REASONABLE FORCE

by Richard Banks

Leo emerged from the Crown Court knowing that a new trial was about to begin. He had been well prepared for this second inquisition, as had his mother who escorted him towards the waiting phalanx of TV cameras and journalists. His advisers followed on, ready to prompt him if he should falter. “Look solemn,” they said, “no laughing, no celebration. Be dignified, act the decent, law abiding citizen. The Great British public is watching. Show them you are one of them, that you are the victim, not the sad loser you battered. Most of all, keep to the script.”

      “Mr Davies, how do you feel, now that the case against you has been abandoned?”

      “Relief, great relief, like a nightmare ending. Can’t wait to get back home.”

      “The CPS waited four months before charging you with attempted murder. Do you consider this case should ever have been brought to court?”

      Leo struggled to remember his lines. Then they came. “I have always maintained, and will always maintain, that I used reasonable force to protect myself from an armed intruder who attacked me in my mother’s home. Had I not defended myself I seriously doubt whether I would be with you today.” He glanced nervously at the journalists. Were they buying it? He couldn’t tell. They wore their masks even better than he.

      “What do you say to those who claim that by bludgeoning Collins with a hammer you went well beyond what was reasonable?”

      Leo swallowed hard. He felt anger but knew he must not show it. Anger equals aggression. He must remain passive, thoughtful, quietly spoken. “I repeat, I used reasonable force. His injuries were not life threatening.”

      The reporter who asked the question, continued his probing. “Mr Davies, you say that Collins attacked you with a knife, yet you sustained no injuries. How do you explain this?”

      Leo tried to stay composed. For a moment his mask slipped. He observed the reporter with an infuriated stare. What is the matter with the man? he thought. Do I have to be dead or paralysed to be believed?

      His solicitor placed a reassuring hand on Leo’s shoulder and spoke for him. “My client was extremely fortunate to escape serious injury. Nevertheless he did sustain abrasions to both arms. Fortunately, these were not sufficiently serious to require hospital treatment.”

      The reporter attempted to ask a further question but was drowned out by one of the TV men who spoke into a microphone. “Mr Davies you were indicted on the evidence of a twenty year old criminal with a string of previous convictions. How do you feel about that?”

      “Puzzled, frustrated, even now I have no idea why the police believed Collins rather than me. The young man’s lies have cast a deep shadow over my life.”

      “Why do you think he waited until now - one day into your trial - before dropping the accusations against you?”

      Leo imagined a halo hovering above his head and assumed an appropriate expression. “As a practicing Christian, I have always placed my faith in the Lord. I believe that through him the truth has been revealed. I thank God that my prayers have been answered.”

      “Amen,” shouted a woman in the expanding scrum behind Leo. There was cheering and applause.

      The TV man gave way to a female colleague who smiled reassuringly at Leo’s mother. “Mrs Davies, I understand that you have been burgled four times in the last two years. Do you think the law is doing enough to protect law abiding people like yourself?”

      Leo’s mother fingered the crucifix that hung from her neck and spoke into camera. “This has been a traumatic time for all of us. Leo was brought to trial because he attempted to defend us and our home from an armed robber. Surely, that cannot be right. The young man who was injured will soon be released from prison. Has his suffering been more than ours? Nevertheless, we continue to pray for him, for his redemption.”

      The young woman began another question, but was interrupted by Leo’s solicitor.

      “Ladies and gentlemen there will be a further opportunity to ask questions at the ‘Reasonable Force’ press conference to be held at the Daily Clarion. For the moment may I ask you to respect the family’s privacy and give them the time and space to recover from what has been a harrowing ordeal.” He ushered Leo and his mother to a waiting car and opened the door. They entered, along with several other persons.

      The driver carefully engaged first gear and moved out into the busy carriageway.  There was a collective sigh of relief from within the car. They were alone now, unheard, unobserved.

      “Well done, people,” said a large, bearded man, who was last into the car. He took a small packet of white powder from his jacket and tossed it onto Leo’s lap. “It’s chill out time, everything’s cool.”

