A Chapter of Something

(A chapter from an as yet unfinished longer piece.  Thought I'd post this chapter while I struggle away with the rest of it as it seems to stand alone quite well.)

The office was missing one person.  It was not at capacity and Mark Webber knew it without looking up from his desk.  He had been situated at this desk for eight years now and in this office for ten.  It had watched him grow by six stone over that time, been filled with the shedding hair of his now sparsely populated crown and had been profusely ingrained with his less than pleasant aroma.  He ruled this place and did so with a relish that harked back to a time where a person could be hated and yet still cling on to absolute power.  His curled up, fat lobed ears could make out that there was one less pair of hands chipping away at a keyboard this morning.  He focused his mind as he swigged at his tepid, horrendously sweet coffee uncaring of the dribble that ran down his mug onto his once white, now beige shirt.  There in his mind he could hear the ticker-ticker-ticker of Unproductive Jane, the trick-tick-tick of Mousey Haired Kathryn.  He strained further, pushing aside the two he had now aurally spotted.  Chacka-chacka-chacka, thumped Man Handed Harriet’s heavy man hands and now all that was left was the slow, so painfully slow, tup-tup-tup of Nearly Dead Vera.  He gave them all new names once a week, it was the only way he could bring himself to tolerate such useless, ungrateful miscreants.  The truth of it was that these diligent, hard working people that had kept this sluggish office behemoth in post for this long.  Were it not for their unwavering productivity in the face of the adversity of sharing a room with the repugnant Mr Webber the upper echelons of the council would have discovered his universal failures as a manager and human being and ousted him to a life of benefits and daytime television.

The missing sound was clear to him now.  ‘Where is Thist?  I can’t hear his insufferable tapping at that filthy workstation of his.’ he gargled at the uninterested room of people around him.

There was a short silence as the team looked at each other and then at Arthur’s desk before Vera succinctly answered, ‘He’s not here.’

Webber, held back the bile that had tried to rush up through his gullet and spew its venomous response on the room.  He hated the way she did that, spouted out the sarcastic, obvious answer.  More so he hated how she did it honestly, without purpose, without actual sarcasm.  Stating the Obvious Vera was going to be next on his exit list once he had dealt with Arthur the Flake.  While Webber fumbled through his tray of address cards the rest of the room shot eyes and expressions at each other with the speed and precision of a Morse Code signaller.  The office environment that these people had cohabited for the last few years had been such that non-verbal communication had not only become a necessity but had been mastered to such a level that everyone, barring Webber and Arthur, could essentially hold entire conversations within seconds, without uttering a word.  Vera glanced, ‘I hope he’s ok,’ to Kathryn, who while receiving that had nodded to Harriet, ‘Hasn’t looked well for a while if you ask me.’  Harriet responded instantly with, ‘Doesn’t sound good, Arthur never has time off.  Ever.’  Jane’s ‘It would be a shame, if there is anything wrong,’ was seen by all and was quickly followed by, ‘shhh, fatty’s about to phone him now.’

He picked up the phone and Webber dialled Arthur’s number while he sat aimlessly twisting his chair back and forth.  Everyone else did what they could to keep the pretence that they were working enough so their listening in would go unnoticed.

‘Thist, It’s Mark Webber, where in blazes are you?  It’s gone nine.’

‘What do you mean in bed?  What’s wrong?’                   

‘Nothing you can put a finger on, what kind of an excuse is that?’

‘Look here, I don’t expect my employees to speak to me like that I...’

‘You might be employed by the council, but I am your line manager and I...’

‘This is not the attitude to take if you want keep your job Thist. Thist?  Thist?’

The room bubbled with excitement at the one sided portion of the call that had been heard.  Mark Webber’s inside tugged and heaved with revulsion at the way in which he had been made to look.  He quite rightly pained at what was to be the first part of his eventual downfall.  It was the shaft of light descending from the clouds that burned away all the illusions he had that he was in control of this office.  In the days after this his authority slipped enough that the others in the office started to take the upper hand in any objections he raised to them.  Hunting in a pack that could taste the blood of their prey they would tear at him piece by piece until his carcass was picked clean of all the flesh and meat and was nothing but bones lying uncovered, bleached white by the sun.  And in this brief silence after the call to Arthur Thist the quietest of voices from the recesses within him let him know that this would happen.  He knew his extinction was inevitable.  He took the slightest taste of sweat from his top lip as Vera broke the silence, ‘So, Arthur not coming in then?’

Sir Gareth and the Quest

A first draft of an experiment in writing a story for children that would perhaps be more suited to being read aloud to them rather than for their own reading.  Might need some expanding in some areas, reducing in others.  Hopefully I will find an illustrator to add to it when it is completely finished.   

 

This dear reader is a tale of questing and knights, of ogres and dungeons, of the good and the not so good.

 

Our story begins with Sir Gareth.  Sir Gareth is a knight.  He likes fighting Dragons.  He likes jousting.  He likes danger and adventure.  There are many things Sir Gareth likes but there is one thing that he does not.  One thing he does not like one bit.  He does not like girls. 

 

All the other knights who live in the castle with him tell stories of the Princesses they have rescued and the many kisses they have had, but not Sir Gareth.  Sir Gareth does not like girls. 

