Navigator and Lieutenant of the Watch all turned. Compositor Sylan, typical of his race could not match their physical elegance, yet his eyes bright and manner alert indicated the dexterity so common amongst The Fiontraíoch folk. Woe unto any of the Ard Tiarnai who thought the Fiontraíoch to be lesser folk.

‘I regret having to disturb your rest time. Master Compositor,’ Captain Thall said.

‘The Cosmos is no respecter of our comfort,’ Sylan replied ‘We should be grateful we got this far,’

‘I respect the gloom of your long-term forecasts Compositor,’

‘It would be nice to be wrong on that score, but I suppose Captain, the more persistent we are the more we reduce the possibility. How may I assist you with these Depressions?’

The Navigator laid out the chart and the information dutifully printed from the Assessor machines, and he appraised Sylan of his own estimations. Naturally Sylan listen attentively. Not his place to interrupt a Navigator.

‘May I sit Captain?’

‘Of course Master Compositor,’

Seated he surveyed the evidence, then with all due respect asked the Navigator to repeat his own estimations. The three officers accepted this; novice ensigns were ever lectured not to ever question a Compositor. Sylan set down his thick pad of paper and with an ancient pen began to write. As he did he spoke. His gruff basic accent falling away as his tones turned to a slow steady litany.

‘It bears repeating sirs, if the opportunity arises, you should visit the hub of the Engines of World Craft. Of course Compositors and our like have to witness this majesty. The many chambers, five miles underground set in catacombs so grand in dimensions that if empty a squadron of  battleships of the fleets could dock in each. Therein are the devices. The towering grey obelisks inscribed with external wiring like long forgotten runes. Their companions, the shimmering black towers, plain, implanting in an observer the feeling they are watching them with hidden eyes. All connected by intricate patterns of piping veins for miles of secret wirings, and leading far beyond to deeper places wherein lie the vast dangerous machines. Heavy and looking deceptively ponderous as they churn, or slowly spin or grind away supplying the World Craft with its atmosphere, tides, weathers, days, nights, shielding from the uncaringly hostile universe, and by magnificent ingenuity its movement at speed belying the bulk,’

Two pages were by then inscribed with figures, small neat script starting in the horizontal, then veering at occasions into vertical, and back again to level until the script became patterns within patterns.

Sylan stopped and slumped a little over his work, from one alcove on the deck appeared the Lady Ensign Croí Eadrom a raven on her shoulder up in a light steps she moved to Sylan and upon reaching him set her hands gently upon his shoulders, in response he absently patted hers. She and her bird looked to her Captain. Before she could speak, he said, with a sigh.

‘Yes I know Ensign. You come with Grave Concerns,’

At mention of  its name the bird inclined its head. The Captain treasured these irreverences of hers.

‘As you wish you may take Compositor Sylan back to his quarters where he may be allowed to resume his rest. Thank you Compositor,’

Mute and now smiling Sylan rose and once more patting the ensign’s hands left the deck. He knew he had been at work, but right now, even though recently formed, the memories were evasive, he would shepherd them in after he rested. The bird hoped onto his shoulder. Her menagerie. Ever the mystery.

On the deck the Navigator examined the figures.

‘Captain. I will need to verify by examination through my two auditors and Assessor machines, but it would seem we need swift evasion of the squadron, alert the sub-fleet on station to act as necessary and to pass this back to fleet command with a strong recommendation they report onto World Craft Naval for them to alert Council and High King that the World Craft should take prompt oblique course from current,’

‘That is indeed a heavy work load Navigator. You must attend without delay,’

Permission given The Navigator left.

‘Lieutenant of the Watch,’ Lorgaire Thall said ‘As we cannot burn up any time waiting, I will be in my quarters drafting the introduction to my final despatch, a task which will take some time. Corvette Gealbhan is now within your charge. Ensure those Depressions are observed for the slightest deviation in path or alteration in speed. Therein will be the only reasons for you to interrupt me,’

Lieutenant of the Watch gave out the necessary orders to all crew on observation duties. In addition to make sure nothing was missed he allocated extra crew to the task. All matters attended to he took his stance, gazing outwards, not action of any use of course; yet you could not help but be drawn to the immensity, a craft had to have its share of viewing ports. No amount of devices could make up for the urge to physically see.

Being alone he allowed himself the luxury of a sigh. There would be no rest for the next five, even ten watches. Any information which suggested The World Craft would have to make even the slightest change in direction would end up being a converted to a political decision. Not just propulsion or direction, but environmental adjustments would be made, even shifts in populations to compensate. How many of the thirty millions he wondered. And there would be those subsequent affects on the productions of support, the shepherding of floral and fauna.

Decisions to be taken upon the entire Dynamics which would start with the information from one speck of a craft. Although the responsibility now weighed upon all of the crew, he was glad to he out here and not back upon  the World Craft locked into the entirety of the administrations levels likely to be tasked with coping of any changes.

A door opened, there were soft skipping footfalls. 

‘Ensign Croí Eadrom’ he said, without turning ‘Is our Compositor settled?’

‘He rests,’ she said drawing alongside, no bird nor dog in sight, in a most  unconventional action she whistled soft ‘How is it possible someone can produce so many figures, so precisely, so quickly, ahead of any machines?’  

‘I am sure I do not know. In any case it is not good manners, nor productive to question the nature of any race, nor why within each race some excel at one discipline or another. There is no room for such,’

‘That’s true. Just curious,’ she quipped joining in his gazing ‘We all have our tasks,’ another soft whistle ‘Makes you think though, dun it?’ he winced at he mangling of language ‘I mean. Here we are, all in a flurry over titchy things,’

‘Depressions can carve through a planet’s surface if they strike. The damage to something as delicate as a World Craft is ghastly to imagine. Solid objects we can handle,’ he gestured to the depths, the unseen ‘Those Depressions are unstoppable. All necessary actions must be taken soon,’

‘Yer,’ she continued ignoring the requirements of acceptable speech ‘We’re not so grand are we? We have to keep on our toes,’ one hand drifted into a pocket of her jacket and she brought out a small brown and white rabbit, which she proceeded to cuddle and stroke. ‘Always keep alert I say,’

The Lieutenant had been waiting this, she always did this at some stage, but he’d caught her out, surely.

‘That’s a rabbit,’ he pointed out with solemnity. ‘I would suggest there is not even any lerts,’

‘Rabbits,’ she replied with a dignity so heavy as to be comic ‘Are always alert. Hence her name,’

‘Alert?’ he replied sensing defeat.

‘Quite so,’ she said, and with the rabbit settled on one shoulder popped upon a large pocket, the heads of two mice mouse appeared. ‘These are the Concern Sisters,’ she explained ‘I need discuss with the observation crew their morale, I will explain I have small concerns,’

He shared the rest of the crew puzzlement on how she managed to inspire cheerfulness, or level out tensions with such humour. No one of course discussed just why she was here. It was unspoken. To do so might upset the entire system; each unto their own, on this journey vast to them, but a speck to the Universe.

One slender thread in the pattern of Survival. From here on a corvette to Council of The High King on the World Craft. It was how The Dynamics worked.

These Chartered Yet Unsettled Waters December #BlogBattle-Navigate

Navigation 2

‘Spoofle,’

Queen Gervalene’s muted outburst was as much a commentary as she would allow herself.

Both her grandfather Gerveg (The Rock) her father Gerveg II (The Just) had died early, their bodies giving out through the demands of their spirits and minds. The former through war, the latter at the demands of constructing an iron sure administration. Thus was Greymorell a stable, uniform and secure kingdom amongst a region of still dyspeptic neighbours.

Not one which had previously had a queen though. And a young one.    

Gervalene knew there were many unhappy about this. However, she was the only heir to her father and the laws were quite specific about The Line of Succession. Such were the heritages of her forbearers no one questioned The Law.

The Law, however, would not stop folk nagging her about the Supremacy of her Council, ‘Ware The Ethereal’ and naturally Marriage.

After her coronation she had spent twenty and five days at this wind and sea swept remote bastion. Contemplating. At least people respected that; The House of Nüchtern was ever serious and reflective. She was of The Blood and would do her duty.

Whatever storms. She rolled up her chart.

 

Queen Gervalene’s wish to ride the sixty miles back to Castle Verwaltung was in keeping with House of Nüchtern.

On arrival she was greeted by her trusted Lady of Service Liefje.

‘Your Highness. Chancellor Dringend and council await,’

‘Choppy waters,’ she added.

‘Of course,’ Gervalene said.

‘And sewerage spill,’

‘Oh,’

 

‘Your highness,’ Dringend observed the stride of Gervalene’s entry, still dressed in manly riding gear, gauntlets into her belt. No delay with changes into courtish dresses.

‘My Lords,’ she called as if hailing another in a fog ‘To business,’ 

Murmuring of approval.

Nonetheless Dringend felt it was his duty to ensure this young Queen listened and did as advised. Unforeseen problems had arrived.

‘Your Hghness’ promptness is to be praised,’ as always, he drew breath before he launched into the list of ‘matters’

Taking advantage of the calm before the storm Gervalene steered towards the table bearing a large map and being studied by Duke Krijgsman, commander of the Greymorallench army, of noble bearing, veteran, widowed.

Conventional courtly wisdom reckoned just the right husbandly material for a young untested queen.

All eyes were on Gervalene, evidently she was drawn to him. He smiled, benignly, a good open gambit.

She drew closer.

Finger traced along the map.

‘My dearest duke. I am comforted to see you studying our positions. With the empire still being young, it is necessary to consider our security and make good our loyalty,’ she leaned in focusing on a land two kingdoms away ‘The question of Accession in Unurhig threatens war, thus spilling into our fayre neighbours in Besorgt. Our emperor dislikes squabbles. Please invoke the Treaty of Wohlwollen. Our neighbour King Glücklos will be relieved we come to aid of both Besorgt and beyond,’

Krijgsman appeared conflicted, then resolved. Whereas he had intended to make initial maneuvers for the queen’s hand, going back to his youth he had a particular loathing for the trouble making faction in Unurhig. Gervalene smiled encouragingly.

‘With all due speed your Highness,’ he said heart moving ahead of head and loins ‘Unurhig is a complex land, the campaign will take some time,’ It was, he felt only correct to let her disappointment down gently. As she had steered him to.

‘Good Duke, your attentions to duties does you credit,’ Gervalene said and swiveled to lock eyes upon a small man of attentive and eager poise, ‘Lord Ferris Clerke of Our Offices. Please draft correspondence of Emperor Lexor explaining our intention in this is to support the empire and request our consideration for Duke Krijgsman to be elevated to a General for the Imperial Throne,’

Krijgsman’s beam of pride was equaled by that of Ferris’. Ferris had yearned often not just to record the word of the Throne of Greymorell, but to draft on its behalf. The honour of trust. Oh Joy!

 

Dringend already distracted was caught off guard by the speed and astuteness of Gervalene’s moves which he had to admit were flawless. The marriage matter would be moved down the agenda. There were other sudden unwelcome issues.