      The scowl that had been forming on Leo’s face turned to rage. His clenched fist struck the seat in front of him, causing the driver to jolt forward towards the steering wheel. “Why so long? He’s just a nobody, no crew, nothing. Surely you could have shut him up before now?”

      The man grimaced. “It wasn’t easy. He was kept separate. It took time to get our guy in. Once he was there it was easy peasy. We gave him a choice. Change your story or we’ll chop your hands off. He was never going to give evidence against you. No way was that going to happen.”

      Leo’s fury was unabated. He clenched his fist again and was about to unleash another punch when his mother laid a firm hand on his arm.

      “Stop it, boy. Your temper is the reason you was in court. Don’t take it out on Winston. You had no need to hammer that chancer. He was never going to find them drugs. He wasn’t even armed. You just lost it, lost it big time and put our whole operation at risk. Now remember who you are and act the part; we are law abiding folks above suspicion. That’s why the police search other people’s houses and not ours.”

      Leo slumped back into his seat and stared, stony faced, past the driver, at the road ahead. He wanted to hurt everyone who ever got in his way. He had a list, a long list, but for the moment he must be measured and calm, a reasonable man who had used reasonable force. That’s what the people wanted, and for a while, that’s what they would get. In time them fools would have good reason to fear him. They could have stopped him, they nearly did. He wouldn’t give them a second chance.          

 

 

 Copyright Richard Banks

Personal Well-Being ~ 14

 Personal Well-Being ~ 14 Respiratory Problems

By the Barefoot Medic.

There are dozens of respiratory ailments besetting us in the 2020s+.  Asthma, Bronchitis, Covid 19, are amongst them.  Breathing difficulties cause a lot of misery and millions of lost work hours each year.

The causes are said to be Air pollution, from cars and buses, chemical sprays, and central heating?

 Yes, you heard me right, central heating! 

It seems the humble dust mite is thriving, multiplying, and bringing misery to humans by the thousands.  It’s a war.  They are wreaking havoc with our sinuses, nasal passages & lungs.  How did it happen?

In the 1950s, 60s, and 70s central heating was rare, our rooms were cold throughout most of the winter.  Now they are permanently heated providing the dust mites, our minuscule companions, with the perfect environment in which to thrive and multiply. 

We need to have good ventilation to flush out our lungs, the efficient evacuation of air, and its regular replacement is necessary for health, it's called breathing!  Deep breathing exercises are one answer to the problem; if you remember to do them on a regular basis.

 A good and painless way to accomplish this daily is to sing at the top of your lungs. Impractical you say?  With a voice like yours?  Ah but I’ve thought of that. 

Get into your car, wind down the window, turn on the radio, take a deep breath and sing along.  You’ll be singing your way to health…

Try it before knocking it!

Cheilin Saga ~ 23

Cheilin Saga ~ 23 Eve of the Games II 

By Len Morgan

   “I envy you, my love,” said Gavein, “you come and go freely, inside and outside the Palace, whilst I remain a virtual prisoner within these grounds.”

“Then you know just how the other women feel,” said Zophira.

“Indeed,” he said taking no offence at her barbed statement.   “I would go with you just once,” he pleaded for the umpteenth time…

Her heart gave a little jump of excitement in expectation, the game progressed, he was worrying the bait, and soon he would swallow it, not bad for two months she thought.

“Would that be wise?   You would first have to slip past your bodyguard, if you do so and later get caught, the consequences for them and for me would be dire; you are heir to the Empire.   If I were you I would think hard before taking such action.”

“It would take careful planning but I believe we could get out and return without being detected…”

“We?” she said.  

“I couldn’t do it alone…”    She saw the pleading look in his eyes.

“It would be dangerous…” she began.

“I’m not afeared,” he said with bravado.

She scowled, “Not for you, for anyone who aids you.  For me!” she said, spelling it out.

“I would never let anything happen to you,” he protested.

“You would probably not have a choice in the matter.”

“I will pen a letter saying I ordered, no forced you to accompany me, against your advice and better judgement.   On discovering I am determined to go anyway, you agreed in order to protect me, as a buffer, against the world,” he said with finality whilst affixing his signature with a flourish, at the bottom of the missive.   “So long as we are back before dawn…”

Swallowed, the hook, and line too, she smiled inwardly.  