 

So, while the other knights ride off to save fair maidens whenever they can from swamp beasts, evil trolls, cruel wizards, nasty witches, giant spiders, angry ogres and enchanted forests, Sir Gareth stays in the castle waiting to be given a quest that doesn't involve icky, soppy girls.

*****************

One day the other knights were yet again re-telling their stories of how they had rescued so many fair maidens and all the kisses of thanks they had received when Clod, the local message boy and turnip deliverer, called out to all those in the castle.

"I have an urgent message for all the nights of the castle,” Clod shouted up from the courtyard.  “Lord Pibblesquat has requested a loyal and trusted knight for a most dangerous, a most perilous, a most death-defying mission.  He asks if any of the brave knights of this noble tower be willing to go on this quest?"

Suddenly many, many knights appeared at the various windows dotted around the castle’s tower, "And how many fair maidens would we be saving?" they all chanted back at the boy.  All of the knights except Sir Gareth that is.

"Why, none, noble sirs." Clod replied.  "The Lord's treacherous brother, Baron Clive of Farthingham, has stolen his favourite dog Reuben and locked him high in castle guarded by monsters and countless booby-traps."

The chorus of knights replied, "Then we are sorry young Clod, we graciously decline.  You will have to tell Lord Pibblesquat, no damsel, no knights."  And with that they all vanished from the windows and returned to their stories.

As Clod turned to make the long walk back to Lord Pibblesquat with the bad news there was a sound of horses hooves thundering up behind him.  Astride his towering grey horse Sid, Sir Gareth loomed mightily above the Lord's messenger.

In a clear, deep voice Sir Gareth spoke to the young, smelly boy, "Fear not poor Clod, for I, Sir Gareth, the most noble of all the knights of this realm - and perhaps all the other realms too - will take on this most dangerous of quests.  Now that I am here, the safety of this poor little pup is assured.  Take me to Lord Pibblesquat boy so I may venture as soon as possible onto this road of peril you so fearfully speak of."

Clod, who was happy that he would now get a full supper for returning with a knight, gladly led the noble Sir Gareth towards Lord Pibblesquat's keep.

*****************

Lord Pibblesquat sat with a very, very sad face while he waited in courtyard of his castle waiting for Clod to get back.  His daughter, the elegant Lady Jayne, stood behind him as he paced up and down.  Seeing her father like this made her very sad too.

“Father,” she pleaded, “Let me go and rescue Reuben for you.  I am the fastest rider in the castle.  I am the best with a sword.  I am the best shot with a bow and arrow.  And I’m also the smartest person for a hundred miles of here.  Please let me go,  I know I can get him back safely for you.”

“My dearest, dearest daughter,” Lord Pibblesquat replied, “while all you say is true, you are the fastest rider, the best sword fighter, the best shot with a bow and without question the smartest person I know you forget one other thing.”

“And what is that?” asked Jayne.

The Lord sighed, “Jayne dear, you are my daughter.  And I couldn’t risk losing you as well as my poor little Reuben.  I’m sure Clod shall return soon with a valiant knight to take on such a dangerous quest.”

“But Father, I am better than any knight.  You must let me rescue Reuben for you!” demanded Jayne but the Lord just shook his head.  With that she stomped off to her sword practice muttering about how she hated stupid, slow, snotty knights and their big, fat horses.  Lord Pibblesquat sighed some more and resumed his wait for Clod.

************ 

"Clod has returned with a knight your Lordship."  rang the cry from the walls of Pibblesquat Castle.

"Wonderful, wonderful,” said Lord Pibblesquat jumping up joyously, “I have no doubt that poor Ruben will be back among us very soon and that evil brother of mine will get his comeuppance.  Quickly, open the gate and let this brave knight in!"

Clod walked Sir Gareth and his horse into the courtyard and they were greeted by a excited welcome from Lord Pibblesquat.

"Mister Lord Sir, may I introduce Sir Gareth.  A brave knight who has promised to return Ruben safely back to your side."  announced Clod.

"Simply marvellous." an ecstatic Lord Pibblesquat said.  "Come Sir Gareth, feast with us.  I will tell you of the quest and the dangers that lie ahead of you."

"Most kind your Lordship."  replied Sir Gareth, "As much as I welcome a hearty meal I would much rather get straight on with the quest, I thirst for the perils a new adventure might bring.  Please, tell me what evils this wicked Clive has placed between me and your pet so that I might return him post haste."

“Sir Gareth, I admire your enthusiasm!  First you must ride East of here over the green fields and rolling hills until you reach the Murky Thorn Woods, a deadly forest of walking trees.  Clive has poisoned the minds of the trees to attack any knight that should approach them.” Said the Lord.

“Ha, I’ll chop those trees down like they are matchsticks!” boasted Sir Gareth.

“Once you get through the woods ride on past the Weeping River and you will find the giant rock ogre Grumblewort.  He is as strong as a hundred men with skin as tough as stone.”  Continued Lord Pibblesquat.

“Ha, I have fought a thousand ogres and not lost a single battle!” boasted Sir Gareth.

“After the ogre you must take the terrible pathway up to Clive’s dungeon.  The dungeon is filled with at least a hundred traps and tricks to stop any intruder brave enough to enter.” said Lord Pibblesquat.