‘He’s got the Tightening Nostrils; father warned me about those. Here come the serious squalls, and watch out for flying sewerage,’

 ‘Your Highness,’ Dringend said teeth gritted ‘Our own Arch Expeditor of The Lord God’s Word, Aufgeblasen has been unexpectedly, or so it seems, visited by Imperial Custodian Captain Ondsindet. They approach,’

Ah. The Sewerage,’

Gervalene had to assume Dringend had been, for once, outmaneuvered. There was mutual dislike between the Chancellor and senior fellow in the religious hierarchy of Greymorell. She had to assume this Ondsindet was another of the opportunistics looking to rise up the ranks. The Imperial Office of Religious Purity was full of them. A chancer seeing a new and young queen as easy pickings. Aufgeblasen by association must be trying for an imperial office.

Now for a hard tack into the wind as her old marine bodyguard would say.  

She appraised them in best emotionless regal style as her father had taught her. For when The Time came.

‘Gentlemen,’ she said. There were mental gasps. Displeasure. The Queen was not using either man’s title. When arrogantly challenged that had been her father’s opening response. She had been taught well ‘You concerns please,’

Aufgeblasen at seeing a younger female version of Gerveg faltered, playing for time coughed and cleared his throat, Ondsindet ignorant of the land’s heritage forged on. There was strong evidence of a spready of Whychery into ‘this realm’, it had been simmering but with the death of Gerveg II had moved to seize the prize, he did check himself by adding the words ‘during transition’, but Gervalene caught the message. ‘Instead of Ethereal he had used the abusive word ‘Whychery ’and not just insulted her but her father. Prepare to engage,’

‘Your solicitude is appreciated Captain Custodian,’ some imagined frost was in the air ‘This is weighty indeed. A regent must care for their people. Respect their emperor. But must above all serve The Good Lord God,’

Having made what probably would not be a very memorable statement she curtly ordered the two men to follow her. A glance from her Chancellor and the ceremonial guard fiercely stepped into the herd the two men.

Gervalene did not pay attention to the words trailing her or Aufgeblasen’s puffing to keep pace, anyway she was sure he knew what was coming. They steered the swift tack to port and she led them down a quiet corridor to an rarely visited room.  She knocked softly.

‘Please enter,’ came a quavery, friendly voice

Theologian To The Throne Geleerd had been middle aged in her grandfather’s years, unofficially he was known as The Conscience of House Nüchtern. It was known, but not spoken of, that he had been the only one who could steer both Gervegs away from some of their more frighteningly harsh ideas. He maintained an unswerving iron resolve to the moderate and could quote from all five holy books in a gentle but deep reproof to his target. Those who thought him a wandering old duffer were swiftly appraised otherwise.

Gervalene took his hands as he rose with greetings to her, his body seemed to rely on resolve to keep going.

‘Your Highness. How kind to visit,’ a twinkle came into his eye ‘And you dear Aufgeblasen,’ then a knowing look ‘A Captain Custodian too. I am honored,’

 Steering around the smidge of sarcasm Gervalene explained the reason for the visit.

‘Dear Master Geleerd,’ Gervalene spoke as grand-niece ‘These gentlemen,’ there could have been more frost and a chill breeze ‘Are concerned over matters of Ethereal Abuse in Our realm,’ one admonishing regal index finger rose as The Custodian began to say ‘Whychery,’ he got as far as ‘Wh’  ‘As your queen I would ask of you to discuss this with them,’

          ‘Of course, your highness,’ he said with much affection.

          He had been her Ethics tutor, he taught with humour. She still thought of him as an uncle.

          ‘I will instruct the guard to stay. To ensure there are no interruptions,’ these words were addressed to Ondsindet.

          And she left, Aufgeblasen full aware that there was going to be a remorselessly long discourse which would leave him floundering. Why he could not have avoided this? She had moved so fast. Ondsindet was on his own.

 

          The muted hub-bub stopped on her return.

          ‘Let us be seated good lords,’ she said ‘There must be more to discuss,’

          Dringend was impressed by her maneuverers, she was indeed of The Blood and presently he was in her wake. At his imperceptible nod others waded in with their own matters.

          As Gervalene could only grasp about one quarter of what was being said but assumed each proponent had his own possibly financial interest. To avoid the shoals of delay she agreed to proposals, although saying pointedly to the clerkes ‘Let the record show: On the advice of- ‘. Thus, when something went wrong, as it probably would, everyone knew who to blame. After the first two had doomed themselves, the others were less intense with their interests. Tax reform reducing the burden on the wealthy was completely dropped.

 

          The council ended. Two remaining. As Dringend gathered his papers Gervalene placed a hand softly on his arm.

          ‘This was all a test? I am sure you could have stifled clumsy Aufgeblasen without my help,’

          Dringend seemed to muse on the question.

          ‘The Regent will ever be the last bastion,’ he replied.

          As cryptic as the reply was she read the undertow.

          ‘I do hope The Captain Custodian is careful with his subsequent commentary. He should know how much in Fond Regard Dear Gerleed is held in our realm. And The Emperor would not like some mere Captain Custodian to upset such a loyal realm,’

          ‘Quite so Your Highness,’

         There was unsaid agreement.

          The Guards would report on words overheard. Agents disguised as peasants would record predictably sour comments made by the fellow on his journey out of the realm. It would all be managed and filtered to the Emperor.

          Ondsindet would be wrecked on the rocks of politics. Aufgeblasen would limp back to his safe habours and be compliant.

          ‘Marriage? Another day then?’

          ‘Quite so Your Highness,’

 

          In the deep night she surveyed her chart, it had served her well, warning of the dangers upon this stretch of the Sea of Life. Look to the Ethereal for guidance but never predictions. When her abilities had surfaced Geleerd was there to tutor her, as he had with her father. She learnt never to abuse the ability only to navigate with it. Her chart, crafted with her own skills. And never make much of this gift. Just a skill like any other.

 

          She slipped into bed welcoming arms enfolded her.

          ‘Long day sweetling,’ sympathised Liefje.

          ‘There will be the marriage thing,’ came the grumble.

          ‘Got an answer. Grand Duke Profugi. Younger son of Maggiore of Cisapline. His older half-brother wants him dead to tidy up the inheritance. It’s not unusual thereabouts. He’d make a good King Consort. The rank and station would remove him as a threat to his sibling. Thus, he would be happy to settle here,’

          ‘There will have to be children, ‘grumbled Gervalene in between yawns ‘I like children and would make it my business to cope with pregnancy and labour. It’s the starting which vexes me,’

          ‘Only a few times a year,’ Liefje said ‘after that he can run free, but discreetly. He will understand. It’s ever such a common arrangement these days. And you can learn to be friends. He is known to be affable and open minded,’     

‘A few times a year,’ Gervalene muttered as sleep advanced ‘Oh the duties my realm calls upon me,’ her hand squeezed Leifje’s ‘Be thou my guide sweet pilot,’ she said and slipped off to sleep.

          ‘Thine evermore sweet Captain,’ Liefje whispered in reply and kissed the sleeping head.

On The Matter of Asking (a sort of follow up to ‘A Singular Circumstance. One Summer’s Day’) September #BlogBattle-Eschaton

End of Days

Storms whose furies dwarfed the worst of winters past, driving the might of seas up rivers and into the least streams. Lands turbulent, restless as fever haunted sleepers. Mountains in anger threw down rock, snow and ice or hauled up worse from the depths of the earth. Disease flourished in the resultant death. And in the terror came myriad small wars.

For those charged with remaining calm and analytical the evidence led to one plausible conclusion. This in turn begged further examination for this conclusion flew against hard won rational beliefs founded in the sciences and many a mighty machine.  Yet all pointed to lore based on creed of the heart and ephemeral faith . The urgency of the matter compacted what might have otherwise been years of debate into mere days, for the process envisaged was innovative, an appeal to Devine Agencies. Across the breadth of consensus, there was, however, no other option. As one put it.

‘It’s worth a try,’

‘Lady Betrügerin? The Ghost of?’

‘If you likes Custodian Vastberaden. I’m  not fussy. Thanks for recognising me though. A girl likes to have a bit of a reputation. Quite a bit of effort there, getting yourself noticed by us. Took a risk. I could’ve nobbled you without discourse,’

‘It’s a time when risks don’t matter,’

‘I suppose it would be fer you folk, down on the ground there,’

The brief conversation concluded as the mist cleared, and light blue passageway ended with a simple wood arched door. The woman of youthful appearance and three centuries notoriety, knocked with deference, but spoke otherwise.

‘He’s ‘ere Guv’nor,’

‘Thank you Betrügerin,’

Opening the door and with a less than sober gesture of invitation Betrügerin stood to one side allowing the Custodian to pass through.

‘Best of luck with your pitch mate,’ she said and passed back into the mist.

Although the atmosphere of the room seemed clear Vastberaden discerned more mist, of a soft coastal sort, the variance made the task of focusing on the man at the other end of the room, problematic. The only detail The Custodian was certain of, the fellow was tall and studying a map laid out on a table, which might have been bigger than first inspection. Vastberaden supposed there would be challenges to the senses when meeting someone who was arbiter of the fate of the world.

‘Custodian Vastberaden,’ the voice was quite ordinary, paradoxically Vastberaden would have been disappointed if he had been addressed in majestic echoing tones, the business to him would seem to have smacked of ostentation. ‘You did not journey here of your own volition. Sent at the behest of eminent and intelligent people, though you did volunteer,’

No questions,’ thought Vastberaden, ‘It would also be disappointing if he had to ask. He is supposed to have a quite comprehensive knowledge,’

Then there was the silence. Vastberaden concluded he was going to have to do the talking.

‘Correct,’ the fellow said ‘You are here to state the case for Preservation of Your Civilisations’ Status. In the light of evidence to the opposite,’

‘Of course, he can hear my thoughts. But speaking can be more coherent,’

‘After all the study and conclusions based on investigations over the past century. We discovered this link or pathway, and felt a direct approach was the correct thing to do. After all the effort in forging our civilisation, fatalism could not be countenanced,’

There was a sigh.

‘Whereas your response can be considered positive in its level of determination, you must appreciate against the weight of evidence the achievements are outweighed by the mistakes, abuses and of course hubris,’

‘We are aware of the shortcomings. We are not complacent or uncaring. I would also point out that the current amount of suffering of the innocent is comparable to several of our more profligate wars. We struggle to see The Justice, nay even The Example being set by Higher Authority if I may use such a term,’

The figure looked up from the map, Vastberaden discerned emotion, though which one he found he could not make out.

‘You appear not to have perceived the disadvantageous changes you folk are bringing unto the World,’ one hand drifted across the map ‘Here, these are plain to see. For Humanity is not the only concern. Other Life. And Other Dynamics. They have precedence,’ there was a brief neutral gesture for Vastberaden to draw closer. ‘Come closer. You may be able to discern why things are unravelling the way they have been,’

Vastberaden looked down upon a map, whose basic outlines seemed distantly familiar, although total perception was made difficult by the movements and interactions of shapes, some geometric, some reminiscent of clouds or oceans while others tested the senses to comprehend. The Custodian shook his head in bafflement, at this one hand rested lightly on his shoulder, and in a jarring interlude there was a focus, albeit blurred.