“You would need a safe house to hide up in…   No!   It’s too risky,” she feigned a wavering spirit.

“My wives could help…”

“No, no!   You must never tell them anything, if you wish it to remain a secret, how do you think news travels?” she scoffed.

“We go mid-morning and return before sunset?”

“That would be possible,” she said. 

.-…-. 

“Now remember, you are accompanying me, to carry my purchases only.   Don’t look anybody in the eyes or they will become suspicious, servants never court the gaze of their betters,” she explained for the fourth time.   He smiled but didn’t complain.

“I understand,” he said patiently, “come on let’s be off,” he started towards the door causing her a momentary concern.

“No, you follow me!”  

“Sorry ma'am,” he said eyes lowered.

“That’s better; mayhap this will work after all.   Mayhap I will keep my head” she added.

His giggle sounded familiar.

“Don’t do that, you sound just like your father,” but she was smiling when she said it.

“No ma'am,” he said.

They made their way through a hidden side door into the main court, where they slipped unobtrusively through the crush of morning petitioners.

   “That seemed remarkably easy,” she said glancing around still anticipating pursuit, but seeing nothing.   They took the Central Way, heading around ‘C1’, then moved on up ‘N7’ to ‘C15’ heading Eastward in a long curve until they reached ‘N2’ then without warning she dragged him into an alley, and through a secret door abutting with a similar Alley leading into ‘C16’.   As the door closed behind them Gavein looked in vain for the join, it was cunningly hidden; he could have searched for a year without discovering the mechanism.   Zophira smiled indicating a vine which she pulled, to demonstrate the mechanism, before they moved on.   Eventually, they stood before a house on ‘C18’ a third of the distance between ‘N1’ & ‘E8’.  They entered a building.

"I needed some exercise but why such a circuitous route?"

She smiled “Needed to be sure we weren't being followed...  This is my cousin Efelel,” she said, “Efe this is my employer Gav…”

“Please!   Not that - call me your friend, I view you as, a friend,” he said.

“Of course,” she said humouring him with an intimate hug.

“You are also employed at the Palace?” Efelel asked.

His ready smile changed to a frown as she entered his mind.   She stepped forward bestowing a kiss full on his lips.   ‘And now you are mine,’ she thought.

.-..-.

   Later that evening he and Zophira re-entered the Palace, unnoticed by anybody likely to ask questions.   Outside the Palace, an elderly, raggedy, beggar saw them slip back into the grounds.   His keen intelligent eyes belied his humble appearance.   He did not recognise Gavein, just viewed him cursorily, appraising Zophira’s attire, noting she at least was a person of quality. 

.-…-. 

Outside the safe house, Aldor was met by Osyrin, a man he had become acquainted with seven years earlier.  

 “You old devil, it’s been close on two years, you need  a favour?”

The older man shook his head and smiled.

 “It’s good ta see you too young-un.   I have some news picked up on ‘C20’ that mayt be o use to yeh.   I was but three hundred yads distant, and my eyes are not what they used ta be but, the man was mouthin so well it wuz hard ter believe they wuz not intentionally speakin so’s I could read is lips.   Fer which reason I fear ter retell it lest it prove ter be a hoax or, worse still, a smokescreen ter distract yeh,” he said.

   Osyrin was deaf.   He lost his hearing after a childhood illness; contracted at the age of seven.   He had learned to lip-read, as others learn to talk, determined that a little thing like deafness would not rob him of a moment of life’s pleasures.

He met Aldor when he became involved in a drunken brawl, against two hard-hitting brothers, who mistook him for another.   When Aldor came upon the scene they had beaten him to the ground and kicked him senseless.   Aldor watched them draw knives to finish the job; that was enough for him, he waded in fists a-flying.

“So, you have come to die with this dumb ass,” one said, he kicked Oz again to emphasise his words.    “What say we deal with em alike brother?”

“Yea, carve out their livers, and feed em to the Carp in Central Park Lake, Hey brother?”