“Ha, traps!  I am yet to find a trap that has ever snagged me.  I can assure you Lord Pibblesquat, whatever Baron Clive has guarding Reuben I will overcome and I assure you I will return with your dog safely.” boasted Sir Gareth.

"Sir Knight, I have told you all I know of what lays ahead and yet you are still ready to go and fight to free poor Reuben.  Your honour is truly great, you haven’t even asked about any reward I might offer, I am impressed.”  said Lord Pibblesquat.

“Well,” said Sir Gareth, thinking about how much he would quite like some gold for a new lance and some more super shiny armour polish, “the honour is enough payment for me your Lordship.  I am a knight after all.”

”That is wonderful news Sir Gareth,” said Lord Pibblesquat happily, “as am certainly not a wealthy man.  But if you should return safely with Reuben I promise you a feast as large as my table will allow.”  Lord Pibblesquat bowed in respect to Sir Gareth.  Sir Gareth bowed in return, lowered his visor and rode back out through the gates.

While her father had been talking with Sir Gareth, Lady Jayne had been watching from one of the castle’s windows.

“What a pompous fool that knight is!  He thinks he can just walk to Uncle Clive’s dungeon without any problems, pick up Reuben and just skip back here like it’s a nice little daytrip?  Ha, he doesn’t  know half the trouble he’s going to end up in!  I bet he thinks if he gets Reuben back he might get a kiss from me, well he won’t!  He’s a fool and so is stupid grey horse!  Stupid knights!”

And with that she stamped her feet through the castle away from anyone who might talk to her about the brave Sir Gareth.

******

“Ahhh,” sighed Sir Gareth as he trotted over the fields towards Murky Thorn Woods and the Forest of Walking Trees, “this is just what we’ve been waiting for Sid, an adventure where there are no maidens involved.”  Sid nodded in agreement.  “Don’t get me wrong old boy, I don’t dislike maidens completely,”  he continued, “they are often very beautiful and they do smell a good deal better than knights do.  But all that screaming, crying and fainting stuff, pah, that I can do without.”  Sid whinnied in agreement.  Although he couldn’t tell Sir Gareth about it, what with horses not being able to speak and all, Sid agreed with his rider completely.  Sid had never met a single mare that didn’t get upset by the first bit of mud she’d had to gallop through.

As they got closer the Murky Thorn woods the sky seemed to darken and cloud over.  If Sir Gareth hadn’t thought it silly he might have said that night was falling, even if it was only midday.  But focusing on the task ahead of him he put the brooding sky to the back of his mind and got himself ready to approach the Walking Trees.

Sir Gareth and Sid stood themselves at the edge of the forest, the knight held his sword aloft and even in the dusky light it shone brilliantly on the dark woods.

In a deep bellowing voice Sir Gareth called out, “Hear me o’ great walking trees, I am Sir Gareth of the Knightly Tower and I have need to pass through your lands.  I mean you no harm and I will cause you none if you let me pass peacefully.  However, deny me my way and I shall hack and chop you all down to your very roots!”

After Sir Gareth had finished Sid was sure he could hear muffled laughter and mutterings coming from the trees.  He would have liked to be able to tell Sir Gareth this but being a horse and not being able to speak he had to keep it to himself.  Sir Gareth urged Sid on and trotted towards a very narrow gap in the trees.  Just as they were about to leave the field and enter the wood there was an almighty THWACK and Sir Gareth found himself flying backwards through the air.  Then, with a terrible clatter of his armour, he landed in a heap of the floor.  Sid turned around to see if his friend was okay, as he walked over to Sir Gareth he was now sure he could hear laughter from the trees.  Sir Gareth could definitely hear it.

“I suppose you think it’s funny hitting me with one of your branches.”  Sir Gareth said angrily.  The trees laughed a little more.  Sir Gareth raised his sword and with a roaring cry ran at the woods as fast as his chunky armour would let him.  He swung his sword down on the nearest tree he came to but before he could hit it, THWACK, a different branch hit him.  Again he flew up in the air and landed in almost the same spot that he had landed in before.  Sid watched Sir Gareth repeat this running, thwacking, flying, falling routine several times before the knight was so tired he had to stop and catch his breath.

“Sid, I think I need a new idea to get through this forest.” Sir Gareth shouted to his horse over the loud laughter coming from the trees.  He stood there for a few moments thinking of what cunning plan to use when a thunderous sound of hooves came rushing towards him.  Sir Gareth turned to see a knight in glistening, spiky black armour riding a speeding black horse.  The Black Knight rode straight past Sir Gareth and towards the wood stopping just before one of the branches could knock him off his own horse.  The trees swung several more times but the black knight just ducked out of the way each time.  He steered his horse back away from the forest and started to ride away.

“Not as easy as you thought was it Sir Knight?”  said Sir Gareth chuckling to himself, “Giving up already sir?”

The Black Knight didn’t reply.  Instead he took the lance from the back of his black horse, tied some rags to the end it and set them alight with some sparks from a flint stone.  He lowered the lance and charged as fast as he could at the tree.  There was the sound of the trees starting to creak and move, “Fire, fire,” they cried, “Move, move!”   and suddenly a path started to form.  The Black Knight rode straight down the path and disappeared into the forest.