Life was a part of The World. A factor which lived under the sway of forces able to sweep lands and oceans clean of it, and yet in its own various dynamics capable of causing those forces to react in ways folk had not expected to react. Many forms found balance and accord, some did not. Humanity appeared to be one such, and thus forged an extreme example of unbalance. Vastberaden considered the panorama and the circumstances unfolding, no the correct word be ‘unravelling’.

He looked up into a face saddened.

‘You understand something of the problem. You folk with such inventiveness and ability have this talent for making things worse,’

‘Aye. This much is obvious. We made great efforts to seek out something which when it was staring us in the face,’

‘There is the irony. Consider your example. In your urge to find a practical and rational answer you did not rely on convoluted recitations, nor some of the more questionable religious practices. You worked on the evidence of activities of my,’ here Vastberaden detected a slight laugh ‘Own band’s extended efforts. Concluded there was a distinct pattern leading to some intelligence beyond your own realms. One combating malevolent people in your fields and cities. Thence was a most dangerous bold strategy of placing your people as potential false targets sought to establish contact,’

‘It cost us several brave folk,’

‘It was unfortunate. Some of my own have not yet, even ever grasped the subtleties of operations against the corrosions. Lady Betrügerin, though as ruthless as any is possessed of a certain whimsy which saved your life, physical. Know this here is an opportunity of insight. We have our own missions against Ignorance, Fear and Intolerance and despite our seeming apparel of celestial power, in the scheme of things are but talented dedicated, small folk. We cannot stop these events you have brought upon yourselves,’

In his career Vastberaden had known many disappointments, some defeats and a fair number of those designated as insurmountable challenges. To avoid shock and dismay he had prepared himself for this endeavour to be one of the latter, mixed with something of the first. Speak calmly, though. Good manners cost nothing.

‘You did, still allow me to have audience. Would you then, by definition have some advice?’

‘There is always advice. This would depend on whether the listener truly wants advice no matter how unpalatable, and not just an alleged solution?’

Vastberaden thought this reasonable. The one facet which had weighed heavily upon him was the notion of making an appeal to a celestial being. After all such folk would not necessarily have the same moral compass, thus what might seem a heartfelt appeal to you could be laughable or worse objectionable to them. And as for advice, well you could listen to as much of it as you wished, then filter through the whole flood looking for gems.

‘I would always listen to advice,’ Vastberaden said, as he often had, for many folk had taken this statement as willingness to wholeheartdly accept what they would say.

The conclave which had debated and finally acquiesced to Vastberaden’s mission walked into the most secret of chambers to discuss and speculate what had, was and might be taking place.  Such was their immersion in the whole venture none of them were truly surprised to find him already seated there. He was quick and economical to advise them he had journeyed to where intended, he had met with someone in authority and had positive news to give them. As was their experience in grave and weighty matters none of them hurried him along, even though a nearby substantial river, had driven by great rains broken its banks, rushed upon and caused the collapse of a castle.

‘There is guidance,’ he said, thoughtfully and told them of the great map and the information thereupon ‘The responsibility lays with everyone.  It is not a spiritual, but a physical matter. The resources of the world cannot be taken granted as servile, it is necessary work with the land, rivers, seas, yea even skies. New disciplines and means have to be learnt, old ones adapted. The great forces once thought to be under control are not, much study is necessary. The work will be hard and long. Everyone must understand, bend their minds and bodies to change,’

The first to speak was a graven military fellow, versed in the ways of war and state security, thus with the shortcomings and weaknesses of territories, rulers, influencers of rulers, those who would be either and of course the mentality of mobs and rumours.

‘This will be a very difficult task, like trying to turn around a great vessel in a narrow shallow when a tide has gripped it,’

‘Indeed,’ agreed Vastberaden, then speaking guardedly added ‘The folk I spoke with can offer some assistance,’

At this a woman appeared at his side, she smiled waved, a cheerful little gesture.

‘Lady Betrügerin,’ she said.

‘The Death Maiden?’ asked a man of theological scholarship and thus rather interested ‘Not legendary then Vastberaden?’

‘I can speak for meself.,’ she snapped ‘Quite real thank you. So is he,’ she pointed to someone turning from a mist to a more discernible figure robed, features hidden by a cowl, and in a thin hand holding aloft a scythe. He was silent. Vastberaden took up the discourse.

‘Those whose representatives you see here, are willing to take some time out from their allotted task purging evil dabblers in demonics, to assist as it were. In expunging those of arguably a more important threat. The ones who will not listen either through greed, ignorance or stubborn intransigence,’

‘Of course we can’t be everywhere at once,’ Lady Betrügerin said and the cowled figure nodded agreement ‘And we can’t go taking everyone of the world. Be a bit drastic. Things are bad enough anyhows.  Only the worst and most loudest, let the others learn. Y’know you can help there, by telling folk the ones taken was smited by Devine Judgement,’

As the cowled figure nodded so did the military man and the theologian; it seemed a reasonable approach the pair thought.

To be fair to the assembly being mortal there was a brief hub-bub, but general agreement.

‘Strange times. But necessary requirements,’ said the current chairman ‘You Custodian Vastberaden must be escorted to and speak with the emperor, in secret of course,’

Vastberaden seemed a smidge abashed and hesitant, Lady Betrügerin sniggered and nudged him.

‘G’wan,’ she enthused ‘Tell ‘em,’

‘I visited him first,’  Vastberaden confessed ‘He was annoyed. Said it would interfere with his gold mining enterprises. He was my first case. He’s gone from this mortal realm,’

Vastberaden rose, out of the chair and into the air with Lady Betrügerin and the cowled figure.

‘Initially I did display great doubt, myself. Then Lady Betrügerin, educated me, as it were. It didn’t hurt at all. Think on it, gentlemen,’ he said.

And left.

A Singular Circumstance. One Summer’s Day (August#BlogBattle- Peculiar)

 

https://bbprompt.com/2022/09/02/september-blogbattle-eschaton/

A Singular Circumstance. One Summer’s Day (August#BlogBattle- Peculiar)

Ware the Maid

        Hochtrabende The Tormentor was despicable. And cared not. He committed beastly acts all in his quest for final approval of The Nameless in Ascendancy and the subsequent bounty.

          This, he calculated would be last required location, another pastoral idyl to be despoiled by heinous cruelty to an innocent. Their suffering the last pieces to be set in place.

          He sat in unholy meditation, savouring hideous memories preparing himself.

 

          Kaltblutig was cruel; to be objective Life had been cruel to him from childhood. He was thus an effective henchman. He reasoned his cruelty was quicker and more efficient than Life’s version, so it was a sort of service. Had he met the right sort of philosopher they would have had interesting conversations. Currently though he was working for a necromancer, arrogant of course, but paid well. 

          Young Anfanger, dithered at his side.

          ‘She’s a looker,’ he giggled nervously ‘Think he’ll let us,’ he would have nudged someone lesser than Kaltblutig, instinct warned him not to ‘Y’know,’

          ‘Not supposed to be anything left to…Y’know,’ came the growl. The veteran looked to the door to the chamber, doubt nagging, he could say why. Only an odd feeling he was on this side of the door.

 

          ‘I am Lady Betrügerin. Youngest child of House Krachen. My father, two brothers, my betrothed and my prospective in-laws all predisposed to violent solutions will visit upon so much woe upon you,’

          Acolyte Glucklos winced. The kidnapped girl was possessed of speech characteristics and a variability of tone which made listening to her somewhat grating, the words ‘and’ and ‘so’ at a pitch and drawl to hurt the ears. Worse, despite being ambushed while walking through a wood, roughly manhandled, then tied to a table in the presence of a hooded man she did not appear a’feared, only annoyed and defiant. Peculiar. 

          And then she giggled

          ‘Why do you wear that silly hood? Are you possessed of a peculiarly shaped nose?’

          The suddenness of the question caused him to respond directly.

          ‘There is nothing wrong with my nose,’

          ‘Says you,’ her nose twitched ‘ I bet messing about with all things which give off these funny smells is causing your nose to grow upwards. That’s it. You have a sticky up nose,’ she giggled again, this time accompanied by an intense stare ‘A piggy-wiggy nose,’ she chirped.

          Glucklos was thrown into confusion. These were not the right responses of a kidnapped maiden. Suddenly he did not know what to do. He was gripped by an urge to rush to his master, Hochtrabende.

 

          Hochtrabende heard not the usual pleading, crying or general distress you would expect from a kidnapped maiden. Only a winsome voice, a protest from his acolyte and… girlish laughter? That was peculiar. Maybe hysteria. Yes, women did get hysterical. He would have her sing a different song. He strode out.

          Finding Glucklos had not laid out the ceremonial knives, nor lit the thick blighted yellow incense. He was in debate with the victim over his nose.

          Hochtrabende roared his disapproval and ordered the acolyte to attend to the preparations.

          ‘And here’s another hood,’ trilled the girl managing to waggle one finger in an accusative gesture ‘What’s your peculiar penalty? Droopy earlobes?’  

          Hochtrabende made to loom over her, malignant eyes glaring through slits. This one had a singular capacity to be annoying. He squeezed her face.

          ‘Cease your babble,’ he snarled ‘You are here to satisfy The Nameless in Ascendancy and bring forth Their Horror upon the world,’

          ‘That was very rude,’ she chided with heavy dignity and a slight sniff ‘And I don’t believe you. You are just some silly inadequate with paid bullies and a deluded fellow,’ she twisted her neck and batted her eyes at Glucklos ‘Poor piggy-wiggy here,’

          ‘There is nothing wrong with my nose,’ repeated Glucklos.

          The irregularity of the situation threw Hochtrabende into another bout of precipitate action.

          ‘This is but a taste of suffering to come in your journey to The Nameless in Ascendancy,’ he rasped drawing a curved blade down her arm, blood seeping from the thin line.

 

          Kaltblutig had much experience of screams. Fear, Rage, Defiance, Confusion, Thrills and so forth. That one was different, as if the door did not matter. Aside from the volume and the highest pitch he’d ever heard, there was an odd quality, he would reckon a warble. A right strangeness. His troubled, thoughtful scowl stifled Young Anfanger’s expectant tittering.  

 

          Unlike Glucklos who had hands to his head, all of Hochtrabende’s resolve was channelled into not wilting under the shriek. When finished the girl scowled

          ‘Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do,’ she wriggled her bloodied arm, muscle blossoming ‘This will not go well for you when my rescuers come,’

          The smugness in her voice was harsh, mocking. Hochtrabende had never encountered such distinctive affrontery, which fuelled his rage beyond his usual cold delight.

          ‘Wretch,’ he spat, unaware his vocabulary was narrowing ‘Know you, I have others in the wood ready to ambush any attempt. You are lost,’

          She stuck her tongue out. He had no response but to assail her other arm.

 

          ‘There’s that warbling scream again,’ Kaltblutig muttered ‘Downright peculiar,’

          By now Young Anfanger, influenced by the elder man, shuffled.

 

          Lady Betrügerin examined both arms, clenching her fists.

          ‘My favourite walking out dress torn and badly stained,’ her voice censorious ‘Whereas I normally avoid the propensities of the male where retribution is involved in this case pinches and punches will be considered,’ she glowered at Acolyte Glucklos ‘As for you  Piggy-Wiggy, there will be a severe nose straightening,’

          Maybe it was the imperturbably assertive voice, perhaps the sense his master was losing authority or mayhap whole unreality of the situation which caused the young man to tear off his hood and pointing to his nose scream into the supposed victim’s face.