They had expected him to run but instead, Aldor stood his ground.   They came at him from opposite sides which proved their undoing.   He stepped back so fast they were unable to stop.   They collided and one stabbed the other; Aldor rendered them both unconscious with minimal effort.   He helped Osyrin to his feet and called for the Watch.  

“Yeh jus saved me life young-un, an I’m now in yer debt” he said

“No need,” Aldor protested, “you would have done the same for me…”

“I mose certn’ly wouldn't!   You mus be a madman attackin, two armed men, with yer bare hands, I owe yer.   If ever yer need ter call fer payment ya’ll find me at the Merry Fiddlers.   Yer jus leave me a message, with the innkeep, he knows me well.   The name’s Osyrin” he offered his hand.  

 He was to become a valued addition to Aldor’s intelligence network.   He repayed his debt many times over by teaching Aldor, and the Tylywoch , how to read lips… 

.-…-. 

  “There’s some’un close ter the Empr’er ready ter strike a blow for Bluttland fust day o the games,” Osyrin warned.

Aldor knew better than to treat his warnings lightly.

 “I believe you.  We will take all necessary precautions.  Thank you.  Are you in need of funds Oz?” 

"Allus prush'ate off'rins..." silvers & copper exchanged hands.

   Though he knew that Tyse would never allow their two main suspects, or anybody he didn’t know, to get close enough to any of the royal party to do them harm. Dan, his three sons, five daughters, and four wives were all closely guarded.   The women seldom left the confines of the palace, and certainly not unaccompanied.   The sons always had protection, from a Tylywoch quad, when they left the palace.   Even when they thought they were alone, and embarking on a new adventure, there were usually friendly eyes watching out for them.

“Was there something else old friend,” Aldor asked.

“I also witnessed a secret returnin yester'aft-noon, a young woman, quite a peach o’a girl, green eyes, raven hair…” he sighed.

 “It could have been Zofira, prince Gavein’s new concubine.   She has been a regular out tripper to the markets, cannot settle to palace constraints, least not in the three months she’s been there,” said Aldor.  

“She wuz in the cump'ny o’a youngun I reclect, didn’t reconize him, coulda bin a servant but, I’m sure I would reconize him if I crossed paths wi him agin.   He was quite tall, and crooked over to dis'gise the fact.”

“Go on with your description,” said Aldor.

As Oz continued to note little things Aldor took a peek inside his mind but, the image he saw was inconclusive, it could be any one of two dozen…   He committed the description to memory regardless, out of profound respect for his friends abilities.

.-…-. 

“Be sure that Hestor’s description is circulated, on all the watches today, there is a likeness posted in every watch room,” the captain of Melitia informed his Watch sergeants, Sloan amongst them.   All leave had been cancelled but, on the bright side, they would all get an excellent view of the games.   Just so long as they caught Hestor early on.   Dan had commissioned a court artist to produce a likeness, at Sloan’s suggestion.   Copies were made, and circulated, by the new print process.   He advocated that likenesses should also be produced, of all known criminals, to be displayed in prominent public places. 

(To be continued)

                                                                                         Copyright Len Morgan 

 FAMILY TREE

Peter Woodgate 

He spread it on the table

His hard work was complete

Years investigating

It really was a feat.

His fingers wandered over names

Of families long since dead,

A lineage of ancestors

Joined by the lines, a thread

That linked him to all those names,

Names he hoped would show

Ancestors he’d be proud of

But a quiet sigh “oh no.”

For it revealed the workhouse

Ladies of the night too,

Of course, another word was used

He couldn’t believe it was true.

But as he traced worse was to come

two of them, it seemed, were hung.

Another was a pirate

And several in the clink

“I cannot bear all this disgrace”

He began to think.

It’s time then that I changed for work

Go and earn an honest living

Disgusted by what he had seen

His mood was not forgiving.

He left to work his nightshift

With a sure and honest belief

His trade was skilled and profitable,

As a burglar and a thief.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 

 

 

 

 

 

 THE GENIE IN THE BOTTLE.

BY SIS UNSWORTH

.A Genie in a bottle, was washed up on the beech,

I managed to get hold of it as it was within my reach.

There was nobody else around, so I opened up the top,

a stream of coloured lights came out, l thought they would never stop.