Sir Gareth stumbled about as he tried to quickly climb onto Sid and follow the Black Knight.  Sid waited until Sir Gareth got as close to sitting down as he could before bolting towards the path.  Sid galloped as fast as he could, faster than he could ever remember galloping, but even at this speed he could feel the trees starting to close in behind him.  Meanwhile Sir Gareth did all that he could to just hold on and try to look like he was in full control of the situation.  He bounced this way and that and then that way and this as Sid galloped through the closing woodland.  They finally burst through into the gloomy open space on the other side of the forest with a crack of branches and a cloud of twigs and splinters.

When Sid eventually came to a stop and Sir Gareth was able to right himself and sit in the manner a good knight should upon his horse he rather flustered man shouted out, “Ha, I have defeated the Forest of Walking Trees!”

Sid, neighed loudly and looked back over his shoulder to Sir Gareth with the sternest look a horse could muster.  “Sorry Sid, ahem, WE defeated the Forest of Walking Trees!  Now onwards, we must beat the Black Knight to the dungeon for I fear he aims to get to the prize before we do”

Filled with pride at being included in Sir Gareth’s victory speech Sid made off as fast as his four mighty legs could carry him.

*********

The Ogre Grumblewort lived in a murky, mossy, muddy castle that was certainly not the type of place anyone would choose to visit unless a quest forced them to.  In fact most would rather not ever have to be close by it as not only did it look terrible but it smelt even worse.  Grumblewort had not had the chance to fight a knight for several years because they usually turned away, fleeing the stench before they even got to his castle gate.  This upset Grumblewort somewhat as he really liked to fight.  So, when Baron Clive had said there would probably be questing knights heading up the path to his dungeon, the path that went through Grumblewort’s castle, he cheered up and waxed and cleaned his club.  Now he sat tapping the club in his huge gnarled hand waiting for the chance to wallop an unsuspecting knight with it.  He really did like hitting knights.

Sir Gareth rode right up to the giant crumbling gate of Grumblewort’s castle.  He looked around to see if he could catch sight of the Black Knight but there was no sign of him.  His eyes were drawn up ahead to a gray, rocky mountain where carved into the stone was Baron Clive’s dungeon and running down from it, through the middle of Grumblewort’s very smelly castle, was the only path.

Sir Gareth held his sword aloft and shouted out, “Hear me o’ great Grumblewort, I am Sir Gareth and I have need to pass through your castle.  I would mean you no harm and I will cause you none if you let me pass peacefully.  However, deny me my way and I shall hack and chop you down to your very boots!”

There was a long silence before a bellyful of laughter burst out from deep inside the castle.  “Wahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa!  And what makes you think I’ll let you do that little man?”

Sir Gareth was about to answer with a strongly thrown insult when the Ogre stepped out from a large hole in the wall of his castle.  Grumblewort was enormous.  Five times taller than a man and at least five times as wide.  His skin, which looked just like ancient gray stone, cracked and groaned with each of his lumbering steps towards Sir Gareth.  As his wide mouth hung open Sir Gareth shuddered at the sight of the row upon row of pointed green teeth within. Above this menacing grin lay two tiny eyes that were as red as the morning sun and were focused firmly on the knight and his horse.  Held tightly under his arm was what looked like a whole tree that the ogre had hacked a handle out of and finished it into the largest club Sir Gareth had ever seen. 

The knight gulped and said, “Now look here Sir Ogre, you look like a decent chap, how about we talk this through like pair of gentlemen?  See if we can’t come to a solution to both our problems, hmm?”

The Ogre laughed again.  “Little man, my only problem is that my club has not squished a crunchy, sploshy knight in a very long time.  And it does like to squish knights.”

“Then foul Ogre, you leave me no choice.  Prepare to die!”  Sir Gareth called out.  He jumped down from Sid and ran at the Grumblewort with his sword swinging from side to side.  Grumblewort let out another roaring laugh and with a quick swing of his club sent a crumpled and dented Sir Gareth flying through the air.  While he waited for the floor to catch up to him Sir Gareth remembered the Forest of Walking Trees and thought that maybe it was time he tried to come up with a different plan of attack rather than just running directly at things with his sword swinging.  When he did finally land he soon managed to pick himself up this time he ran at to the ogre again, only now he swerved from here to there, ducking and diving, weaving and bobbing, doing all that he could to be wily and nimble.  Grumblewort swung and swung and swung at Sir Gareth but with all the moving about that the Knight was doing he just couldn’t hit him.

Sir Gareth continued to dodge and move about but try as he might he could not get close enough to strike Grumblewort with his sword.  While he jumped and swayed as much as he could out of the corner of his eye he noticed the Black Knight had appeared astride his horse behind the ogre and was carefully and quietly trying to sneak past the fight and into the castle.

“Hey you!” shouted Sir Gareth, “Hey you!  Bad sport, sneaking past us!  Too afraid to fight me or old Grumblewort are you!”

Unfortunately all the shouting at the Black Knight had slowed Sir Gareth down just enough for Grumblewort to hit him again with his tree club.  Sir Gareth flew into the air again.  Grumblewort turned to see the still slowly creeping Black Knight.  “It looks like it’s my club’s lucky day.  I now have two knights to squish and mush into pie filling!”  Grumblewort turned toward the Black Knight who quickly jumped off his horse and started to duck and pounce out of the way of wildly swinging club.