          ‘This is a normal nose. An average nose, curse you!’  

          Hochtrabende was about to yell the lad was not supposed to reveal himself however this was hindered by the gasp of surprised outrage of Lady Betrügerin

          ‘Cadet Lord Glucklos. Third Son of House Raffgierig. And your father, Duke Bestechlich titular patron of the Cheese Mongers and Purveyors Guild of  Handelsknoten.  The scandal. He will have to stand down and lose the substantial stipend as they find another noble mascot,’ she tutted. Gluckloss howled and intended to strike at her face but bungled the business, she jinked her neck, he missed and as his palm flew by she savagely nipped his little finger, drawing blood.

          By then Hochtrabende had composed himself. He dragged the youth back to the corner swinging him about to view a table with tomes of evil lore.

          ‘You fool. This girl is either insane or possessed of some latent manifestation. Calm yourself and we will consult the Foul Volumes,’   

 

          In his long career on unpleasant actions Kaltblutig had never known such a bunch of oddness.  Hochtrabende usually indulged in malevolent pretend aloofness. Not ranting Self-preservation told him orders forbidding witness of what went on behind the doors no longer applied. He peered through the usual space twix’d locked door and frame.

          ‘Nah,’ he groaned ‘Don’t turn your backs on her,’

 

          When master and acolyte turned back, their intended victim was sitting up, busily untying the ropes to her legs. She paused to waggle her bloodied hands.

          ‘Blood does so slicken ropes and skin, allowing hands to slip out,’ she explained with an air of domesticity.

          Hochtrabende, in horrified desperation, mind filled with impossible answers to this situation began to chant a plea to his patron, hoping fervour and faith would do in place of sacrifice. Glucklos charged in clumsy scamper waving an ornately curved blade, an inappropriate weapon for the thrust.

          And he was felled by the promised punch to the nose.

 

          Hochtrabende lowered his gaze from the usual upwards chanting pose. The girl was not in front of him.

          ‘Yoo-hoo,’

          She was above, impossibly at ease on no particularly visible perch.

          Her eyes bright, teeth sparkling in a cheerful smile and arms outstretched she swiftly descended.

 

          On seeing the girl slip loose Kaltblutig had exited, only to find outside of the previously abandoned abode bodies or soon to be bodies of the lot Hochtrabende had hired. Waiting were ten men in the very dark green of the dread LifeGuard and adding to the dread two in the night black habits of the Custodians of The Lord God’s Will. One of the LifeGuard pointed at Kaltblutig.

          ‘Ah Master Kaltblutig. Yes. We’ll keep him,’

          For a man steeped in cruelty and its consequences, the words were as good as it got. He surrendered.

 

          He was bound, set against a tree and informed he would be telling the LifeGuard every last detail about long list of his employers, locations and deeds.  Meanwhile the body of Young Anfanger was carelessly hauled out by one LifeGuard. They formed a perimeter at the entrance and the Custodians went in, sometime later they hauled out Glucklos, he was alive though, holding his bloodied nose and babbling protests about its state.

          ‘We’ll be keeping this one,’ a Custodian said to a LifeGuard ‘Regrettably all we found of that wretch Hochtrabende was a pile of ashes. Again too late. These debased amateur meddlers thinking themselves able to deal with unquantifiable forces.

            ‘So our unseen allies, they evaded us. Again,’

            ‘Aye, just those hints of screams, barely audible,’ he patted the dog at his side  

          ‘And the locals will be grateful we tracked and apprehended a group of recently arrived bandits before any harm was done. To them, anyway,’

          The two men shared a brief, cold, knowing laugh.

          Kaltblutig shuddered. 

 

          The return was ever the demanding exercise, and therefore a slow rise from the crouch was best, as always the warmth of the greeting washed over them.

          ‘How good to see you returned intact. Still in the female form,’ the voice was gentle and thoughtful ‘Your preference?’

          ‘I do confess to an ease. I feel a may have been such before my original arrival,’

          ‘Aye, there is a likelihood. To return to current matters. Indications are of a complete cleansing. Can you confirm?’

          ‘The tracking and the luring were quite easy and the clues sufficient for the authorities. The rest fell predictably into place. He was left naught but a pile of ash. The evidence was balanced as directed. Sparse enough to ensure mystery but sufficient to encourage study,’

          ‘Others will be returning from their missions. We will gather and evaluate both progress and influence. This recent trend is most distracting. The misinterpretation of an ancient account elevating some ill-fated and obscure dabbler to the level of an evil deity would be farcical, if there were not the suffering many and promotion of negligible individuals to popular notoriety. It is not be tolerated. I daresay some philosophies would be the basis of condemnation on our methods and goals, and yet when faced with the corrosion and nurturing of such evils what is to be done?’

          The returnee sighed, straightened, then made their way over to a bench from where they could look down upon the world they had just left in all its combinations. As they mused their hair darkened and the clothing took on a more basic appearance, they absently scratched their neck. When they spoke their voice was more of the crowded streets of a city.

          ‘It’s a peculiar old state of affairs an’ no mistake,’      

 

Of Maze and Mists Folk (July#BattleBlog- Hatch)

The Maze Folk

          Threll, Invigilator Civic to Prince Machthaber of  Dienlich, was a man who wielded calm patience as a weapon of fearful effectiveness. Nobody wanted to be the one who caused him to lose his temper; in his usual demeanour he left an efficient enough trail of woe upon any who suffered his professional displeasure.

          ‘This is most unfortunate,’

          He sounded as if an unforeseen weather event was causing cancellation of an afternoon’s repose in his garden. However the slight furrowing of his brow warned the two before him. One was trying to keep the word ‘grave’ out of their thoughts; it gave a prescient air to matters.

          Both knew not to serve excuses up to Threll. Reasons and self-criticism were your best hopes; no babbling either. Calm and composed, was the way

          ‘Very unfortunate,’ Surveyoress Bekwaam said, contrition in her voice, encouraging her colleague.

          ‘Quite so,’ Surveyor Ervaren agreed.

          Threll considered the two of his senior staff.

          ‘Indeed,’ he said ‘And have you formulated how the deep coded false message to the rebel group to act, thus showing their hand actually contained a warning they had been compromised? It should have been impossible considering our failsafe programmes,’

          Bekwamm straightened clutching the file into the crook of her arm.

          ‘Three separate layers of code, each with their own clerkes did not account for clerical errors being transposed,’ she swallowed ‘We should have considered this,’ and handed The Analysis to her superior.

 

          Some days before.

          ‘Time to unlatch the hatch, and sneak the catch,’ the fellow trilled.

          Ven being the professional thief of the duo gripped the fellow. Palavelle by name, being a rogue Mechanical. His talents enabled him to work through a quadruple lock with three sets of alarms, his lack of common sense allowed him to announce his success to the locality and would have had him march into the final, least subtle but most effect trap.

          Two axes swung down from the walls in a criss-cross motion.

          ‘An’t you lucky,’ Ven hissed ‘I know the classics. Now let’s get in before someone comes to find out who is singing damn silly songs, this far from a tavern,’

          Once they eased passed the still slightly swaying blades Ven had the man relock everything.

          ‘Ah latch the catch. There’s the thing,’

          Why, Ven mused to himself did these rogue Mechanicals have to been so artisy and showy? They didn’t impress nobody down the working end of the City. After this job was done he’d have quiet words with his Guv’nor, Old Fryd about this one. Even if a contract was a contract, and the whole job was for someone, who might be acting for another someone else, if fellows like Ven Jek was caught, the last conversation would be with a rope.

          Meanwhile, get the business done. Hope everyone in the town house of a lesser duke, one Sabatch, placed too much faith in that lock and assumed it was doing all the work. 

          ‘Stop humming. This is no social visit,’

          ‘You should be happy in your work,’

          ‘I save, Happy, for when the job is over. Save all your talents for third door up on the left,’

 

          ‘It’s not a bad piece of work Guv’nor,’ Ven said handing over the ornately carved lapis lazuli statuette. Old Fryd surveyed with work with a veteran’s eye, but nonetheless passed it to the gang’s own antique expert.

          ‘Actually, very nice,’ the fellow said examining details through magnifier ‘Well done young Ven for bringing such a delicate piece out intact. I’ve seen a thousand golds literally knocked off the value through carelessness,’

          Old Fryd winced at the memories.

          ‘How was our,’ he coughed dryly ‘Specialist,’

          ‘Typical talented risk from the Comfy Class, getting his thrills,’ Ven said sourly. ‘Lucky, we didn’t raid some sort of professional Antique collector, not so legal,’ 

          Their own expert pulled a face.

          ‘They do get very cross and usually have accurate ideas where to express their displeasure. Did he pick up anything of for his own collection, a souvenir?’

          Ven shrugged.

          ‘He fiddled and nosed with a few bits; that was all. Shouldn’t use him again Guv’nor. Him and his damn sing-song silly rhymes. As if everyone appreciates them,’  

          ‘I’ll take care of those words Ven. That I will,’        

 

          Around the same time.

          ‘Imagine how embarrassing it would be to have the name of Hatchapatch,’

          Fegdale tightened putting down his newspaper in a sharp movement. The club was a place where one was supposed to sit and enjoy silence.

          ‘The matter has never occurred to me, Wingsleyden. In fact, I would say I couldn’t care two straws on the subject,’

          ‘Even so,’ the man had continued as if the matter were of fundamental philosophical concern ‘It would be fairly hard going for the poor fellow. You could make all sorts of poor jokes at his expense,’

          Fegdale glowered at Wingsleyden, who seemed unconcerned by the sight.

          ‘Why this sudden morbid interest in such an unlikely name?’

          Wingsleyden waved his own newspaper in response.

          ‘Why? Because I encountered the name in this journal. He’s suffered a ballooning accident at a farm cottage. And the bally paper has made light of it,’ his voice took on an injured tone as he waved the broadsheet in Fegdale’s face, pointing to a small column set aside for trivia ‘Hatchapatch Catches The Thatch In An Inflated Despatch,’

          The irony that one of the biggest fatheads in town was inadvertently blurting out a significance message was not lost on Fegdale. There was no time to reflect on such synchronicity. At least the warning had reached him sooner than the usual network of bemused gossip arising from a seemingly random quirky newspapers items. He grunted his excuse for leaving.

          ‘It comes to something when a fellow cannot find peace and quiet at his club,’

          The bustle of night time mixed with the steady autumn rain would provide distractions and cover. As watchman this was one of his roles. Raise the alarm.

 

          ‘This is very thorough, and it has to be said honest work,’ Thrall said to the pair, at the next meeting. ‘Taking full responsibility for all of your region’s status,’

          Ervaren took the lead.

          ‘We should have been more vigilant with the codes. Both in their drafting and overseeing. Complex systems need constant surveillance,’

          ‘Always a problem,’ Thrall agreed ‘ Balancing a system’s theoretical composition not to be compromised with its efficiency in practice,’      

          ‘Mistakes have been made, I hope lessons learnt,’ Bekwamm added ‘At least the rebels should be relatively easy to trace, with their nascent unprofessional approach,’ 

          ‘Yes,’ agreed Thrall ‘As the old tag-line goes. Good luck, bad luck. Who can say?’