I rubbed my eyes so gently to make sure I could see,

 and then behold a Genie was right in front of me.

He did seem rather friendly, so I asked him to sit down,

 then he obliged and sat there near me on the ground

He asked me many questions about the world today,

I said, 'that it was very nice and hoped that he would stay.

He looked surprised then asked me, 'If wars did still go on?

 As he thought they had stopped then he’d been away so long    

 The Genie just could not believe, that cars now filled the street,

and with friends you chat on mobile phones, so you didn't need to meet.

I told him that we now had planes, and man like birds could fly,

 of mortgages and interest rates and claiming PPI.

I suggested he moved in the Shade, as the sun could hurt his skin,

I said that with pollution the ozone layers thin.

And also to protect himself, by using sun cream lotion,

 and be careful of the plastic, now floating in the ocean.

But we did now have some great machines, to wash our clothes and dishes,

‘I thought if I said something good, he might grant me three wishes.'

We seemed to get on very well, so I thought I'd tell him more,

I tried to win him over, as we chatted on the shore,

I thought I had persuaded him, to stay here in this place,

but what I told him next took the smile right off his face.

When I told him the TV licence, for old folk was no longer free,

 he got back in the bottle, and rolled back in the sea.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

Charitable Giving 

By Jane Scoggins

Angela’s decision to go to the charity shop was made a few months after her husband Jim had passed away. It had been the Macmillan nurse who had suggested she might like to donate some of Jim’s clothes to the hospice shop. Although she had nursed Jim through his illness and knew that time was short, she had still been overwhelmed with grief. She had been quite unprepared for the savageness of her emotions. Nurses had tended Jim at home with such care and professionalism and supported them both emotionally right to the very end. One of the nurses continued to phone Angela from time to time, helping her cope with her initial turmoil and giving her practical advice. For the first few months, Angela got relief from opening Jim’s wardrobe and chest of drawers and holding a piece of his clothing to her cheek and then to her nose to breathe in his smell. When she was ready to pack up Jim’s clothes she spent a morning washing them and an afternoon ironing them. She put his good suit, sports jacket and leather jacket, three sweaters and six shirts into a spare suitcase from the loft, and took it to the Hospice charity shop in the neighbouring town. As soon as she had handed over the suitcase to the volunteer in the backroom Angela felt the sadness of parting from Jim once again. Feeling a bit tearful she went to a corner of the shop where there were shelves of books in alphabetical order, and a collection of CDs. It gave her time and privacy to reach into her handbag for a tissue, and gain her composure. After dabbing away her tears Angela looked about her and pretended to choose a book. At the end of the shelves, a coat stand stood adorned with scarves and a collection of handbags. One of the bags caught Angela’s eye. It was a baggy purple velvet thing and looked homemade. The many badges sewn or pinned on were what had caught Angela's attention. Cornwall, Thailand, Paris, Moscow, México, Lake District, Scotland, and Pembrokeshire. Then there were other badges, CND, Amnesty International, Love Books. As she turned the bag to read all the badges she saw that on one of the wide straps had been embroidered in chain stitch. Live Each Day As If It Were Your Last. Rose felt tears gather in her eyes again as she thought of Jim and their many holidays together. When they were first together it had been camping in Cornwall and Wales. As they got older and could afford hotels it had been touring in Scotland and walking in the Lake District. On their 25^th Anniversary, it had been to Paris where they had enjoyed a romantic few days, wandering the streets, visiting Montmartre, the gardens of Versailles, and riding in the lift to the top of the Eiffel Tower.  Since early retirement, they had had less money to spare for hotels but still went away, staying instead in B&B’s. Sadly those days were now over. The next thing she knew she was paying for the velvet bag along with a CD of folk music and leaving the shop. At home, Angela put on the CD and boiled the kettle for a cup of tea. She put the bag on the kitchen worktop and examined it more closely. It was even more shabby than she had noticed in the shop and began to wonder what had possessed her to buy it. But was once again drawn to the badges. She reflected on the images they inspired of travel, and altruism, and a strong indication of joy for life itself. She felt her spirits lift. She made a mug of tea, but while reaching over for the sugar she knocked it over and flooded the worktop with hot tea. The velvet base of the bag beside it sucked up the tea thirstily. Angela tried to sponge it clean to no avail, so put some cold water in the sink and dunked it in the bottom of the sodden bag. Holding the bag up it was really heavy with the water and feeling there was cardboard or padding in the base she squeezed out as much water as she could before getting her nail scissors and snipping at the stitching to pull out the cardboard and padding. To her surprise, Angela found something quite unexpected. The base padding was wrapped in plastic, and inside, neatly stacked in two piles was £1000 in £20 notes. Around the notes was a handwritten letter.