Seeing that the ogre was distracted by the Black Knight, Sir Gareth picked himself up and rushed as Grumblewort with his sword pointed straight ahead of himself.   THUNK went the sword when it struck Grumblewort’s tough stumpy leg.  Sir Gareth started to hack and hack and hack at the ogre’s legs.  It didn’t seem to make any marks on Grumblewort’s stone like skin but it certainly annoyed him.  “You again!” he shouted and he turned to Sir Gareth who prepared himself to jump and dive out of the way of the giant club.  The Black Knight followed Sir Gareth’s lead and hacked and hacked and hacked at Grumbleworts legs when he turned around.  The ogre spun from knight to knight as each chopped away at his legs.  Eventually a very dizzy ogre with very sore legs fell flat on his back, unable to move.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Grumbled a very grumpy Grumblewort.

Sir Gareth quickly climbed into Sid’s saddle and rode up to the Black Knight.  “Sir Knight, that was some fine swordsmanship to displayed there.  You are a worthy foe but I must ask that you change your course sir, for I do not want to have to fight you to make sure I am the only knight to return poor Reuben to Lord Pibblesquat. But sir, I will, should I have to.”

The Black Knight climbed onto his black steed and looked like he was thinking very hard for a moment.  After this rather dramatic pause he then shoved Sir Gareth clean off Sid and rode off as fast as he could.

Sir Gareth picked himself up, climbed back onto Sid and muttering something about bad sportsmanship and other things that a knight really shouldn’t say out loud in public he rode off after the Black Knight towards Baron Clive’s dungeon.

*********

Sir Gareth rode up to the gates of the dungeon which had been left wide open.  Just next to them the Black Knight’s black horse was tethered up.  Sir Gareth jumped off Sid and led him up to the post the black horse was tied to.

“Sid, it’ll be too dangerous in there, even for a brave horse like you.  You stay here and wait for my return.  Maybe this horse here is more friendly that his rider.  You two get on now, no fighting.”  And with that Sir Gareth picked up his sword, held it aloft and charged through the gates laughing as heartily as could.

“Does he always do that?” the black horse asked Sid because although horses are unable to talk to people they are really quite good at talking to each other.

“Yes.  Unfortunately that’s his favourite thing to do.  He’s very good at charging and shouting.” replied Sid.

“I must say, and no offence meant, but he’s very noisy.  Is it not annoying having him with you all the time?” asked the black horse.

“You get used to it,” Sid answered, “he’s a very nice person when you get to know him.  He does treat me better than the other knights treat their horses.  I have my own apple tree.”

“Oh that’s very nice.” said the black horse.

“It is, very lucky in these difficult times.  By the way, I feel I should compliment you on your galloping,” said Sid, “very fast through the mud and puddles.”

“Why, thank you,” said the black horse.  “You aren’t too bad at galloping yourself.”

“Why, thank you,” said Sid.  “I’m Sid by the way.”

“Nice to meet you Sid.  I’m Jan.”

“Oh.” said Sid.  “You’re a mare.”

“I am.” said Jan.

“A mare who likes running through puddles and doesn’t mind getting muddy.” said Sid.

“I am.” said Jan.

“Oh.” said Sid.

**************

Sir Gareth ran through the entrance corridor to the dungeon and saw the Black Knight enter the room at the end.  As he followed him inside he saw another corridor filled with swinging blades, spears jutting in and out of the walls and various trip wires and traps.  The Knights looked at each other and at the same time ran at the booby traps as fast as they could.  They easily avoided the swinging things, the poking things and all the other various dangers in front of them.  Together they burst through into the next room which seemed empty save for a nicely tiled white and black floor.  Before Sir Gareth could move the Black Knight started slowly stepping from black tile to black tile.  Sir Gareth laughed a hearty laugh.

“Ha, superstitious are we?  Well not I!”

He went to run across the room but as soon as his foot came down on the first white tile a jet of red and orange flames shot from the ceiling.  Sir Gareth narrowly managed to avoid the fire with just little bit of a singe on his already very dented armour.

The Black Knight sniggered and then laughed and nearly lost his footing from shaking.   He quickly stopped his chuckles and went back to concentrating on his footsteps.  Then a very, very slow, very, very careful race began.  Sir Gareth went as steadily and cautiously as he could but also as fast as he could too, which was not very fast at all.  The Black Knight, seeing this tried to speed up as much as he could too, which was also not very fast.  It was a very strange race indeed.

Finally, after many, many painfully slow, painfully awkward steps the Black Knight reached the other side.  He looked back at Sir Gareth who was a few steps behind, waved, and then ran off into the next room.  Sir Gareth sighed to himself and continued with his slow, strange looking walk from black tile to black tile.

“Ha!” Sir Gareth yelled as he stepped off the other side and ran to catch up with the Black Knight.

In the next room Sir Gareth saw the Black Knight staring across a great hall to Baron Clive who was nestled up in a window on the other side looking down on them both.  In the clutch of the Baron was a small brown dog that Sir Gareth knew must be poor little Reuben.  As Sir Gareth stepped fully into the room the door slammed shut suddenly behind him and was quickly bolted behind both him and the Black Knight.