          And sighed.

          The duo laughed, lightly.

          Slightly relieved.

 

          Palavelle relaxed and then only slightly when the coastline slipped from view. Even in uncouth company, being a simple conveyor dropping a message tube into an indifferent vase had been a thrill. All the fuss afterwards though; folk vanishing, strangers come to spirit you out of town. Far too rich a diet for him. Exile it would have to be.

          ‘Do you think he ever knew who he was working for?’ Ven Jek asked from the alley shadows as the ship sailed on.

          ‘Doubt it,’ Wingsleyden drawled glad to be relieved of his public voice.

          ‘Fribbin’ Comfies thinking it’s game,’ Ven spat. ‘Speaking code without checking,’

          ‘You try being one, year in year out chum,’ Wingsleyden said in grim humour ‘Forget your own name in a while, you will,’

 

          Fegdale was carefully drafting his confession, making sure it was officially obvious he had actually been working for the princedom as a decoy agent within the Dukes’ rebellion. That was what he had been told to write. He confessed to being quite wrong, the prince’s administration was very efficient. And was that not what everyone wanted? From his cell window he could see the scaffold. He shuddered thinking on his narrow escape.

 

          Maid Bekwaam comforted by her last herbal tea, walked composed to the scaffold. There was no more to be said. She had been caught in acts of treason. At least Thrall had assured her, her mother would be protected from the threats which had forced Bekwaam into the rebels’ hands. How they had targeted her was still being investigated. She was glad it was autumn, she would hate to be seen sweating.

 

          Bekwaam could remember the rope, it was silken, then the brief tightness. Now she was blinking? Someone was peering into her face with a magnifier. And she was breathing?

          ‘Yes. She is recovering,’ the someone said, her focus returned, he was elderly and maybe familiar?

          Two pairs of women’s hands raised her gently, sweet clear water to her lips, she knew enough to sip, and wait for clarity.

 

          She knew this one; Franzet ‘Old Fryd’ Durchtrieben. In criminal terms equivalent to nobility, always careful in his playing of sides. Thus, not surprising to learn now his network had found out her fate, unbeknown to her smuggled a powerful narcotic into her tea; the resulting feigned death, her coffin switched with another. All an effective rescue. Further details she might know eventually. Until then, be guardedly grateful.

          ‘Hello Miss Bekwaam. I won’t repeat the explanations. Glad to see you looking well,’ he tutted ‘Hate to see good resources wasted. Can’t have that,’

          ‘Thank you for thinking so,’ she replied, still a little croaky.

          ‘We’ll be easing you elsewhere. Five hundred myles south and west to Elinid. I expect you have a working knowledge about how that city is run. We have an agreement with the Silc clan there. They could use someone of your deductive and organisational talents. You’ll like it. Not so stuffy. Still spry enough to start afresh,’ he winked ‘And we’ll arrange for you to keep in touch with your old Mum. We got tender folk are already explaining basic matters to her, so it won’t come as a shock,’

          Bekwaam had to admit, currently this was a better outcome. She could not help but wonder if Thrall had some idea about this. A much broader and deeper game maybe.

 

          Ervaren brooded into the into the glass. He should have helped Bekwaam and not been instrumental in laying her upon Strategy’s bloody altar, our sacrifice of gratitude for a bountiful harvest of the treacherous, all to ensure our prince slept well.

          Without the usual knock the door to his study opened. His servant, a solid veteran entered, three men followed him, stern. Ervaren was familiar with the type, those who did not need to be obvious. He managed a harsh laugh and swilled his wine.

          ‘And so, the covering of the traces. My turn then,’ he raised his glass in a sincere salutation. ‘Make it quick and dignified. And Lave here, I bear you no ill-will,’

          One man of iron-grey short hair afforded Ervaren a softening of his expression.

           ‘Surveyor Ervaren. Your remorse and the urge for self-chastisement are understandable. However, these are pragmatic times. The empire’s stability always paramount. Invigilator Civic Thrall is willing for your talents to be seconded,’

          ‘Seconded?’ the effects of the wine flushed out by professionalism.

          ‘Yes,’ the voice was now shielded ‘The Invigilator understands he is too close to be effective on one issue. There are concerns regarding Prince Machthaber. Being the subject of avaricious potential rebellions does not exclude a prince from suspicion on other issues. You will receive instructions on methods of reporting,’ a thin smile ‘All for the stability of the Empire,’

          Later, pondering, Ervaren could not help but feel it could just as easily have been Bekwaam receiving those words. Imperial Stability was such an amoral concept.

 

          Duke Sabatch was vexed. Another occasion of Court People trampling through his town house. He would vet his staff better.

 

          Thrall made fresh entries upon the map of relationships and alliances. It would not do to lose track of who was who and what was being hatched by all sides. At least Sabatch was consistent, The Useful Idiot.

 

A Matter of Mixed Fortunes (May#BlogBattle-Pastoral)

Pastoral

Lord Preldehal scowled towards Lord Reivod’s construction.

The fellow wishing to break from widowhood and respectable poverty had entered in marriage negotiations with the wealthy mercantile family Beeinflusser, they seeking access into Gentry classes. They made things with sanctioned machines. Reivod had agreed to turn arable lands to something termed by his possible in-laws as Profitable Enterprise. Still in the early stage, all to show was a loss of woodlands, disgruntled farmers and smoke. Preldehal being competent in farm management did not see advantage to the region, only to the pockets of Reivod and his prospective in-laws.

Sanctioned machine? To his mind they skirted questionable areas which meant dabbling with Stommigheid otherwise named Ethereal. Dangerous stuff. Yet you raised such concerns at your own peril attracting the attention of The Custodians of The Lord God’s Word. Accuser and Accused both viewed with equal suspicion.  

But not satisfied to sit back Preldehal utilised his knowledge of the landscapes and his unfocused son. Weltfremd’s latest affectation to idyllic countrysides had been manoeuvred by his father by a gift of woodland, and its modest stream. Preldehal had suggested the stream could be utilised to make a pond. Weltfremd enthused on this venture.  His father was certain there would be minimal success but the resulting diversion of water would impact upon the flow and quality of the River Wichtig, itself vital to the running of Reivod’s machinery; hopefully ruining the profitability.

‘Good friends,’ Weltfremd announced loudly to friends, male to work, female to encourage. ‘To task,’ thus struck a shovel into the ground, while singing a work song. At once, more or less his group joined in. The initial fervour was worthy, however the organisation being based solely on digging a hole irrespective of other factors was not a sound one. The girls as the first careless showers of earth arrived retreated with servants but not so far as they could not observe the group of young males divest their upper clothing. There were giggles, not from the servants who would have to carry everything back again and found the singing irritating. A nearby unseen observer had their own concerns.    

Translator Pastoral ClnMyla was seated in his one comfy chair; one brief interlude of relaxation from supervising his three translators, ensuring the entire community of Lord Preldehal’s had at least nominal adherence to the Word of The Lord God thus avoiding the dyspeptically pedantic attentions of Custodians of the Word.  

‘Sorry to trouble your Interlude,’ the fellow said, back from observing ‘There’s something going on in Draybelle Woods. Not the usual ‘something’, even if it does involve young folk,’ the fellow pulled a face ‘Heir Lord Weltfremd is involved,’ this intelligence resulted in a long fatalistic sigh from the Translator Pastoral.

‘Since, those being one of his father’s own woods, that part would not be surprising. But judging by the troubled look upon your face Marthrik Healme there’d be woe you’re about to tell me. Sit yourself down and partake of the fresh coffee man. Unhappy tales are best told with refreshments,’ The invitation being gratefully received, the man began.

‘At your instructions I was patrolling the lords’ borderlands at the juncture of current potential disputes, when I espied numbers of privileged young with servants in tow by foot, horse or cart heading for Draybelle Woods. There to be greeted by Weltfremd and provisions. The purpose, to dig a pond, which the male part set about. Whether the result will be a pond, a mud hole or a swampy patch I couldn’t say. This was not my main concern,’

‘Enthusiastic young privileged folk with no idea what they are about is always cause for concern. Yours Marthik?’

‘It was the singing,’

‘The singing? I can anticipate the efforts might not be pleasing to the ear, but that would not be the problem now, would it?’

‘They were using tracts from the Second Holy Book, only they were wrongly sung,’       

‘Since we can dispense with the possible sin of being out of tune, there would be more to this yes?’

‘They were not using the officially sanctioned restrained celebrations of The Lord God’s Creation or the tastefully crafted appreciation of His Wonderous Works of Beauty. Not even one of the ten acceptable hymns of Natural Ways,’

ClnMyla often turned a literal deaf ear to the genuinely inadvertent transgressions which could arise when folk got caught up in the optimism and honesty of the one holy book which was about being Happy, within reason. Often a defence presented to his local Court of the Ecclesiastes began with ‘But in the Second Holy Book….’. He had been careful to school Marthrik in this difficult path which suggested the fellow had already sifted the evidence. The Translator Pastoral bade farewell to any chance of further relaxation.

‘And?’ he asked.

‘I reckon they’ve got hold of a proscribed version. However since none of them were dancing about undressed, waving branches or adorned with badly made animal masks it’s possibly accidental and not true heresy,’  

‘Accidental can be worse. Approach softly, we don’t want to alarm them and be setting off natural force,’

For the first time Marthrik looked startled.

‘Force?’ he echoed, twitching.

‘Call it Stommigheid, call it Ethereal. Our Higher Translators Extraordinaire and Council of The Custodian’s Conclave may deny, but there is everywhere a natural smidge of these most evasive of elementals. Even the dullest of us can set this off by a combination of circumstances. Without intentional summonings,’

‘Thank you for seeing me My Lord,’ ClnMyla said in his conversational tone, he had left Marthrik to continue observation ‘I was out on one of my rare constitutional rides, past those lovely Draybelle Woods. It was remarkable to hear your son and his friends singing as they went about some honest work,’

‘Singing?’  Preldehal asked, his concern stilled because of the word ‘remarkable’ was spoken generously.

‘That they were. And from the Second Holy book, itself ,’

He let the words hang, the absence of an immediate response suggested a lordly dither. His worries concerning the potentiality of unpleasantness between Lords Preldehal and Reivod began to solidify.  

‘My Lord. I wonder, do you think it might be of encouragement if I were to present myself there and give a formal blessing. They’re your woods and it would not be fitting to just go tramping in there,’

As ClnMyla anticipated the lord was only to happy to agree, relieved The Ecclesiastes was content with the effort, a defence against any outrage Reivod would raise.  

He reckoned arrival on the second day when enthusiasm would be waning and various aches, concerns about dresses and general discomfiture would be settling in would suit. 

Translator Pastoral ClnMyla was caught off guard at the sight of the lad standing on a rock addressing a captivated gathering of youthful folk and servants, all a lot more dirty than he had expected. Held aloft indeed was copy of The Second Holy Book green edging to the pages.