 

 Dear Stranger

        I am so glad you have my bag and have discovered this treasure trove. It s a gift for you. Yes, it really is. Let me explain. After many years as a free spirit travelling and supporting causes close to my heart, I am now housebound and having to live any unfulfilled dreams of travel through others. I have decided to give away some of my possessions and treasures. The velvet bag I was not sure about but decided to take pot luck with giving it away, in the hope that someone would like it, and at some point discover the money hidden inside. I would like you to use the money to fulfill a dream of your own. Life is short and we should enjoy it whilst we can. Of course, you may decide to pay your electric bill or have your house painted. That is up to you, but I hope you are the kind of person who will take a leap of faith and do something out of the ordinary, like taking a trip to Norway to see the beautiful fjords, the Northern Lights, or the Rocky Mountains. Or maybe to find peace in a Hebridean croft. I have been living in Essex for some time but am now downsizing and returning to my native Cornwall to be near my niece. I am including a PO Box address so if you decide to have an adventure it would give me great pleasure to hear about it.

Wishing you joy and happiness,

Rose

After Angela had read and re-read the letter she sat thoughtfully for quite a while before saying out loud

  ‘ Well Jim, what a bolt out of the blue this is! I’m not going to waste a wonderful opportunity. I'm going to do it, Jim! I’m going to do what we said we would do if we ever could. I’m going to walk in the Himalayan mountains, stay in a tea house and watch the sun rising and setting from the Annapurna Sanctuary. And you and Rose will be with me all the way.’

 

Copyright Jane Scoggins

Cheilin Saga ~ 22

 Cheilin Saga ~ 22 Further Developments

By Len Morgan

  Bector entered the Wheelwrights Arms, on his rounds of likely meeting places for local rabble-rousers and disaffected local activists.   Though a clandestine member of the Tylywoch, he looked and talked like a dissident.   He would drink protest and fight alongside and against the worst of them.   He gained a lot of useful information by doing so, and heard a rumour, earlier in the evening, that Aldor would be drinking there later on.   So he made a point of staying around, even though he doubted anything would come of it.   It was getting late, towards the end of the evening when he left the Inn.   He knew the fellow was an impostor and that he never appeared when Tylywoch were around but, what they needed to know was how good a match was he?   Was he a passing resemblance, or closer to a double, could he pass conversation with casual acquaintances only, or could he pass more intimate inspection?   He had covered half a block on his way home when a man called out to him.

“Bector!   Why so impatient, you should have waited a while longer,” he called breathlessly.  “I told the man about you and your expertise with weapons.   He is interested in meeting you, he thinks we may have a job for you, and there is something big going down.”

“When?”

“All in good time, don’t be impatient, you will have to meet the man first,” he placed an arm around Bector’s shoulder conspiratorially guiding him back towards the Inn.   “Let’s just say it will be happening soon and will put a stave in the spokes of the 13^th Clan, the devil’s spawn,” he made a reflexive sign, to ward off evil, as he voiced the name.

   Efelel sat in an out of the way corner of the Inn quietly scanning the minds of those gathered in the main room.   She viewed their thoughts with a mixture of disdain and boredom.   Half the men could think only of drowning their sorrows, the others of bedding a sympathetic and compliant woman.   In contrast, women’s thoughts were the more interesting.   They displayed both industry and aplomb; ranging from the simple need of a warm bed to the prospect of emptying some poor cove’s pockets, into her own.  Then of course there was always the fun of the chase, selecting, stalking, snaring, and finally leading her victim around by the nose…   Her mind was brought back sharply to awareness by the sudden appearance of a controlled mind.   She looked from one face to another seeking a fit.   But, all she could identify were self indulgent drunks…   Then the door opened and in came one of their contacts accompanied by a clear eyed, sharp-minded man.