“Now I have two knights to keep forever and laugh at whenever I like.” cackled Baron Clive.  “Neither of you will ever leave this dungeon and you certainly won’t ever get me, ever ever!”

“Baron, I hate to interrupt you,” said Sir Gareth as he interrupted, “but this is really much more of a castle than a dungeon.  I’ve seen a few dungeons and they are a lot more gloomy than this place.  Cobwebs everywhere, not to mention the iron bars and chains.  This place is much more like a castle.  And the price of this place will only drop if you keep saying it’s a dungeon, they just don’t sell these days.  You really should think of the re-sale value.”

Baron Clive stared at the Knight with a look of disgust.  “I don’t care what you think you silly knight.  If I want to call my dungeon a dungeon then I shall call it a dungeon!  Is that okay with you?  You pointless little man.” he shouted.

“I just think in this day and age…” Sir Gareth started to reply before he was cut off by an almighty SHUT UP Baron Clive shouted across the hall.

“I don’t actually want to know if it is okay with you, you little worm, I was…  …look forget about what I call it, the point is you will never leave.  Ever!”  He laughed his evil laugh once more.  “Pibblesquat’s stupid dog will always be mine!”  As he disappeared away from the window he made even more cackling evil laugher.

From the entrances surrounding the room in poured ten of the Baron’s henchmen.  Then twenty, then thirty.  They quickly blocked off the doors and started to close in on the two knights. 

“Well Sir Knight,” Sir Gareth started, “I don’t know about you sir but I don’t intend to spend the rest of my days in this castle or dungeon or whatever this Clive person wants to call it.  Now, on a bad day I could take ten of these jokers, on a good day twenty but even on my best day thirty is a pretty tall order.  What’s say you and me do a bit of teaming up and show these henchmen a what for that they won’t forget for a while?”

The Black Knight looked at the looming group of scruffy, smelly henchmen and back to Sir Gareth and gave a rather reluctant nod.

“That’s the spirit Sir!  You take the left batch and I’ll take the right batch.”  Sir Gareth had barely finished talking before the Black Knight had swung his sword at the nearest goon.

They fought and fought, slapping and smacking their way through henchman after henchman.  The henchmen few in the air, bounced off walls and mostly wished that they had stayed in their comfy henchmen beds that morning.

Eventually the last henchman was all that was left.  Both the night stepped towards him and he very quickly dropped his sword and turned and ran out of the room through a door that revealed a staircase leading up to Baron Clive’s window.  Sir Gareth and the Black Knight made for the way out but as they did even more henchmen poured into the room.

“Drat, how many of these confounded fools does this Clive chap have?” Sir Gareth sighed.  “Look here Sir Knight, if you run you can still get through that door, I’ll hold off these guttersnipes so you can get the darned dog for Lord Pibblesquat.  After the way you’ve fought you more than deserve the prize sir.  Just make sure Sid get a good home if I don’t make it out of this place.”

The Black Knight watched Sir Gareth hold his sword aloft, make a familiar cry and charge headlong into the mess of henchmen behind them.

********

The Black Knight carefully made his way up the stairs towards Baron Clive, the noise of Sir Gareth’s fighting started to disappear behind him.  It was not long before he came to a door that was locked tight.  He rattled the handle, tugging and pushing but to no avail.  From the other side of the door Baron Clive shouted, “That door is solid wood, you’ll never get through you fool!  Go home and give up while you still can!”

The Black Knight threw his shoulder against the impassable door and fell through it in a shower of splinters.

“That is the last time I trust a door to door door salesman,” cried Clive.  “Still, I’ll not relinquish this dog as long as I have any fight left in me!”  And with that he picked up a rather upsettingly small sword.  So small in fact that were it to be sold in a market stall the vendor would have to label it a dagger for fear of getting reported to the Knightly Trading Services.  There was a tiny, almost unnoticeable laugh that came from the Black Knight’s helmet and he held his rather impressive black sword firmly in his hand, pointing directly at Baron Clive.

“On second thoughts, I have not need for this rather smelly and silly looking dog.  Take it back to my foolish brother and leave me and my dungeon be.  But before I hand him over there is one thing I have to know, who is this mysterious knight that has so easily overcome all my traps?  I must know!”

The Black Knight lifted a hand and slowly took off his helmet to show his face.

“You!  I would never have guessed! How dare you come into my dungeon and,” but before Baron Clive could finish what he was saying the Black Knight, helmet now firmly returned to his head, grabbed Reuben and strode over to the window.  After a very graceful bow jumped off the ledge and slid gently down the rooftop to his horse.

As the Black Knight untethered Jan from the gate he looked around to see if there was any sign of Sir Gareth.  There was not.  Carefully he walked over to Sid and unhooked his reins too but as he tried to lead the two horses away Sid stood firm.

The Black Knight spoke softly to the horse, “Sid, you’re to come with me, Sir Gareth shall not be returning.  He fought very bravely but there were just too many of Baron Clive’s men for him.  I shall give you a good home, please don’t make this harder than it is already.  I had grown somewhat fond of his honourable, if a trifle foolish, ways too.”