‘Your mentorship,’ enthused Weltfremd ‘You find us at break from our efforts,’ he gestured to the rather irregular, wide but shallow hole. ‘I have taken the liberty of addressing everyone to lift our spirits,’

‘We have made a little dam,’ a bright eyed muddy young woman joyfully announced ‘To hold and channel the waters,’

At this point as they all broke into a spontaneous song to do with rain, ClnMyla politely took the copy of The Second Holy Book, seemingly to allow Weltfremd to lead the singing. A brief thumbing through the said tome commenced. Deeply worried the Translator Pastoral was as the skies suddenly thickened with rain clouds; surprised he was not. There were Ethereal forces at work.

Breaking up a volatile crowd even a small one in this situation was not wise, lest unforeseen lightening bolts occur. Instead as the first thick rain drops fell ClnMyla tucked the book into the folds of his cloak. He managed to get his hood up before a herald of the deluge arrived. In his dignified but purposeful flight he met Marthrik.

‘Thank Lord God you have left Translator Pastoral,’ he said ‘They built a dam,’

‘I heard,’

‘In the shape of the discouraged symbol of the Generous Otter. It was not a structurally sound or artistically worthwhile representation,’

‘I would have thought the Graven River Badger would have suited better. Anyway let’s away,’ he produced the book ‘Things will calm down, eventually,’

With the torrential rain the intention to produce a steady, directed flow into the hole meant to be a pond of course failed, much water with one or two of the smaller stones burst upon the clearing, to reinforce the celestial inundation. Folk were transported in all directions. By good fortune the hole impeded some of the impetus pitching them only into muddy puddles, although some being cracked in the ankles or shins, hopped about a bit first to end seating in undignified postures. By then the singing had given way to wails, pleas for assistance and as is the mentality of mobs accusations upon Weltfremd, of which some were thrown back at the accusers in forms of handfuls of mud. It appeared the alleged spirit of the Generous Otter was not taken with the image of him as a dam.

Unto River Wichtig the resulting mix flowed  

The rain turned into a steady drizzle which followed the sorry party to the nearest village where irrespective of status they were shoved into a barn, until by various means everyone was transported to their homes, each with a tale to tell.

ClnMyla addressed a perplexed and guilty looking Lord Preldehal.

‘This My Lord, is not a version of The Second Holy Book you should be having about the place. This was crafted by folk who took the message of tending to Nature’s Bounty slightly too far. They meddled with forces not to be meddled with by the well-meaning innocents. Now you’ll not to worry about your son, he will return sadder, whether wiser I cannot say. In the meantime I will be examining your library and you should take arrangements with your sheriff’s office and captain of your retinue to prepare for some minor upsets and spats between families,’

The fuss lasted forty days with some pre-emptive weddings involved. Lord Reivod was amused, particularly as the extra water provided greater industry. His prospective in-laws would be pleased on their inspection.

They arrived with a guildsman of the Mechanicals, experts in machinery and its tenuous link with Ethereal influences. Reivod’s anticipation faded when the fellow returned from inspection shaking his head and sucking breath between his teeth.

‘Got trouble here squire,’ he said, Mechanicals used that term to everyone irrespective of rank ‘You got flowers growing in your pipes, nasty case of Yellow Flag. You been meddling with Ethereal?’

‘The very idea!’ the lord spluttered.

‘Anyways,’ the fellow addressed to the prospective-in-laws ‘I can’t sanction this. Oh dearie no. Not with such infestation,’

Reivod was left with a location filling with Yellow Flag and no prospect of marriage or wealth. Later, thanks to mediation by the genial Translator Pastoral across the border did find consolation in a young widow recently relieved of a choleric farmer.

The Yellow Flag proved to be a popular ornamental plant, while Maybelle Wood became a place of many sought after blooms, which spread. Both men settled their issues and entered into a most profitable floral supply. Weltfremd expunged from polite local society left to acquire status by his unexplainably found talent of dredging distant waterlogged locations. By good happenstance the expected pregnancy within the Reivod household and the surprise one in the established Preldehal marriage led to births of daughter and son, whose amiable relationship over the years resulted in the union of the households.

Custodian of the Word Marthrik Healme renowned for his more philosophical approach was fond of citing this one as an example of The Lord God’s Ways being mysterious and wonderous to behold. Usually said with a wry grin.      

Places of Resolve

Awaiting

‘My poor darling,’ her hand touched his forehead ‘What a dreadful cut. I do wish you would wear your helmet,’

‘My sweet,’ he replied with warmth taking her hand and kissing it ‘There was only a brush of steel against skin. You know how I feel about helmets, they do impede the vision,’

There came the endearing little pout as she set to scolding him.

‘Your vision will be lot more impeded if your silly head was cut off,’ she tugged his nose for emphasis ‘Now let me clean that gash up properly The Good Lord God knows where that rag pretending to be a bandage has been,’

Thus he did sit patiently by the log fire of their apartment as she tended to the wound with her own astringent, following with application of the clean linen bandage. He thought himself the most fortunate man in the Empire to have found this beautiful, caring, able woman who had consented to be his wife, doubly so her being willing to share his lodgings at the outpost while the campaign against the stubborn clan continued.  

Once she was satisfied with her ministrations, a simple evening meal was partaken of and as was their custom, they sat before the fire, she curled up on his lap, head and one hand resting on his chest, each savouring the closeness of the other.

‘I worry for you so,’ she whispered ‘Out there upon those bleak fields and slopes. The risks are so great, and for what? A piece of ground an emperor does not even know about much less care for,’ her breath caught and she looked up at him, deep brown eyes pleading ‘You have rank and some say in the matter. They might listen to you,’

His frustration was shaped as a sigh with a groan.

‘Lord Frygem still wishes to raise his profile with Duke Mereth who remains the favoured advisor of Prince Nahdel who……’

‘…..wishes to prove to the Emperor that he too has his princedom completely under his sway,’ her completion of the litany ended with her own sigh ‘While the troublesome Clan K’ith Sondours refuse to trust the word of known Oath Breakers,’

‘It seems the only Oaths which count are those to The Emperor, know ones dares cross a strong emperor who also has the confidence of The LifeGuard. Everyone else thus scrabbles for their joint or separate favours,’

The frequently visited topic discussed, they sat in silence holding each other, until he said, kissing russet hair ‘Away with our gloom for this night. Let’s read the play: ‘The Adventure of Stefan and Alosia,’

‘This time I’ll be Stefan and you be Alosia,’ she announced, the previous plaintive sadness replaced by a rather appealing nuance in tone and glance. By the time he had returned with the bottle of wine to aid their intended comical narration she was curled up peeking over the script of the popular comedy. They had, a while back agreed the tale of a couple facing an arranged marriage turning the tables on the arrangers to suit the couple was a theme in which they found certain strands of empathy. Their efforts at acting this slightly bawdy theatre always raised their spirits.

She awoke tender with memories of the night. He had, of course risen before her, for duties and profile elsewhere called. As was his practice he had left breakfast dishes laid out, oatmeal and water for coffee bubbling in pots hung over the fire, while there as always a dainty vase of dew damp small star petalled flowers, she held them up and breathed in the freshness. As she drank her coffee she would read her copy of ‘Varow and Betherelle’s Encounter’, based on another factual couple, and the first of a series of verses recording their rather controversial deeds, popular amongst folk at the lower end of society. Good for resolve, she thought in the dawn still a measure away.

Lord Frygem, a stocky man of nearing middle years believed himself to know something of warfare, yet was possessed of enough basic sense to appreciate advice and experience, so was glad to see the outline, albeit hunched, almost furtive. Mercenaries were a variable crew, he would thank Duke Mereth for this one. Checking the large clan raiding force, holding them and pushing them back. Frygem ruefully had to admit his border troops liked the man and his skill. Also he had kept to his ducal contract, some might have given up on the task, particularly with a pretty and shy little wife in tow. That was a puzzle. Risking her safety in The Wilds. Still a man needed his comforts.

What did rankle Frygrem and touched on a raw spot was having the damn LifeGuard here. Observing. Five of them, long dark green coats, wide brimmed black hats. Their officer a hard faced major intoning ‘Imperial Stability’ at him. The Clan was a local problem. Did LifeGuard not have better things to do? He scowled in the direction of the far off group. Beneath their dignity to take part.   

‘Captain Leiding,’ he hailed ‘Surveying the ground I trust?’

‘From dawn Lord Frygrem,’ the mercenary said ‘The Clan has quit the hill and removed themselves. They have given up on the incursion. We can take back the hill and await re-enforcements. The crisis has passed,’

Emboldened by the encouraging news Frygrem’s irritation at Imperial Supervision took hold.

‘A retreat?’ his eagerness unsettling the mercenary captain  ‘We might pursue them,’

‘If we had a larger reserve,’ Leiding said, intending to bring neutrality into the conversation. ‘Our current force needs rest and recuperation,’

‘Whereas I can appreciate your caution captain, as your profession values conservation of resources, in my world, political demonstration is equally as weighty,’ this was accompanied by a brief twitch of his head towards the LifeGuard. ‘I would like to consider the ground myself. Accompany me,’

Since there was no evidence of Clan numbers Leiding saw little point in arguing here and hoped he could dissuade Frygrem during the ride. He gestured to four men selected for skill with crossbow to accompany the lord’s small entourage.

‘This is Lord Frygrem’s idea. Keen eyes,’ he said to his own ‘Bows loaded, but aloft to avoid accidents,’

The approach was not the issue, the slope and the sparse cover would be a risky place for an ambush. Leiding insisted his group reached the crest first, sharp eyed they scanned, dismounting, to avoid being an easy target.

‘Captain,’ the lord called out impatient after the slow climb ‘I would advance,’ Leiding surveyed the grasses, heathers, gorse  and small outcrops; the only true cover a copse in the far distance. The land  appeared safe, though ‘Appeared’ was never a word he trusted.

His pause obviously did not suit Frygrem, the man advanced his horse at a swift trot, until he was amongst Leiding’s group, disrupting their watch.

‘My Lord,’ Leiding said, command in his voice ‘Dismount,’ Frygrem having briefly looked ahead turned his attention back to the LifeGuard.

The brief warning was the gorse bush twitching against the direction of the breeze, too fast though for the message to go from eye to head to hand. The figure rose already losing off their own bolt, before starting to duck. By the time even the swiftest of the party at the crest was physically reacting Frygrem was tipping back from his mount, either it was the bolt in his chest or the fall from his horse, killing him.

Whether he was dead by the time three crossbow bolts flew towards the gorse, one hitting the ambusher it was of no consequence.

Against the backdrop of clamour from the entourage Leiding and his men viewed the body, caution staying them.

‘High Holy,’ breathed one ‘He was swift,’

‘Little,’ added another ‘That’s how he hid,’

‘Patient,’  said the third

‘Steady,’ concluded the fourth, adding, alarmed ‘Captain?’

He was uncaring of the warnings from his men and the indignation from the entourage, drawn to brief view of russet hair loosened as the ambusher fell backwards. There should be anger, anguish, at least confusion. Why was there admiration, laced with hope, melding with confusion?

Voices were but sounds as he reached the body, eyes flickering, the grimace of triumph softening to a smile.

‘It was a lovely breakfast,’ she said, raising her cap ‘Look I wore your posey,’

Her accent was no longer regional encompassing three princedoms, there was the distinctive rolling lilt of these clan folk, an urgency caused a cough, blood running from her mouth.

‘I taught you too well,’ he said.

‘I did not play thee, dear husband. There was no long plan. It was only when your contract drew you here. I had prayed there would just be scraping like wee dogs, then going away,’

He stroked her hair. A lord’s death. Who cared?

‘You do not hold Clan deaths against me?’

‘They should have stayed in our own lands,’ she slurred ‘My father, always counselled  The Chief to stop raiding. Yet, Frygrem had to go, a warning,’

‘It was deftly done,’

‘While you boys were out brawling I learnt the exits,’

 ‘There’ll be reprisals,’

A pained little laugh.

‘With The LifeGuard hovering around. Them and their adherence to Stability? Look not surprised, a Clan Chief’s niece learns a much of politics,’

A tearful chuckle was his response.

‘That was the marriage you were running from,’

‘I think I saw him die yesterday,’

‘What in the Second Hell is he doing?’ someone on the crest demanded.

One of the crossbowmen shrugged. The arrival of the LifeGuard Colonel stilled all conversation.

Their shared laughter stopped, his face grave as he placed the knife in her hand.

‘Also as I taught you,’ he said ‘It makes sense, for I let a lord die on my watch, grave mistake. More to the point, I can’t spend time on this realm without you,’

Her eyes were losing focus, breath ragged.

‘I could not leave you alone,’ she said and plunged in the blade.

Only the Colonel of LifeGuard did not seemed surprised.

The Colonel of LifeGuard bore the tirades of the Duke and Prince with an impassive disinterest. They owed more to the Oakhostian Empire than it did to them. They knew full well. When they ran out of ire, he spoke.

‘You were fortunate The LifeGuard was there to return the young woman’s body to the Clan, the whole business could have spread from Clan to Clan like a gorse fire. Never mind this Clan was an inveterate nuisance, Clans rally when Princes push their luck. The LifeGuard will have to attend to this,’ he let the words hang, the warning, LifeGuard were arbiters of this Emperor. ‘Captain Leiding was obviously being generous in tending her last religious rites. Being confused she stabbed him. Unfortunate. I will tender my report on the matter, both to The Grand Oaken Throne and my Commanders. You should await the Emperor’s Word. Do not venture beyond that crest. It is his wife I feel sorry for, secretly fleeing in distress,’

He left.

The winds blew across the freshly raised twin mounds. Four men crossbowmen, and four Clansmen had stood watch all the day. The sun settled, the quartets nodded to each other, and returned  to their own ranks.

Newly planted flowers quivered in the wind.

The tenth draft might be the foundation for the official report. Only LifeGuard’ s grim fortress Drygnest would know the captain was their own, despatched to act as mercenary, mining fertile battlefields for nobility’s indiscretions. Dangerous road, sometimes a LifeGuard went in so deep they lost perception. Usually going hard rogue taking lives like tankards of ale, conspiring for thrills. Instead here a fellow had stepped off the road, onto softer pastures, tripped when he came back onto the road. Tendered his way out with dignity, and it seemed love.

The Colonel looked to the copies of play and verse. Romance. Just as likely to kill.  

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Those Varying Borderlands of Gloom and Light

The Gloom

Working in the gloom was not uncommon. All mediums came with advantages and drawbacks, seldom were they unconditionally generous.

Here, there was Dankness of the dripping sort which had soon put an end to his torch. He never had cared for lamps with their greasy or oily fumes and cumbersome inclinations. Far better to enhance limited vision with your other senses, and of course caution. Arguably you might be better off without a torch anyway, for then you could wield your sword easier without the glare impeding your vision. Find your way by steady step and one hand gliding over the nearest wall. And always remember the watcher whatever or whoever they were had the first advantage, some sort of advantage of your own.

This would be a poor and humiliating place to find luck had finally expired. No grand venture for some noble close to the Imperial Throne, who desired something but whose rank required discretion. Instead in a remote squalid location, simply to make good on an error, a salve to a petty lord with far more vanity and ill-conceived pride than character. A place where small, slithering base things dwelt, their deadliness paid out in sly, instinctive reactions, no sliver of comfort that they revelled in the kill; no roaring out a challenge and bellowing victory over your body. Not for you the bleached skull posted somewhere to mark your end, only the slow ugly decay as smaller things feasted on your flesh, chewed on your bones and what was left was rolled along by a fetid stream to be swallowed by swamp or mud. These were the places which usually claimed the inexperienced or the lost. The humiliation would be of someone finding out where The End had finally been met and for what reason.

He stopped to steady himself, intending to shake loose the creeping tendrils of Desolation such places and circumstances birthed. He had traversed sharper places. He should treat this as no more than groping around in a sewer for a misplaced purse. Time to gather in all the instincts and experiences, treat this as but a task to be done and no more.     

He wanted to move on, for there was no option. However all hard gained knowledge and perceptions warned him there was something else out there, aside from any small creature. Waiting, lurking, watching. Whatever this was had been very still and patient, until his closing proximity appeared to have unsettled this stance, there was a rising of breath, the barest of sounds of movement. He stilled the irrational relief at a possible challenge, there were always the creatures, one careless move could cause them to strike out from their deep, wet gloom, and there would be no contest.

‘Hey fellah,’ the traditional greeting to a stranger came in clear, slightly anxious words surprising him. A greeting by anything so female should be sultry, tempting, lowering your guard before the strike. The eyes not two person’s length away widened, as if to signal there was no threat; a good killer always kept their eyes hooded in darkness, eyes could reflect even the barest of light.

‘Hey yourself girl,’ he replied, also honouring tradition, he kept alert but spoke casually, good manners cost nothing ‘Are you lost or here with a purpose?’

Carefully viewing and measuring the shifting of the shades of gloom, he discerned the outline of someone seated against the wall, legs hunched up to avoid the dangerous pools and watery traces.

‘Never get lost,’ came the sulking reply ‘Don’t reckon on doing so neither,’

The drawl placed her from Hengestatia, a land he believed to be populated entirely by restless nonconformists.

‘How about you fellah? Come in out of the rain? Or,’ a mournful sigh issued ‘You intending to make a fool of yourself too?’  

‘Comments which suggest you know something more than I do,’

‘I wouldn’t say that. I’m hearing an experienced and cultured venturer coming to a soul-sucking forlorn and remote place for no more than a candlestick which would get the finder laughed at on most markets be they open or behind doors,’ a bitter laugh followed ‘Now why would that happen? Unless said venturer been so long in highly thought of quests they forgot to look down and tripped over their own reputation?’

Hengestatians, ever loquacious, even if they were astute. 

‘Very well. On taking a short cut I inadvertently insulted a local lord of low character and intellect when stopping his drunken obnoxious son from forcing his attentions on a tavern serving girl; fists and an introduction to a midden were involved. The lord required I look for this lost valuable family artifact, or he would burn down the tavern as he co-blamed the owner. You?’ the last word was pointed.

There followed the sound of something lightly striking the wall, he guessed it was the back of her head.

‘Nothing as noble as yours. Common enough stumbling amongst the ranks of us lesser venturers. Did start in a tavern though. Got to drinking with fellow scrabblers and we started to swap notions on which would be the most stupid of quests here abouts and someone came up with The Candelabrum of House Waardeloos; them being an object of derision in this princedom, so singularly useless and negligible, folk of your style would not have heard of them,’

‘I have now,’ he said bitterly ‘Go on, there must be more,’

‘C’mon over here classy venturer,’ he stiffened at the overture, relaxed at the sudden weariness causing a thickening of the accent ‘I don’t feel much like speakin’ this out loud,’ a cough of a laugh followed by an obscenity ‘Scraith. Don’t it get tiring?’

Caution his byword as he grew closer, there was a flick of a match and a faint geometric glow from a box she held. A young lined face, framed in pale hair, she was possibly a handspan taller than most women, dressed in travel hardened leathers and buckskins, a wide-brimmed hat flipped back, a tough smile.

‘My. An’t you a looker too,’ she patted the rock gesturing him to sit. He slumped down next to her ‘You’ll like the joke on this one. We got around to cards. I musta drunk a smidge too much. Kept playing the hands bad. Ended up betting my best sword, knife and gauntlets. Lost. At the time, seemed they were being kindly over it. Said if I could bring back that stupid-ass’d candle, it would make up for being so stupid as to lose my gear,’ she tailed off with a long sigh. ‘Least I had the sense to keep mechanical illumination,’

‘No disrespect, I have heard funnier endings to stories,’

‘An’t done yet,’ the sulking again. ‘Cause the punch-line only came to me when I got here. I’ve been down the tunnel a bit, comes to a sudden drop, my little gubbinz here only illuminates to gloom ten paces, so down goes a stone. Counted,’ she held up a hand ‘Six…damn six…. That’s like two hundred paces, ‘bout a hundred man drop. And’ she held up one finger to the gloom. There’s no going beyond that drop. S’ a wall,’ she bumped her head again ‘Set me thinking, those fellows knew it would end up here. No one carries two hundred paces of rope or clambers into nowhere for a market day selling candle. They set me up to fail, keeping really good quality weaponry,’

‘And I by honour bound was obliged to try,’ he said in empathy.

‘There was a splash too,’ she added ‘Frib’ knows what would be waiting down there,’

They looked at each other, the shared expression of two who should have known better, but had let one guard or another down and wandered into situations they had usually avoided.

‘Luck and sense run out with the best of us,’ she said, then suddenly extended a hand to him ‘Betherelle Gettis,’ by way of introduction.

‘Varow Dekyria,’ he replied and shook her hand.   

They lapsed back into silence.

Previously he had expected one day in battle, old injuries, age, over-confidence, poor judgement or some quirky event would be his downfall. Not just running out of confidence and the humiliation of being herded here like some farm animal, tethered by Honour and Reputation.

‘Unless I get that candlestick he will burn down the tavern,’ he said, hoping speaking out the words would give him resolve.

‘Sure Master Venturer Dekyria. You go and try, lose you grip and fall, into some deep ice cold water which’ll rip your breath out, stop you swimming to the plinth or whatever. Or trying to clamber up, cold, shivering, losing that grip again,’ a slight shrug ‘Me, I just lose good gear, walk away looking a fool. I can get good gear again, go to another part of the empire, piece together another ragged sort of a reputation,’

‘You must be short on resources,’

‘At my end of the business a little bit of light  thievery is not frowned upon,’

The word  landed lightly first as an observation, then settled.

‘What sort of light thievery Betherelle Gettis?’

‘Don’t sound so censorious Master Venturer Dekyria. Finding unsecure windows and doors and tippy-toeing into places where folk can afford a small loss,’ a little hurt seeped into her voice ‘All beneath your status I am sure,’

‘I apologise. My curiosity took hold,’

‘You sound suddenly planful,’

A pause that stretched her nerves followed.

‘Much experience of combat with your lost sword and knife?’

‘An interesting question,’ she sat up ‘Since we’re down amongst the drainage as it were, no. Mostly fists and knees, or hilt of the sword on the nogging. Sharp end for defence before running off. Only served mild wounds and maybe two deaths to my name. My line is scouting, look-out, being an extra body to intimidate, relieving of fat purses by hard suggestion and,’ brittle cough ‘That light thievery. Good at it all too,’ her eyes glinted knowingly ‘Combat? You’d probably see me off in a count of five. If I was lucky to get the chance to flee, that is. What’re you scheming all of a sudden?’

‘My experience’ he chose his words ‘Is more in combat. I can moved deftly, but had the luxury of feeling if discovered I could fight my way out. You seem far better based for avoiding danger,’

‘Know your limits I say. What road are we treading? I’m guessing there’s a ‘We’ in this chat,’ 

‘I admit on realising the true extent of this wretched business I fell prey to despondency. Listening to your view of this work I am angry at being caught out by such a wretch and his worthless son. The candlestick is of no importance. The well being of the tavener, his family, staff and neighbours are. This lord is in the way,’

There was a long low whistle.

‘You gonna remove him and his progeny from this mortal world? That’s a turn around, heavy duty, no mistake,’

‘It would not be the first time I have been part of such an enterprise. I only need someone who is deft at finding their way into a place,’

A soft puff of an exclamation.

‘I dunno. I got no quarrel with this fellow. Killing lords hangs around you for a long time and distance,’

‘There again Betherelle Gettis. Success in such a venture also gives you a new sort of status to those higher than mere lords,’

‘Oh my. Here was I thinking you worked only noble causes,’ she fingered the box, light and shade moving across her face’ Mope in here, slouch out. Or?’

There was a  smirk.

‘I’ll see you in then and watch your back?’

‘One extra matter,’

‘Yeah?’ suspicion

‘Best we marry after. Husband and wife teams carry more value and oddly, dignity,’

‘Why, Master Venturer Dekyria. How could a girl refuse such an offer?’

Are Vast Distances Circular?

Interface

An interlude of achievement. Not just signals. Contact and Communication had been achieved.

There was a great deal of excitement. Much chatter between the explorers on the team, the programmers at base and the theoreticians, elsewhere. Below the mutual congratulations the subtle game as to who could claim the bulk of the credit for the first successful translation of signals into images.

Meanwhile Captain Mazehof seconded from Military Psychological Observation was left to stare at a face and read runes. All by himself. No one had thought to have a team. A mix of folk, various working knowledges of physical signals across Life’s myriad options. There were other officers; communications, logistics and of course security all dropped in with little advanced training on the project. They were military, they could adapt. Right?

Not any option. If someone wanted him to stare at a face, he would stare at a face. An interlude. A face in a picture. He was supposed to work out deep secrets from one snapshot, estimate an entire civilisation and race. He didn’t know if he was supposed to know, but truth be known amongst all the exultation, congratulations and edging for credit no one was exactly sure just where or when the signals which formed the image had originated.

Mazehof had been musing upon the face for three days, studying each feature in detail, returning to gain further insight. When the image had first appeared upon the scan the team had been surprised, some relieved to see similar to human features, although it had to be admitted in those high cheekbones, wide eyes, the slight protrusion of the nasal and jaw areas and ears with a peak there was  a distinct difference. Opinions on comparisons differed; feline, canine, or maybe the more delicate of the ruminants. His mind was open on the matter; his concern being, was this a message directed to Humanity or a chance image which the scan had captured?  No one was chasing him for results, which was a relief. Maybe they had forgotten him, as they pondered on the mathematics and the readings.

You had to think of this image as a person, and what was the mundane in their lives if you were going to get anywhere in this vague mission. The turn of the lips to the right. Was that friendly or a warning? Dogs had managed to work out a human smile was not the barring of teeth challenge, there again they had that incredible sense of smell to let them know humans simply had quirky muzzles. When he thought about it on that level he was at a distinct disadvantage, for staring at this enigma had been causing his mind to wander. Starting off, sure you could just stare intently. However because of the nascent size of the task, trying to encompass time and space within the context of another being? Or perhaps the answer was a distressing one, being beyond comprehension, so you just drifted off.

He sat back, startled. The face had moved, one blink of an eyelid; causing Mazehof to catch his breath. The head inclined to the left, giving him the impression he was being examined. He ordered himself to stare back, while options of physical reaction crowded through him. For who was to say what might be seen as hostile?

The concern was clouded by subsequent thoughts returning to the question of Time and Distance. All current knowledge indicated the events he was witnessing were not taking place; they were of the Past.

Nonetheless, when one arm moved slowly upwards, and the hand opened into a palm displayed, followed by the mouth arcing into a smile, he could not help to respond in like manner. Never mind the unavoidable and overwhelming possibility the being was now dust.

‘What a relief. I found you,’ the words were clear, the accent lyrical, heavy with an emphasis.

‘Me?’ Mazehof failed to contain the squeak as all musings of the variabilities on Time and Distance were distilled into the notion of being sought out. One grain of sand on a beach?

There was a distinct grin there, never mind what the twist of the mouth conveyed, the eyes sparkled in humour.

‘I should have focused my accuracy of explanation,’ there was a  strange sound Mazehof took to be a clearing of a throat ‘To be precise, I have enacted the correct location relevant to your society,’

Mazehof felt a quirk of disappointment at being downgraded but was equally swift to put such a vanity to one side and be sober.

‘For what purpose?’

‘To place you in perspective. Have you any direct experience of dealing with the dimensions encountered in Quantum Physics?’

‘No,’ Mazehof said but felt he needed to add something ‘I have a rudimentary knowledge of Space Time,’

‘This will be of assistance,’

‘Before we proceed. Might I ask you, your name and how you are reaching out across vast tracts of Space Time as if we were in the same room?’

‘Firstly. Know me as Vestnesis. For the other part, there are dimensions beyond the perceivable four,’

‘I have heard of theories. Are there facts now?’

‘Indeed. I am fortunate not to be involved in the mathematics or the mechanics, simply a herald,’

Not a time to interrupt Mazehof reckoned. And try not to think about the implications in the increase in the blinking of the eyes, concentrate on information.

‘Beyond Space Time, after much effort a way was found into the Fifth Dimension. This acted as a conduit into other dimensions, a gateway and viewing lens. Utilisations led to the Sixth Dimension, which afforded a mapping of the parts of Creation previously hidden. By adapting to these two advances, navigation of the vast distances between stars was made possible along with prompt communication. Matters were allowed to stay there while physical exploration and settlement of near solar systems was conducted. But progress ever seeks many ways. Thus once a full working knowledge of the Fifth and Sixth was achieved amidst myriads of possible worlds, the Seventh Dimension was uncovered, a location where a long suggested aspect of Time was found. The revelation being Time was indeed not flowing as a river, but was a sea with its own tides to be navigated and journeyed along,’ Mazehof witnessed a long exhalation as if this was all a great effort, then the intake for another ‘The Eighth  Dimension’s own nature could be used as the craft to travel,’ Vestnesis paused searching for Mazehof’s comprehension, which came quickly, the feeling he had been waiting for someone to tell him this. And where had that come from?

‘Therefore,’ he said slowly choosing his words ‘It does not matter where we both are, or when we are?’

The hand which Mazehof now noticed had longer fingers than normal, extended in a sign of acknowledgment. Briefly he wondered on the factors which had caused the physical diversions of Vestnesis’ people. He held back from asking though, not the right circumstances.

‘The task of explaining to you I am located in your future is easier. Yes?’

‘I suppose so,’ came the reply, his own suppositions made form were rushing into his head ‘You were grateful of locating me? Why was this necessary?’

‘You will appreciate a sea is not something easy to navigate without landmarks at some stage,’

‘I am one?’ that was overwhelming, a slight shake of the head eased his heartbeat.

‘No, only your location. Now we know exactly where to send the rations of information to enable the progress to ensure our societal status. Inject readings into devices, leave salient suggestions in academic environments,’

‘Wait please. This sounds circular. You are human from my future, engaging in your past to ensure your present?’

‘You are very swift on the uptake Mazehof,’

‘Thank you,’ what else do you say? ‘I have to ask. I have been staring at you for three days. Did you have the same experience?’

The pinched expression was universal in the human lexicon. Consideration of the answer.

‘I am not truly versed in the matters, but I think this is something to do with the interfacing of the varying temporal tides,’

Mazehof was finding the conversational exchanges growing easier, something of the circumstance settling within him.

‘I appreciate there is a factor of stealth involved here. Balancing Cause and Effect is always difficult. However I will have to report something to my superiors. You understand this?

In response there came a soft wheezing, which judging by the sparkle in the eyes had to be an empathetic laugh.

‘I too sit in a similar construct. My commanders will be anxious to have something positive to pass onto the Governance at this innovative time,’ definite irony slipped in ‘There could even be an advancement for this humble servant,’

‘Innovative time?’

‘Oh yes. For Ten Generations the Human Confederation has been satisfied with a centralised decision making process of a council. Once there was a certainty of no interlocking with alien civilisations and the extension into the Seventh and Eighth dimensions made it was felt there should be other progressions. Thus to ensure Humanity had room to flourish it was felt a certain allowance should be made to points of view from varying sectors of civilisation and if these were found acceptable to let them endeavour with government. Should these proponents be found wanting the populations could replace them. It is all very exciting,’  Vestnesis paused again ‘I witness doubt on your face Mazehof,’

‘Yes,’ he drawled ‘We have this system. I will give you a message from the past. There will be arguing. There will be disappointments with those you select because they cannot be all to everyone. Do not trust anyone who says they have simple solutions to problems. Avoid anyone who tries to blame one part of your societies for all the problems. Expect planets or collections of planets to want to go their own way. Above all seek out as much history as you can and learn from that. Nothing is straightforward,’

Vestnesis seemed to sit back, eyes wide.

‘You speak with some insight Mazehof. Have you taken part in governing?’

‘No, but I, as have many, have wished some of those who have governed had never been given the option,’ Mazehof felt a certain confidence and urgency to advise those descendants’ that naivety and excitement were not the right qualities to have at this juncture. ‘Be wary Vestnesis. A great responsibility will rest on all. I know you are only one in a vast population I cannot begin to imagine, however this must start somewhere. Spread this, Choose With Care,’

‘You speak cautiously Mazehof. Neither of us should spread information too quickly,’

‘We should probably not speak anymore Vestnesis, other folk less sanguine might overhear us,’

‘Wise words from the Past,’

The screen blurred and blanked.

Disappointment with resolve resulted.

Mazehof’s report was prompt and quite bland in comparison to the information given to him. He spoke vaguely of Human sort of beings. He suggested the images came from the distant past. He speculated there would be others out there and if Humanity managed to travel into the stellar depths there might be the remains of ancient civilisations to support this. He grew adept at giving vague answers which many thought was a sign of great insight gained in his short tenure. Thus he left the military and lectured in social sciences  at a small college. Some of his work on the Nature of Speculation  was considered influential in many fields.

Vestnesis was buoyant at his success in finding a location and in turn his superiors promoted him. From there he bided his time, musing on Mazehof’s words.

He took up a career in politics, when others asked him where  the inspiration for his successful creed had originated from, he said ‘The Collected Wisdom and Mistakes of Our Histories’. His insight became a byword.

******

This is an offering for the February  #BlogBattle, (Keyword :Interface) . Always a place for interesting short stories.