‘We have one of the accursed, on the premises, over by the door’ she threw a sharp warning into Mawld’s mind.

‘Odrek?’ he thought in disbelief.

‘No, the heavy set cove with the unruly black hair…’ 

“Hello sweetie, you’re a new face in here, recon I’d remember you.   Here have a beer on the house, then mayhap you’ll come more often,” she greeted Bector with a friendly smile.   Her familiar manner suggested she would like to see a whole lot more of him, as soon as possible.   He took a mouthful of the beer, it was good, he took several more long pulls and smiled.   A few moments later he had difficulty focusing and shook his head.

“Are you alright sweetie?   Come over funny have you?   Come to my room and you can have a lie down for a while.” She said. 

Odrek responded immediately by offered to help Bector to the young woman’s room.

.-…-. 

   Bector was not the first member of the Tylywoch to go missing on a mission, but when he appeared two weeks later none the worse for his experience, aside from a loss of memory.  He could not say where he had been, or what he’d been doing.

   He was questioned long and hard but nothing came to mind.   So, he was more or less sidelined.   To his chagrin, he was re-deployed as a messenger.   He had been dealing with a very dangerous group, and if he could not explain what had happened, maybe he had been compromised in some way.   The Emperor was always at risk, and there was no more likely suspect than the Bluttland sect, of Bedelacq. 

   Bector knew, in his heart, they were right to be cautious.   Yet he couldn’t help displaying his impatience and dissatisfaction with the current state of affairs, even though he was more than perturbed by the implications of the lost weeks.   If he were brutally honest he would admit he was worried sick, but couldn’t stand inactivity, or the continual promises of support, and understanding received from the other members of his quad.   He didn’t want personal recommendations.   He wanted things to be as they always were as if it had never happened, but it had. 

   He became obsessed with the Aldor look alike.   He started plotting sights and dates where the phantom appeared, looking for a pattern, in vain because there seemed to be none.   He had seven confirmed sightings spread all over his map.   He stuffed it into the breast pocket of his coat in disgust.   He needed to get some rest anyway, so he lay on his cot, it helped him think.   He smiled, recalling that most of his best thinking was done on his back.   This time however nothing came and he was forced to put the problem from his mind or he would be unable to sleep at all.   He snuffed out the candle, rolled over, and visualised the sea, and in seconds, he was asleep. 

   In the morning he discovered there had been another sighting.   At the first opportunity, he opened out his map, searching his pockets for the red wax pencil he had been using to mark each sighting.   At some time it must have fallen out of his pocket.   He asked if anybody had found it or could loan him a drawing implement.   In desperation, he accepted a pin from a young woman and pricked a hole.   It would have to suffice until he could obtain another pencil.   He was angry with himself for losing it; he had liked its distinctive red mark.   As he refolded his map he noted the pinhole and a patch of the red shining through it, mocking him.   He shook his head and returned it to his pocket, fifteen minutes later in the act of making a routine delivery he stopped with a jolt.   He re-examined the map and, on impulse, pushed the pin through the existing hole and out the other side.   He unfolded it and discovered he had pierced through three of his red marks.   He pierced another hole through another of the red spots, when this was continued through all pages of the map it pierced two more.   There were still three sightings unaccounted for.   He worked out where these would be on the top sheet and made a third piercing…   All eight marks were now holed and he had a good idea where the next sighting would be.   The map of the City was a common one sold by vendors on street corners.  By tradition, it was folded twice, and Bector had seen no reason to mess with this.   Therefore, the impostor had stabbed his pin through the map thrice which meant he had marked twelve locations.   But, had he visited the locations in random order the sequence would have been obvious after five or six.   Therefore he had been consciously avoiding a sequence so the next visit had to be…

From that moment, all the unused locations were covered day and night.   This was done for a full week when nothing happened.   Then another week passed without incident and Captain Tyse was obliged to pull his scarce manpower from their OP’s and put them back on other investigations.   Bector was disappointed; he knew it was just a matter of time before his lead would produce results.   In his off time, he took to haunting what he considered to be the most likely site for the next appearance.   He repeated his vigil for three days and on the fourth, whilst he was still on duty, the Aldor impostor appeared again.   But of course, Bector was not there.   He went to see the Captain.  