Sid lowered his head and very slowly started to walk with the knight.  However, they had gone no more than five steps when a recognisable voice sounded behind them.

“Hey there you, I didn’t mean for you to go without looking for me!  I thought you might wait for a short while at least.”

Sid, Jan and the Black Knight all wheeled around to see Sir Gareth limping his way towards the dungeon gate.  His armour more off than on and what was left on him bent and dented into such shapes that were he not obviously very sore would be very amusing to anyone looking at him.

“There was a lot of those crummy guards but not too many for a knight like me!” the battered knight continued, “However, I think I should like to take a bit of a rest before my next quest.  Maybe buy myself some new armour.”

 
He brought himself up to Sid and hopped, then jumped and then tried to lift his leg up to get in the saddle.  Sid lowered himself without Sir Gareth knowing to help the rather rigid knight up.  “So that’s Rueben is it?” he said, pointing to the dog in the Black Knight’s arms.  “Rather small and scrawny a dog for all this trouble, ah well, we’re knights, a quest is a quest!  Shall we ride together back to Lord Pibblesquat?”

With a nod the Black Knight jumped astride Jan and they rode off together.

*************

As they approached Pibblesquat’s Castle the Black Knight and Jan slowed to a stop and stared at the entrance.  Sir Gareth turned to his new companion, “Why so nervous Sir Knight?  Come, come, they are very welcoming here.  Especially if you have the Lord’s dog.”  The Black Knight shook his head and thrust the dog into Sir Gareth’s arms and tried to turn and ride away.

“Oh no you don’t, what’s the point of a quest if you don’t get a bit of the glory afterward.”  He grabbed Jan’s reins and pulled them both behind him into the Castle’s courtyard.

Lord Pibblesquat and the castle’s workers all quickly came down and surrounded the Knights cheering for the return of the little dog the Lord cared so much for.

“Sir Gareth, you have returned with poor little Rueben, a thousand thank yous!”  Lord Pibblesquat cried out.

“That is most gracious your Lordship,” Sir Gareth replied, “but most of your praise should fall to this honourable knight here.” he said placing his arm on the shoulder of the Black Knight beside him.  “By all accounts I would not have even got close to Baron Clive’s dungeon were it not for this fine fellow!”

“Well, let us feast for him too.” the Lord responded gleefully.  “Come Black Knight let us see your face so that we might remember who served us so well on this quest.”

“Yes, Sir Knight,” added Sir Gareth, “After all this adventuring I would like to know who I fought alongside so well with, after our shaky start that is.”

Reluctantly the Black Knight put his hand to his head and ever so slowly removed his helmet from his head.  All at once a bundle of raven black hair fell past his shoulders and pulling it behind his ears his face was revealed.

There was a gasp around the courtyard.  Then a hush came over everyone.  Then another gasp and another hush as the surprise was too much for just one gasp for everyone there.

Then, after what seemed like the longest silence the castle had ever known, Lord Pibblesquat cried out, “Jayne, you are the Black Knight?  Why, how, what, who, why?”

“Father, I told you I was strong enough to get Rueben back.  This seemed like the only way I could get you to believe me.”

While Lord Pibblesquat stared dumbfounded at his daughter Sir Gareth turned to Jayne, “M’Lady, I must say, you make a quite exceptional knight, probably the best knight I have ever met.  Hurrah to you for being such a worthy adventurer.”

Jane smiled, “And thank you Sir Knight for being so honourable.  Knights might still be a little stupid but I know now there is one out there who I may care to spend some more of my time with, should that knight have some free to spend it.”

As they gazed longingly at each other Lord Pibblesquat erupted with glee.  “Oh finally, a suitor for Jayne.  This truly is a wondrous day!  We shall start planning the wedding immediately, oh and then a nursery must be made for all the Grandchildren I’ll have! Oh wondrous day!”

“Wedding!” cried Jayne.

“Grandchildren!” cried Sir Gareth

They both looked at each other, more terrified than they had ever been while they had been rescuing Rueben.

“I was thinking of something more like we could go questing together.”  Sir Gareth said to Jayne.

“Thank heavens for that!  That is what I was thinking too.  I would be happy to quest with you, if you are happy to quest with me?” she replied.

“More than happy Lady Jayne.  In fact,” Sir Gareth continued, “I know of a Lord not too far from here who has regular problems with trolls in his cellars.”

“Oooo, that sounds like fun.” said Jayne, “And I know of an abbey plagued by a troublesome worm more than thirty foot long!”

“Now that does sound like a quest for two noble knights.”

Quickly they turned Sid and Jan around and rode out of the castle gates awash with the smiles of knights about to have a fantastic adventure.  They soon disappeared leaving a stunned Lord Pibblesquat and all the folk of the castle behind them.

And from then on they rode and adventured together and became well known in all the realms as two of the grandest knights that had ever lived.  A brave person might tell tale of how they would, when no one could see, share a kiss and hold each other’s hand, as people who like each other tend to do.  But I, dear reader, am not a brave person so I would not dare tell tale of such a thing.

 

© http://salopianfiction.blogspot.co.uk/

I Am Going To Die Today

(Written a couple of years ago and found on a hard drive. Not properly proof read yet)

I am going to die today. It was God who told me so. God appeared quite clearly to me and with a calm but affirmative tone said, “Today is when you will die.”

It would be an understatement to say I was upset by this.

What do you do with your final day alive? If you’re me you spend at least two hours trying to convince yourself that this isn’t happening. How could this happen? It can't be true I kept telling myself. However, If you are me you will find that after two hours of this questioning God reappears and just to make sure tells you again to shake away that element of doubt.

So then what do you do with the rest of your final day alive? It’s not easy. I mull it over and over, wasting yet more time. What I find the most morbid part of it is that instead of bursting with life, taking every second and grasping it with two expectant hands I just sat there wondering how it was going to happen. I’m not very good with surprises you see. I would often sneak into the cinema twenty minutes before the end of a film so that I would know how it ended. Then I’d meet my friends to watch it from the start, safe in the knowledge that I was in for no shocks or upsets.

But now I am in a surprise paradox. I know when I’m going to die, that takes much of life’s one truly big surprise away in an instant. However, I still don’t know how. When you actually start to think about it there is an almost unfathomable amount of ways for us all to shuffle of this mortal coil. I if had longer than a day left I would start to list a few of these but time is precious.

I have wasted half the day with all this contemplating. This is rather trivial though as I am certain I have probably wasted more than half my life with unnecessary activities. How bad is a couple more hours to this rather large total of wastage? The first useful thing I decide to do is not tell my friends and family. Telling someone who loves you very much that you have a disease and several months or years to live can let them deal with the situation. Maybe even reach some kind of acceptance of it before you leave them. Telling someone who loves you God appeared before and told you have one day left to live will result in two outcomes. Firstly, they will think you’re nuts and pay little attention. Which means they don’t take you seriously and you have made no real gains or achievements by approaching them. Secondly, they think you are a sick, malicious git and pretty much hate you for the rest of your life. The rest of your very short life.

It came down to this, nature or the pub. Nature has its merits, some of the best memories I have involve the great outdoors. However grand nature is it generally is not that social though. Unlike the pub. A place of limitless conversation. I doubt there are many places in the world where in a single room you can have people laughing and crying, fighting and hugging. I am well aware that most people will think this to be a pretty stupid decision but I have never made many life choices that haven’t at least bordered the realm of the idiotic. It’s one of my gifts.

The two men sat at the bar with me are the most sacred type of friends an adult man can have. I know very little about them. Practically nothing except one is called Alan and used to be Welsh and one is called Ralph and he has his own fruit machine. I see them once, maybe twice a week in the pub. Not because I meet them but because we are all there in the pub. We don’t have each others telephone numbers, don’t know where each other live. Yet we can sit and talk for hours about every subject that time will allow us. The first few drinks take us on the tour of our usual haunts. Why bank notes are nothing more than an IOU, why you should never trust a cat, the type of people who actually believe loan or insurance adverts. These subjects are like old friends leading us on our merry way to drunkenness.

It is a shock when I look to the clock and see that it is 10pm. The beers and whisky do their best to numb the sucker punch that I might only have two hours left to live. Inebriated I let slip my problem to my two bar compadres. They are in no state to take this question very seriously at all. That isn’t to say that they don’t react to it. If anything they take it all a little too philosophically. The first aspect of my circumstance to be questioned is when is it actually the end of the day? Midnight I suggest. This is hastily taken apart. It is the middle of the night, agreed. But not the end of the day. As I am still here it would seem that sundown, the transition from day into night is also not the end of the day either. This would suggest that night is not a separate but just part of the day. Sunrise. It is concluded that sunrise, the start of the next day is the end of the last. I am relieved to be granted several extra hours by these two fine patrons of the bar.

The next quandary proposed by my two chums was this. What is better, living a full and long life unsure of where the next stop will be after the great bell rings 'time gentlemen' and you depart the land of the living or God telling you will die but therefore confirming that the possibility of an afterlife greatly increased? This is a split decision. On one hand the promise of an afterlife is tremendous. On the other hand none of us thought that our particular lives would lead us to the better half of the Christian options. And our lack of any following of the other religions means we’d probably suffer whatever punishment any of the afterlives had to offer us. Basically it was concluded that I seem to have the shitty end of the stick.

Midnight speeds past. We briefly celebrate our understanding of the end of the day. Hurrah, I’m still here. The beer allows me to convince these two behemoths of hypothetical conversation to head back to mine, drinking ‘til dawn and wait for me to die. A macabre but successful suggestion that gets a cheer, some takeout drinks and pack of cigars. Why worry about my health now? It is about 3 am when I start to pass out, powerless against my failing eyes. I am sure my last conscious thoughts are going to be, “I wish I wasn’t this drunk.”

When I wake the next morning the first thing that I am aware of is the intense pain in my head. My joy of not being dead is dulled by slight disappointment that by not dying I am going to have to suffer a really, really bad hangover. The two similarly sick people in my flat are soon woken by the smell of coffee and congratulate me on my survival. Their faces dip back forth from pain to severe pain and we mull over different moments from the previous day. As I try not to start thinking about the huge theological rethinking I was going to have to go through after being lied to by God, Alan says, “I suppose everyone dies today. If you died yesterday, yesterday would have been your last today. And you can’t die tomorrow because tomorrow becomes today when you wake up in it.”

So starts another today then.