“You pulled us off surveillance and he appeared at the very place I predicted.”

“That is correct, but there are other leads to be followed up, and I don’t have the manpower to chase them all.   Aldor knows of your lead, he said to tell you it is a good one, and it will be dealt with.   Just be patient and it will become clear.   There is currently a plot to assassinate the Emperor at the games and of course, his safety is our top priority.   We need to secure all areas close to the Emperor's box.

It was the morning of the ‘C17’ Games.   Dan needed help in selecting an appropriate outfit for the starting ceremony; he was never good with such things…

“Hestor!” he yelled, instantly remembering his steward was missing.   ‘Curses’ he thought, ‘He would have known exactly what would be appropriate for the occasion.’    “Where in Thund’s are you man,” he cried out in frustration, ‘I really miss you old friend’ he thought, realising the truth of the words even as they entered his mind.   ‘What did I do to turn you against me.   I swear if you return unharmed, I will issue a full pardon and reinstate you with an increased stipend.   I can’t believe what they say…’

“This is a vow!” he said.

“Sir?”

“Nothing,” he replied turning to look at the young fresh faces steward.   “Does this go?” he asked, holding up a matt black silk robe with gold trimmings and a pierced gold ornamental breastplate.

“Pardon my impertinence ‘Light of the World’ but had you considered this?” he lifted up a deep purple robe, “It is a warmer colour, and better compliments the breastplate & of course your chain of office,” said the steward.

“Ah!   But, of course, you are correct young man.   What is your name?”

“I am called Rhynor ‘Light of the World’” he said “I have been delegated to stand by you, in Hestors absence.   I shall stay, until his return if you approve, or until you are able to choose a suitable replacement.”

“I’m afraid that Hestor is irreplaceable.   He has been with me since we were children, but I’m sure you will prove to be a perfectly adequate stand-in if you would only stop continually admonishing me!” 

“Light o…?”

“You see?   There you go again!   Hestor only ever calls me that when he is unhappy about something I have said or done.   A simple ‘sir’ will suffice between us.”

“Of course sir, you had only to ask,” said Rhynor.

“Well Rhynor, now we have dispensed with formalities, we have an event to attend, you are to accompany me of course.   Let’s pick you an outfit, and we can dress each other.”

“Yes Ligh… sir!” he stammered, and Dan beamed with delight. 

.-...-. 

At that precise moment, Tyse, Captain of the Emperor's bodyguard was in conference with Aldor and Major Meredin of the Red Guard who was responsible for the overall security of the Emerald Palace.   The major commanded a body of five hundred troops, from all parts of the Empire.   All had distinguished themselves in some way, in order to even be eligible for selection as a member of the Red Guard.   They would be lining the route to the Emperor's box, when the royal party were seated they would fan out in all directions to deal with any contingency.   They were reviewing the arrangements for the third time, to ensure nothing had been left to chance.   The Guard would be combing the route for several hours before the Emperor even left the palace.   Tyse and the bodyguard of thirty-six men and women would accompany the Emperor, ever watchful being as unobtrusive as possible.   The Melitia would keep law and order, patrolling quietly but ever present, quelling civil disorder was their remit.   Only at the very last moment would they decode if the Emperor or one of his many doubles would be in the royal coach.   But, it was generally understood that where he goes, the majority of his bodyguard follow.   They would never leave him unprotected, and Dan would never miss the games.

“I will be on the rooftops with the other external quads,” said Aldor.   “We will precede the coach, on either side, or follow behind seeking anyone suspicious, anything unusual happening at open windows or, in the crown close by the Emperor's party.   Is there anything further we need to discuss?”   He asked, taking their silence as a no.   “Thank you for your attention, I know you both still have final details to attend to, so I will bid you good day.”

(To be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan