STORM EUNICE

Peter Woodgate

It blew my bloody wig off

My flippin eyebrows too

I don’t know how that happened

Cos I used a lot of glue.

My fence, well it went walkies

And the chairs up in the air

I think that they have landed

But goodness knows just where.

My fairy lights they sprouted wings

And nestled in a tree

The blackbirds were so happy

They sent a note to me.

My two potted acers

Are not now very ace

They took off in a hurry

And are now in outer space.

I made a fatal error though

When I opened the back door

Eunice slammed it in my face

I woke up on the floor.

She finally ran out of puff

And slowly waltzed away

but I was not so fearful

when Franklin came to play.

It appears they give each storm  a name

Using the alphabet

Each name is added from the list

And I would like to bet,

That there will be a Janet

A Jane and June and Pam,

A Sis and Carole up the line

A few doors they will slam.

Of course, there will be a Len and Pete,

A Richard that’s for sure

But they will not be bad at all,

Just why, I’ll tell you more.

The female of the species

Is the weakest, that’s a joke

They are the strongest, that is true

Far more than any bloke.

So, when you hear each given name

Your reaction should be clear,

If a male, you can relax,

A female, well, oh dear.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

Tylywoch ~ 06

    

Tylywoch ~ 06  Specialisation

By Len Morgan

Galyx and the Natural Disasters; a dozen ten-year-olds and a serious looking young man in his early twenties, were heading towards the central counsel chamber.   A crowd was already gathering even though there was still half an hour to go before the naming ceremony officially got underway.   The meeting was special, the trainers and elders had debated into the night, deciding on the future specialisation to which each young person would be allotted on attaining the age of ten years.   Today they would learn what their future held, they would start to Specialise, and begin their personal training programs.

Finally, after a long expectant wait, the gathered crowd went silent, as the counsellors and committee entered the central arena, solemnly soberly and in single file, as the ceremony decreed.

“We will call each student's name, followed by their allotted specialisation, you are advised to listen carefully because they will not be repeated.”:

“GALEIN – Healer,  BRODEK – Warrior,  SOREN – Intelligence,  GORR – Warrior,  UVALAN – Weapons Master,  TURPO – Warrior,  DANNE – Logistics,  HILDI – Espionage,  PLAVIN – Warrior,  BRAN – Diplomat,  MYNACH – Warrior.”

There was a pause and some discussion amongst the trainers.   Weilla stood dry-mouthed, her name had not been called.   She looked questioningly at Galyx, who could only shrug…

“WEILLA – Generalist!”   A surprised buzz went around the small group of villagers & friends still remaining in the hall.   Weilla stood with a puzzled expression on her face, "GENERALIST?"   ‘What sort of classification is that,’ she thought. 

The others began to drift away, bubbling with excitement over their new found status, Weilla remained in the meeting area, bemused and uncertain as to what action to take.   After a few moments, Galyx approached her.   “I have spoken to the committee, it seems that you are not training in any particular field.   You will receive continued but intensive training in all disciplines until your true vocation is revealed to us, you will then follow your new path whatever it may be.   This does mean you will have to work much harder than the others, but as a concession, you will not be required to carry out Kebu duties.   You will concentrate exclusively on your training.   You may find others looking down on you because of what appears to be a slight on your character.   Bare their foolishness with good grace, and be assured that it is an honour that has been bestowed on you, not a slight.   You will appreciate this more fully as time passes.”

.-…-. 

   At specialisation, Aldor believed the term Generalist had been invented to increase his sense of not belonging.   Now a ranking General, he’d long ago learned that this was not so.  Instead of being responsible for himself and his quad, he found himself responsible for the commitment and well-being of the whole Clan, and answerable for their actions.

 Early in his career during his time at court as captain of Emperor Daidan’s bodyguard, he’d developed a close bond and working relationship with the wile old man.   From an early age, Aldor had displayed a talent for languages.   He’d used this talent unashamedly in the service of his emperor, listening in on conversations between visiting delegations.   He was able to raise his surveillance skills to a new level when he learned to 'lip read' from a man he’d helped and befriended.  The man happened to be deaf but was able to amply repay his debt to Aldor by reading lips for him and eventually sharing his skills with the Tylywoch.   Aldor was able to be a party to any conversation carried out in the open, within line of sight, for up to a quarter of a mile.   His agents often use this as a fast effective means of communication in an emergency.

Because of political factions and secret alliances, the emperor was not always able to rely on the impartiality of his ministers or associates; many of whom were susceptible to bribery and corruption.   Not so the Tylywoch who guarded him, he knew them to be completely incorruptible; which was why he came to rely so much on the 13^th clan.

Emperor Daidan I had created the 13^th Clan, five hundred years earlier, from his personal guard of fanatically loyal supporters, who were not necessarily from the Clan classes.   The members of the 13^th Clan were named ‘The Tylywoch’ (The Ravens), after his personal bodyguard of hand picked agents, many of whom came from the lowest and humblest of beginnings.   He was later to add to this corps, trusted members of the intelligence service and assassins guilds.   Others were enlisted from those marked for death; scum of the earth to whom he offered conditional pardons in return for their loyalty and the use of their skills and abilities in the name of the Empire.   They were funded armed and trained by the very best.   Many rose to high office, acting always as the ever vigilant eyes and ears of the Emperor.   They swore a death pact to the Tylywoch and to the Jade throne, whoever held the office of Emperor had their unswerving allegiance.   In the golden days of the empire, troops led by these warriors conquered the disputed heights of the Sabretooth range and, the poorer barren lands surrounding the empire.   They were granted unofficial title to these lands, that nobody else wanted anyway.   In return, they were charged to provide an unbroken lineage of Generals to protect the Empire from hostile neighbours, and the Emperor, now the Empress, from physical harm.   So they took on the remit to protect the Empire and its Ruler from any form of attack.   There were rumours that their very survival was dependent on ensuring that successive occupants of the Jade throne died of old age, and from natural causes.   This had been successfully accomplished for more than 450 years.   But, despite their unstinting loyalty and total vigilance, their position was still precarious. 

Aldor was concerned, having discovered that the rumours were backed by written plans that had existed for over 300 years, to hunt down and exterminate every last Tylywoch man woman, and child in the event of their failure. 

.-…-. 

Winli watched, with bated breath.   His mouth was dry.   He licked his lips unconsciously as he marked his target; the old faded blue felt hat and jacket Aldor had been wearing, on his arrival in the Eternal City, two days earlier.   The General would die for his sins, at the hands of Winli.   He felt a sense of expectant elation welling up inside.   In just a few heartbeats the accursed Aldor would be no more!   His shining brow exuded a scent of triumph.

Jaffat of the 9^th Clan, a member of the Surbatt, knew how hard the death of his brothers had hit Winli; he was counting on it.   A year earlier, Aldor’s Tylywoch had pre-empted the purloining of a shipment of goods that would have kept Winli’s band of freebooters, and their families, in luxury for a year.   All but Winli had perished to his undying shame.   He’d witnessed the execution of his own brothers – inverted and hung by their ankles from a tree, their heads were split open like gourds - he'd been forced to witness the life leeching slowly from them, with the draining of their life's blood.   The executions were carried out in the time-honoured way prescribed for felons, on the orders of, the  General of Internal Security, General Aldor.   Jaffat, Winli's patron, had been sympathetic even generous.   He had financed the families, supporting them through the winter.  He Promised to provide Winli with an opportunity to exact retribution on his tormentor.   True to his word he had called on Winli two days earlier, taking him to witness the arrival of the Tylywoch, and to mark well the object of his hatred – General Aldor.   He had provided the place for the ambush and the means of revenge – the bow and quiver of arrows.  

He smoothly increased the tension on the bowstring until it touched his lips, a practice bead…   He relaxed.   The string had left a thin blue tell-tale line bisecting his tight lips.   He smiled, satisfied with the weapon.   Unconsciously wiping two sticky blue smudges, from his draw-string fingers, onto his shirt front.   He breathed out then in again slowly, deeply, shaking his arms, relaxing his muscles.   It wouldn’t do to take the shot with tension in his body.  "Now," he thought, drawing the bow a second time adding a second blue line to his lips, parallel to the first; he was aware of neither.   As he loosed the shaft, he felt both elation and triumphant suffuse his being.   He knew in that instant it would fly true and the man in the blue felt hat and coat was dead.  Tears of joy, escaped from his eyes, even as they blurred and his body relaxed a final time… 

Aldor turned the body over with his boot and saw the tell-tale marks of the slow-acting poison on his lips.   ‘Blaqero’ he thought, looking back towards the slumped body of Jaffat, in his blue jacket and hat.   He smiled mirthlessly, it was a mistake to plot with a known felon in a public place, you never knew when your conversation might be heard or seen by a competent reader of lips.   But, officially Aldor was dead, which was just perfect!   Winli had finally served the purpose for which he had been spared.   Setting a chain of events in motion, that would culminate in the final destruction of the Surbatt, an organisation that had been a thorn in the flesh of successive rulers of the Cheilin Empire, and their protectors.

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

A Bottle of Prosecco 03

  Another Bottle of Prosecco

Jane Scoggins 

Carolyn worked in an old people's home on the edge of town. It was almost at the end of the last row of houses. The Limes was originally a large quite imposing Victorian detached house in its time. There was no sign of any Lime trees now, probably died years ago or were removed to make way for the car park. Over the years since it had been acquired for use as a care home, the property had sprouted several extensions and add ons. Not particularly sympathetic to the original building but all had somehow managed to pass building regulations and now provided the right size and type of accommodation needed for its purpose. It took Carolyn two buses or one bus and a longish walk to get to work. During the two years she had worked there she had considered getting a bike but did not know where she would safely store it at home as she lived upstairs above a newsagent shop with no storage space and not even a hallway in which to stand it. So at twenty one years old and fit and well, she had continued with the bus and walk option.  At first, she was not sure if it would be the right sort of work for her, but it now seemed to be after all. Leaving school she had not got the grades for university and had not wanted to go anyway, Academic life was not for her. She had first tried hairdressing but found it rather boring washing and blow-drying hair and sweeping up. She was not the sort of person to indulge in gossip either, and in her particular salon, it seemed to be a requirement. So she didn’t feel she fitted in with the other staff or the clients for that matter.  Her friends had been more ambitious and could not understand why she would want to look after old folk for a pittance. But once she had got her head around the work at the care home and developed an understanding of dementia and emotional needs as well as the practical ones she felt useful, confident, and best of all appreciated by the residents. The manager had offered to put her name forward for NVQ training, which she explained could lead to promotion and take her on to being a senior carer. If she really wanted to go further she may in time, consider training in management. Carolyn was not sure what she wanted to do in the future but it was nice to think her boss thought enough of her abilities to make these suggestions. Meanwhile, it was all go on the shop floor so to speak with residents needing help with washing, showering, dressing, feeding, toileting, getting up, and putting to bed. Just as important to them was being entertained, socially stimulated, and chatted to. Carolyn had learned so much about these frail residents that amazed her. The lives they had led and the careers and adventures they had had. Some had families close by who visited, others had family who only came occasionally and others had no one at all who came to see them. Carolyn would sit with these residents more often when time allowed and talk with them. The ones with dementia were often confused but had occasional moments of memory of past events. Carolyn tried to be available at those times to encourage those memories and share and store them for a later time when their brain fog had misted them up. Everything was done to maintain stimulation and activity on a regular basis. Bingo, chair exercises, music and singing, pet therapy, arts and crafts. Every so often there was a raffle and staff, residents, families, and visitors were encouraged to buy tickets. All prizes were donated, and all proceeds went towards the annual resident’s day trip to the seaside. When Margaret’s ticket won the Marks and Spencer hamper, she insisted that Carolyn have it, saying to her that it was she, Carolyn, that made her life bearable with her smile, gentleness patience, and willingness to help.

‘What do I want with all that stuff? I was hoping for the furry slippers if anything’ she laughed.   ‘But Mary’s daughter won those for her. By the look of her old tea stained slippers, looks like she needs them more than me’ she whispered to Carolyn behind her hand, and smiled. In the end, the manager agreed to Margaret’s request that she accept the hamper. Carolyn graciously accepted with the proviso that Margaret kept the chocolates; Ben had the biscuits Ron the Cheesy Nibbles and Alice the fudge. Carolyn went home with the diminished hamper with a light heart.  She and her three old school friends met up every so often and this time the venue was Carolyn's little studio flat above the newsagent's shop. It was a bit rundown but the rent was what she could afford on her rather basic wage as a carer. She had made it cosy and her Mum had bought her some lovely bright curtains. All in all, it looked very nice when her friends came round for the evening a few days later. They were impressed, which delighted Carolyn as out of them all she had the least well paid job with the least status. Carolyn served the treats from the hamper and poured them all a glass from the bottle of prosecco. Tasha made note of the deliciousness of the food and prosecco and teasingly asked Carolyn if she had had a raise, knowing well enough that she had not. The other girls also complimented Carolyn on the tasty spread and quality of the prosecco before raising their glasses to her. While they ate and drank Tasha, then Kelly and Jules shared their moans about their jobs. Tasha worked long hours to keep up with her bad tempered Boss’s demands, Kelly had to endure a very boring job, and Jules wasn't sure she even understood what was expected of her half the time, and the other people in the office weren't very friendly. None of them particularly enjoyed their jobs, but were all going to stay because the pay wasn't at all bad, it was as good as they thought they would get elsewhere, and they had got used to having spending money. When Carolyn told them why she enjoyed her job and that it gave her satisfaction, and with promotion on the cards too, they were full of admiration.  Tasha said she thought that more prosecco was definitely called for, and offered to pop down to the off-licence and buy more. Carolyn sipped her drink and thought of Margaret, and her gift. The frail elderly lady with Parkinson's disease who had once been an Olympic athlete and an overseas ambassador.  She thanked her lucky stars to be part of the lives of some amazing people who were inspiring her.

 

Copyright Jane Scoggins

Tylywoch ~ 05

 Tylywoch ~ 05 Not a bad days work

By Len Morgan 

Weilla and Mynach made two further trips up and down the mountain before Terrek announced they’d collected enough.   “It’s time for me to return to my forge.”   But, Gardon & Spass declared their intention to stay, and no manner of inducement would change their minds.  Terrek was annoyed.  “You were paid for the return trip, now I will have to hire more help to get my cargo home.”   What made matters worse was the fact that carbon is worthless to all intent and purpose, Its value became evident, only when he’d turned his iron ore into steel and turned that into blades.   Only then could he realise a return on his outlay.

“How will I get it all home when I have only sufficient funds to settle the reckoning at the Inn?” He railed.

Mynach smiled, ”We have friends who could help you, and not necessarily require immediate payment.” 

“How far away are they?” Terrek’s asked. 

“I should be back within the day” Mynach answered, “you will need to negotiate payment with my brother, who I believe you met at the Inn?” 

Terrek grinned, “ah! the man with no name, So be it!   Go find your friends, we’ll wait for you here.”

.-…-.

Mynach returned with Galyx, Soren & Hildi.

“They seem a little puny to me, can they do a day's work?” Terrek asked.

 Hildi answered him by lifting a full sack above her head and depositing it on the nearest mule.

“Ok, so what about payment?”

“We work on a quid pro quo basis” Galyx explained.  “We do something for you and you do something for us in return.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” he said, “let’s get on…”

“Aren’t you concerned not knowing what we might want in return?” asked Galyx.

“Would you ask for some exorbitant sum or make unreasonable demands?”

“No,” Galyx replied.

“Then let’s get to work,” Terrek said.

.-…-. 

Gardon & Spass were not around when they left, at Midday.   Before sunset they were back at the Inn, quaffing ale in the common room, sampling, with their olfactory senses, the fine aromatic meal being prepared in the kitchen by Mistress Karpe. 

Terrek sat back nonchalantly, and turned to Galyx, “have you decided what form of payment you require?”

“Yes, we would like you to teach our local blacksmith how to make that fine steel you boast of…”

“What?” he said incredulously choking on his ale.   “That’s impossible!”

“How so?” said Galyx, “I thought we had a deal.”

“No, you don’t understand.   What does he make, horseshoes, plough shears, tools, hardware, furniture?   A swordsmith's apprentice will spend ten years learning his craft.   He will do little more than look, listen, and make notes for the first five years.   He will start at the age of ten, how old is your smith?”

Galyx turned, and looked askance at the innkeeper.

“HURRUMPH, Grazzek is umm, about my age, forty?”

“And the rest laughed Terrek he’s fifty if he’s a day.  I have spoken with him, he would be dead before he could finish the training, and who will tend his forge for you whilst he is studying with me?”

“We thought you might be able to teach him here before you go?” said the Inn-keep hopefully.  

Terrek and Galyx both laughed uproariously.   “Is there no young ten-year-old you could spare for ten years?"  Galyx asked.  

“You mean some good for nothing lazybones who isn’t worth his keep?” he answered looking towards the fire hearth with a twinkle in his eye, looking at the ever present boy listening in on their conversation.   “Jax!” he yelled, the boy jumped to his feet. “Come here boy, your to be apprenticed to a swordsmith.”

Terrek viewed the soot smeared boy, “your face is black boy,” he said with a smile that broadened as the boy rubbed it with his cuff, only succeeding in making it look worse.   “Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty of that working for me.” He tousling the boy's hair playfully. 

“You’ll take him?” asked the innkeeper with surprise and joy mingled on his face.

“Aye, he’ll do if he’s half as intelligent as he looks.”   He turned to Galyx with a quizzical look on his face, “why are you doing this for them?”

“GYRI!   We owe him for past services, he requested that we help his stepson to learn a trade, when I learned of your need it seemed a perfect opportunity to repay a debt.

“Ten years is a long time to be apart from loved ones.” Said Terrek.

“The Inn-keep thinks Jax is worthy of a chance, he does a man’s job, and never shirks his duties, he’s earned it!” said Galyx.   “How long will this black powder last?” 

“A year, possibly a year and a half” he replied.

“There will be a similar quantity awaiting collection in twelve months, and thereafter, in return for its worth in good honest workman-like blades.

Terrek looked into Galyx’s eyes and knew that he spoke true.   “Accepted,” he said offering his hand. They shook on it.

Galyx smiled.   In one transaction, he’d secured a supply of top quality weapons, and a means of payment.   The gold accumulated by Terrek's helpers, would pay local labour for mining processing and hauling the carbon.   Even as they spoke, Fire & Flood quads were making a start on mining the next shipment.   The Inn-keep would warehouse it for collection later when Jax returned with up to twenty good serviceable blades.

Galyx smiled, ‘Not a bad days work’. 

(To be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

Tylywoch ~ 04

Tylywoch ~ 04 Guiding Prospectors 

By Len Morgan

Galyx and Mynach entered the inn unobserved.  They ordered and paid for a room, then sat down with a dish of rice wine, compliments of the house, to await the arrival of their meal.  Two stocky Meyam prospectors eyed them critically, smirking with perceived superiority, 'just a pair of uneducated bumpkins' they thought, as their leader broke the silence with a question.  “Are you lads locals?” 

“We come from the south, trapping fur animals and deer for preserving.”

“You must be well acquainted with the area then?” he said.

“Pretty well,” Galyx answered in a neutral voice.

“Names Terrek.” The northerner said in a friendly voice, offering his hand.  “These are my helpers Gardon & Spass, we are seeking certain ores and rare earth’s, I suspect exist in this area.  I need them to improve the qualities of my steel,” he explained.  Carefully, he removed a dagger from his belt and slowly handed it to Galyx, hilt first.

Galyx tested it on his palm, nodding appreciatively.  “This is indeed an Excellent blade.” He tested its tensile strength, “fine steel, do you trade in weapons?”

Terrek laughed lazily, “I use them when the need arises, but I am a sword smith by trade.  I produce the finest blades you will ever see, as strong and as sharp as any ever made.  Yes, I do sell them, but there are already buyers queuing up for everything I can produce, so I make to order.  There are certain ingredients in my steel that are hard to come by, which is why I am here in your mountains instead of being hard at work in my forge.  I can predict the presence of chemicals by the rock formations and the nature of the soil.”

“You are perhaps looking for a guide?  Such work doesn’t come cheap in the Sabre Tooth mountains, strange creatures and demons frequent the area, a man does not enter them lightly.”

His companion sat silently seeming to follow the conversation closely, but could not be more than fourteen or fifteen.  Terrek smiled disarmingly, 'interesting pair' he thought.

 “I’m sure what you are saying is true friend.  I’m sorry, but I don’t recall your name?”

“I didn’t give it," Galyx replied. 

A rather forgettable girl entered the inn, dressed in faded drab canvas clothing & shoes.  She was carrying a well-worn canvas sack over her shoulder.  She walked up to the bar and asked to see the Inn-keep.   When he appeared, she showed him something and spoke in low tones.

He guffawed, “Fools Geld!” he cried aloud.  “What make you of this friend?” he called tossing a speckled black rock to Galyx, who caught it deftly, nodding his head and smiling he said “Fools Gold.”  He drew back his arm to return it.

“One moment if you please?” said Terrek.  Galyx tossed it in his direction instead.  “It’s Quite an amalgam,” he examined it and hefted it from hand to hand as though it were a pebble.  “Yes, It contains iron pyrites, but there is also a large carbon content, which is one of the ingredients I am seeking.  There is also some gold, not enough to make it a viable ore for gold alone, but if we extract the carbon as I intend it would also be a simple matter to extract the gold as a by product.  Which would please my companions no end, both Gardon and Spass would rather be panning gold than looking for carbon deposits.  Fortunately, the purse that financed this expedition was mine.” he said with an open smile in Weilla’s direction.  “What ask you for this rock girl?” 

“If you please sir, lodging for the night?” she answered hopefully, as she’d been instructed.

“Show me where you found it, and you shall have that at the very least.”

“I found it…” she began.

“No!  I would prefer that you show me, tomorrow.” Said Terrek interrupting her.”

She nodded.

“What is your name?”

“Weilla,” She replied in a small voice.

“Inn-keep, put Weilla’s food and lodging on my recconing if you please.”  Then turning to his associates, he said in Meyam “if this is a true sample of what we will find, there is carbon here and even a little gold enough to satisfy you two.” 

Weilla was thrilled to discover that she understood most of their ensuing conversation, thanks to her young fertile mind and Galyx’s crash course in the Mayam language. 

“Come girl,” said the Inn-keep, “Jax will feed you and show you to your bunk.” 

His eyes turned her in the direction of a grubby barefoot scullion, toasting his toes at the fire.

“Thank you sir,” she said to Terrek, who nodded and gave her a warm smile.

'Such blue eyes, just like my father's,' she thought.  She instinctively 'took to him' despite his being an outsider.  A glance at his companions confirmed her initial opinion of them, she mentally named them Greedy & Lascivious.  Ill met companions she thought, accepting a bowl of hot soup and a hunk of dark bread from Jax, it was good, she ate hungrily.

.-…-. 

   She set an internal proximity alarm in her mind that would awaken her if anybody or anything entered the room while she slept.  She dreamt of a blue eyed stranger with steel grey hair, old enough to be her father.  But, at her age unrequited love is the stuff of dreams, and just as easily shrugged off.  She slept soundly despite the unfamiliar surroundings and rose early, before dawn, as was the Tylywoch custom.  Even so, others were already abroad.  She went into the common room, to discover the kitchen staff scurrying this way and that, fulfilling the demands of the cook – a chubby red faced woman in her middle years.  She brandished a large wooden spoon like a mace. 

“In less than an hour, our guests will be rising to break their fast on bacon, eggs, oatmeal, hot oven fresh bread, beans, sugar cake, and endless bowls of tea.  If I receive so much as one complaint about the food or the service, you will all suffer my wrath!”  Her face visibly reddened as she reached a crescendo. 

'good theatrical stuff', Weilla smiled, wondering if she gave the same speech every morning.  Catching sight of Jax standing on a large wooden crate, stirring a cauldron of what her nose told her was barley rice & fish stew, she joined him.  Close up, the aroma set her mouth to watering “Mmm that smells really good!” she said, Jax smiled.  “Can I taste it?” she asked.

“Best not,” he replied, “cook doesn’t allow tasting until it's just right!”

“Is this what you do, cook?” 

“Part of it,” he replied “I stir, lay the fires, tend them.  I help in the stables with the horses and mules, feed the chooks, porkers, and other livestock.  I clear up after meals, tidy the guest's rooms, draw and fetch water from the wells, fetch wine and beer from the coolers, and vegetables from the cellars and root clamps.” His eyes were bright and intelligent but his speech and manner appeared doleful.

“Where are your family?”  

“I have none, I was a foundling, left on the kitchen stoop in a basket.  Mistress Karpe took me in out of kindness, so this is my home, and these are my family” he said fanning his arm to encompass all the kitchen staff.

“And lucky to have them!” cook crooned a foot from his ear.

“She’s a guest, she asked me a question,” he replied “I was only being polite to a guest as you always tell us to be. Mistress Karpe.”

“This will teach you to be polite on your own time, and keep your mind on your allotted tasks,” she chided in an overly gruff voice.  Then she struck him a half-hearted clout across the shoulders with her ever-present spoon. Producing an uncharacteristic smile on his face, mirroring the smile on her own face; the action & reaction totally at odds; 'a bond of the heart' Weilla thought conjuring memories of Aldor & Meillo and the warm accompanying feeling. 

She wandered outside, even as a soft glow heightened the horizon picking out the Sabre Toothed peaks in sharp relief.  She waited patiently to ritually greet the dawn with a deep respectful bow, “Good morning Sun, welcome back.” she whispered, filling her lungs with crisp fragrant spring mountain air.

.-…-. 

   By mid-morning, she was leaping up the treacherous moss covered rocks that made up four-fifths of the stream bed.   Her body was warmed by her exertion as much as by the early spring sunshine.   Her feet, now bare, were numbed by the snowmelt waters streaming down in the opposite direction, which only served to increase her speed.    With an occasional glance back, she climbed relentlessly higher into the dizzy heights.  The Meyam and their string of mules floundered and laboured fifty yards behind and far below her.  Even Terrek who looked to be in the best shape of all appeared to be blowing hard, it was the thining air, which she was used to, she simply felt exhilarated.  Looking back and down at them, resting an arm disdainfully on a stunted overhanging tree she felt like a god surveying her kingdom – laid out below in patchwork – her elation bubbled over and she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Come on you Donkeys!”

“We can’t all be mountain goats!” Terrek yelled back grinning broadly.

“Almost there now.”   She assured them, then continued on up the sream bed at a gallop.

Fifteen minutes later, Gardon & Spass were spread-eagled on their backs, gasping for air, lips blue and faces pale. 

Terrek, hammer and chisel in hand, was already tapping a loose rock from a vertical face.  “We need timbers you two.”  He yelled in Meyam, to be heard over the constant roar from the nearby waterfall.

“What say you?” Weilla asked in Meyam.

“I was talking to those two, don’t want them to get too comfortable, there’s work to be done,” he answered pointing down at his companions.

“I wanted to know what the word meant, ‘Timber’?”

“You want to learn Meyam?”

She nodded “Yes”.  From then on, whenever he spoke, he repeated what he’d said in Meyam for her benefit.  She was bright, intuitive, and intelligent, nothing like the girl from his first impression as she entered the inn.

They’d set up a permanent camp and completed their sluice by the end of the second day, and were separating gold and carbon from the sludge – neither being soluble in water.  The gold, being heavier sank.  The carbon could then be captured on a sieve of fine muslin then laid out in the sun to dry.  They pulverised the rock with picks and hammers, whilst Weilla shoveled the dust into the sluice, filled with fast-flowing water.  She laid out and washed the muslin sieves, and assisted Terrek in bagging the carbon.  She discovered a means to pick out small particles of metallic gold from the sluice bed with twigs from a resinous tree nearby, its gum exuding twigs captured the metal on contact, and built up a golden shell before needing to be replaced.  The others were not slow in copying her.  On the third day, they loaded up the mules with sacks of carbon. Weilla was instructed to take them back to the inn and return with the eight fresh mules the following day.  Terrek gave her a letter of authorisation addressed to the Inn-keep, instructing him that she was to take charge of the mules and that her expenses were to be charged to Terrek’s account.  She started off downstream, after the mid-day meal, and within half an hour she spotted the lightning blaze sign on a mountain ash, she tied the mules nearby and followed the trail to her rendezvous with Galyx and the other members of her quad. 

She passed on the information she'd gleaned, to Galyx and the others. 

"Fire quad will be observing the camp, in your absence. Terrek's note to the Inn-keep asks him to hire some additional help with the mules on your return trip.   Touching, he is concerned with your welfare.   Take Mynach with you, he can learn mule husbandry, and you can teach him the new words you have learned.   Tell the Inn-keep Mynach is to assist you on the return trip, to save depleting his staff.

Early next morning, they started the return trip.  After a short stop to check with Galyx, to pass on the details in a return note, then the final few miles trudge to the camp, for a nourishing hot breakfast.  They finished day five busy filling sacks with Terrek’s black powder. 

(to be continued)

                                                                                                    Copyright Len Morgan 

Tylywoch ~ 03

 Tylywoch ~ 03 The Natural Disasters 

Len Morgan

    After surviving the ice, Weilla changed.  She became more reckless as if looking hard into the face of death and surviving had wiped away all fear.   Her actions caused concern to those around her.  Even some of her teachers thought her a potential danger to others, yet surprisingly nobody actually got hurt.   Others said it was a natural reaction and, that she would change again if they just gave her a little time.  She wouldn’t be expected to choose a specialisation until she was ten, so she still had five years in which to settle down and find her path in life. 

.-…-. 

When they reached the age of seven there were changes made.  They were organised into units of twelve.  Each unit consisting of three teams of four students, known as quads.  The quad was the basic working unit for the Tylywoch.  They were selected by their trainers, who had intimate knowledge of each student's strengths, and weaknesses.  The members of a quad were chosen to complement each other, to bring out the best in the quad, and help individuals overcome their limitations, together, they would quickly become a well-balanced close-knit team.  Each quad was named, by custom, after successful quads from the past those that had distinguished themselves and brought honour to their name.  Weilla was attached to the ‘Natural Disasters’ consisting of the three quads; Fire, Flood, and Storm.  Storm quad was made up of two boys Soren & Mynach, and two girls, Hildi & Weilla.

Soren had great dexterity and speed, his sleight of hand was legendary, surpassed only by his ability to solve puzzles, and pick locks.  His knowledge of mechanics and all kinds of devices was almost intuitive. 

Mynach even at the age of seven was solidly built like his parents.  His strength was equal to that of the other three quad members combined.  In addition, he possessed a rather unique talent, the ability to mimic and reproduce accurately any sound, after just one hearing. 

Hildi was the antithesis of Mynach.  She was quiet, thin, wiry, and double-jointed.  She could get into and out of spaces and things that others wouldn’t even attempt.  She could move soundlessly like an eel without disturbing a blade of grass.  She was deceptive, a pretty doll-like child with strength, out of all proportion to her stature.

Weilla possessed both physical and mental strength, she was strong-willed, tenacious, and fearless, she would never admit defeat.  She was an excellent tactician, not afraid to be cautious and at times to gamble or sacrifice when it became necessary.   Her mind was logical quick and sharp as a razor.   She would formulate solutions while others were still coming to grips with the problem.

.-…-. 

The Games – were designed to stretch their abilities, reveal their individual skills, and ingenuity, as well as their leadership qualities, and their ability to work as a team.

The rules were simple:  The Games always took place at night, each was of thirty minutes duration, two quads would defend a flag against the third.  Each member of the twelve-man team would be given the opportunity to lead their quad in an attack.  They had to produce their plan on paper and submit it to the invigilators prior to commencing their attack.  They could then be judged on their planning, ingenuity, and flexibility.  There were seven unsuccessful attacks then it was Weilla’s turn to present her plan.

Each quad made four attacks on the Flag and defended eight times, four against each of the other quad’s.  It was Storm’s third attack, Weilla had analysed all the previous unsuccessful attacks and knew that in each, the element of surprise was lacking.  Being aware of the strengths of her quad members, she carefully outlined her plan.  Only Soren was skeptical, but since most of the work would be done by Mynach & Hildi, who were more receptive, she submitted her plan regardless.  The invigilators' eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.  The horn sounded and she rejoined the quad, immediately an altercation broke out within the group.  She called them harshly into a huddle, and for several minutes they were engaged in earnest discussion.  Hildi’s voice raised in protest, Soren answered loudly, Mynach and Weilla joined in the exchange.  Hildi made an abusive comment, which Mynach took personally.  The two defending quad’s edged closer to better follow the heated exchanges, smiling with amusement.  It seemed that Storm quad were having a falling out.  It would make their job easier if they encouraged it.  Weilla shouted for order and was pushed from the huddle, landing unceremoniously on her behind in plain view of the other quads.  Nearly half the allotted time had expired and still, Hildi & Mynach’s voices could be heard, raised in heated disagreement.  The defenders, unable to resist, began to hurl their comment in support of one or the other.  Eventually, they all became involved in good-natured banter with various members of the Storm quad as full time approached.  The horn blew, and the attack was over.  Both Fire & Flood whooped with delight… 

“Attack Successful!”  Announced the invigilator.

The defenders smiles changed to disbelief then horror as they turned to discover the Flag was gone.  As if in answer to their pleading looks, the invigilator held up the flag, as Hildi turned and headed back towards the other Storm quad members. 

“It Worked!”  She yelled in triumph.

“Of course it did, it was Weilla's plan,” said Mynach imitating Hildi’s voice.

There were no further successful attacks that day, so much to the chagrin of Fire & Flood, Storm was top quad! 

.-…-. 

   The two women shared an intimate embrace and a few private tears, then Weilla shouldered her small bundle of personal possessions, and left their home as a child, for the last time.  Meillo felt tired and so alone, she wiped a tear from her usually implacable face.  Aldor was away, traveling the Empire, keeping the peace, and winning the hearts and minds of the ordinary folk.  He’d made his views known, that they would have need of friends and allies in the not too distant future, and it was his responsibility to make things happen.

The Natural Disasters would from now on share a Kebu, a communal hut, living as an extended family.  Fishing, hunting, cooking, bartering, and planting, whilst continuing their education as a team.  They would continue to work in quads, but from eight years of age, they were expected to embrace a larger team, the Tylywoch community.  A thirteenth warrior would be joining them, appointed by virtue of his/her age and experience, to be Kebu master.  All the quad leaders would then report and be responsible to the Kebu master.  It was not usual for operatives so young to be used in real operations, but they would have their share of training operations and exercises to test the efficiency of other imperial forces, at the direct request of the Empress.  The Tylywoch were her shadow warriors, answerable to her alone.  They were fiercely loyal and lived by the code: death with honour.  Prior to undertaking a covert operation in her name, they would yell the oath at the top of their voices.  Since one weak link could destroy them all, they had to have complete confidence in every member of their quad or team.  A month after moving to the Kebu, the natural disasters were introduced to their Kebu master, Galyx.  Newly returned from serving as Captain of the Empress’ honour guard.

He was a tall slim serious young man of eighteen, sporting short dark wispy facial hair.  He, it was who began their training in earnest!

.-…-.

  By the time they had reached the age of ten the Natural Disasters had grown hard with work and to the casual observer or outsider could be taken for adults.   Dressed in warm sturdy waterproof clothing hoods and full-length capes that would double as a tent, they headed for Sudoren, the nearest town, just thirty miles distant.  Outsiders were reported to be staying there, asking questions about their mountain homeland, and its inhabitants.  The inn-keep was their eyes and ears in the area and had called them to do a routine surveillance and vetting operation.  They had carried out similar operations many times before, enough to make it routine.  Galyx had delegated Fire quad to slip into the town, locate and identify the tools and equipment the visitors were using.  They had been taking soil, rock & mineral samples, and were studying the geological formations in the area.  They had ore samples, detailed maps, and their tools suggested they were who they said they were, mining prospectors.  Two were pale and stocky wearing heavy animal skin clothing and boots.  Their leader was tall, broad-shouldered with iron-grey hair and of indeterminate age dressed in the local fashion.  “Outsiders,” Galyx said with distaste spitting on the ground.  “They must not be allowed to approach home territory, they must be followed constantly.  Either Fire or Flood will shadow them at all times.  Storm will accompany me into Sudoren.  We are a hunting party, stopping for supplies.  Ask discreet questions, and try to get closer to them, to discover their true purpose on our side of the Saber Tooth mountains.“

 Weilla and Mynach were more obviously mature, and would therefore be the ones to make the closer contact. 

.-…-. 

 “Over the centuries, the Meyam people have panned for gold in the rivers filtering down to the lower slopes of the Sabre Tooth Mountains.  The streams and rivers have provided them and their ancestors with a good living.  Now, they have become greedy, they are seeking the mother lode; the source of all their prosperity.  They come into our lands seeking the source.  They may guard its location jealously, but others will eventually follow.  We will allow them to discover and mine the gold, but neither they nor the gold will leave these mountains.  There are deposits several miles upriver, not the mother lode but several rich veins that will keep them occupied for weeks.  The gold will replenish our coffers, and enable you to gain experience.”  Galyx held up a piece of black rock, speckled with gold pieces, for their inspection.  “This is what they are seeking.  Weilla and Mynach will accompany me to the Inn where they lodge.”  He threw the rock to Weilla who caught it easily.

“You will lead them to the deposits, and stay as guide and hunter, learning all you can of their expedition.  You will need to learn their language, this will be part of your training,” Galyx explained.  

“How do we…” Mynach began.

“You will learn keywords, joining words, common words, and how to create sentences and ask questions.” 

“We will need somebody who speaks both languages.” Said Mynach.

“I speak many languages, one of them is Meyam.  There are tricks to learning language, I will teach you the rudiments and you will learn from our visitors.” Said Galyx. 

“Is one night sufficient?” Hildi queried.

“For the Natural Disasters it will be,” he said, "gather round..."

(to be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 

                  

              

THE IMPORTANCE OF THE WATCH

by Richard Banks 

When Glen was asked which of his grandfather’s possessions he would like as a memento of a long and well lived life he choose his pocket watch. Even in those final, bed bound days Granddad and his watch were seldom seen apart and Glen’s first childhood memory was of sunlight reflecting on its glass face. Determined to continue its working life Glen invested in a made to measure suit that included a waistcoat with a pocket deep and broad enough to accommodate the watch. This he wore at his grandfather’s funeral, and the following day departed to his work in the same suit resplendent with watch and chain. His mother told him that he looked ridiculous, that no one ‘in this day and age’ wore pocket watches but this he was prepared to risk. Indeed the reaction of his fellow clerks was remarkably positive and the watch much admired by old Penrose, a senior partner, who still wore his. It was he who found the catch that opened up the back of the watch to reveal its mechanical workings and an inscription on the inside of the casing.

         “What’s GOPOC?” he had asked and Glen previously unaware of the inscription could only plead ignorance. Whatever the answer to Penrice’s question it was they who had presented the watch to grandfather ‘in recognition of his distinguished service over many years’. The discovery had not only opened an intriguing window into granddad’s life but also attracted the attention of a person well placed to advance Glen’s career. How better to keep that person’s interest than by finding out all he could about GOPOC, but in the days before home computers and the Internet this proved less than straightforward. Indeed after trawling methodically through the reference books in his local library and other libraries recommended to him Glen was none the wiser. It was his Uncle George, a long time member of the Honourable Company of Water Hogs, who suggested that GO probably stood for Grand Order and that the ‘P’ might refer to the printing trade in which grandfather had been a typesetter.

         “Why don’t you advertise for information in The Times,” he suggested. “that way it will be seen by the paper’s well informed readership and the men who print it. Someone’s bound to know.” 

        

                                               *****

         A few days after the placing of the ad three letters were received but they were wrong in everything they said and Glen was in a place that definitely wasn’t England.

 

                                               *****

         How he had got there he had no inkling apart from an open coffin at the base of a shuttered window through which thin shafts of sunlight had come to rest on the wall above him. As his head began to clear he took stock of his surroundings: the narrow bed on which he lay, the half lit room between bed and window and the dark shapes of furniture within it. Outside in the sunlight the sound of many voices could be heard. Were they English voices? He wasn’t sure. An oppressive heat reminded him of Morocco which he had visited on an 18–30 holiday.

         He sat up and attempted to stand but finding his legs unresponsive to the demands of his brain fell backwards with a loud crash onto the bed. On the other side of a plasterboard wall someone else stirred and a few seconds later the turning of key in lock told Glen that he was about to receive a visit from someone who could only be his jailer.

         He struggled to his feet determined at this first meeting not to put himself at the disadvantage of looking up at the person about to appear. That was for those who knelt, lackeys his grandfather called them, men who touched their forelocks and did homage. Granddad had been a lay preacher in a church of equal, Godly men. There was no room for Lords and Masters in his life and in this moment of peril and uncertainty every word he had said resonated with the power of revelation. This was the moment for angels and heralds, for burning bushes, trumpets and heavenly light. The world was about to change, then the door opened and the world went on much as before.

 

                                             *****

         Nevertheless, there were certain logistical matters that required explanation and although the man entering the room would rather this was not part of his job description the young man in his care would almost certainly be wanting to know why he was here and not in the place from which he had been collected. Indeed, as he would have no recollection of being collected this too would have to be explained, as well as the reason he should feel pleased and honoured to be here. And all this might have to be undertaken while their ‘guest’ was still woozy from the effects of an injection that had rendered him cataplectic across several continents. Fortunately the young man was scarcely able to stand and his fight or flight responses were as impeded as his present ability to take in the geo-political complexities that would also have to be explained to him. For now the best course of action was to assure him that he was safe and among friends.

         The man switched on his smile and explained that he was the Gatekeeper. There was another man who was also the Gatekeeper but he worked only on Sundays and every second Thursday, otherwise it was him. “Call me Gus,” he said, “everyone else does.” The young man’s lips opened and shut but were unable to establish the necessary connection with his vocal cords. The look on his face, however, suggested that an angry confrontation was unlikely to occur.

         “I expect you’re wondering what has happened to you. Of course you do, and all will be explained I assure you, but not before you have eaten. You must be hungry, and thirsty too. What say you to some roast beef, Sunday dinner with all the trimmings?”

         The words lodged in Glen’s brain and assumed an importance that almost dwarfed the mystery that he hoped would soon be unravelling. He was hungry, more hungry than he could ever remember and this hunger was apparently about to end. All he had to do was to signify his agreement with a single word.

         “Yes.” The word pushed roughly through a sandpaper throat. The sound it made was not the sound that Glen was expecting but nonetheless it was definitely a yes. The man was pleased, progress was being made. It was time to take his charge into meeting room A, sit him down at the head of its long table and get him to lubricate his throat with a cordial recommended for convalescents. The liquid enabled further words to be said, although still not yet enough to facilitate the conversation that was forming in Glen’s head.

         The man left the room for the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a large plate of food and a gravy boat. He had, he said, also spoken to the Director who was looking forward to seeing him. If Glen felt up to it they could meet after dinner. There was much to tell him, much that would be to his advantage. After that Glen could, if he wished, take a stroll around the town. There wasn’t much to see now the market had ended but the exercise would no doubt blow away the cobwebs. It was evening now, the most pleasant part of the day. The man hesitated for the want of further things to say but there was no need, Glen was busy eating, for now the talking could wait.

         “Coffee?” said the man as Glen cleared the plate of everything but a thin veneer of gravy.  Normally he also ate a dessert but for once the quantity of food he had consumed was more than enough. A walk would definitely be needed, so would coffee. The man departed the room for a second time and returned bearing a tray on which was a large coffee pot with six cups and saucers. “The Director’s on his way,” he murmured as if this was news not to be mentioned too loudly. He glanced back at the door through which he had just passed. Beyond it the sound of an approaching delegation could be heard. There was a brief pause as they arrived on the other side, a possible reordering of bodies and then the door was pushed open by a middle aged man in a well tailored suit. In his wake followed three other men, the last of whom was dressed casually in a zip-up jacket and jeans. The first man in introduced himself as the Director and those about him as his associates. As of now, he was unable to reveal their names. They could, he explained, have used false names, but this would have been incompatible with the free and friendly conversation they now wished to have. He sat himself down and signalled his entourage to do the same. The last man in occupied a chair away from the table and observed proceedings with a detachment that suggested that as of now his importance consisted only in him being there.

         The Director seemed in no hurry to proceed onto the business that was his reason for being there. First he had to build up a rapport with the young man, gain his trust, ensure he was clear in both his understanding and his choice of words. Finding him both lucid and apparently not ill-disposed to his abductors the Director abandoned small talk for the serious business in hand. Glen, he said, required answers and he was going to get them. His advertisement had asked what GOPOC stood for. Few people knew and those who did were required to keep this information to themselves but Glen was the son and grandson of former members. He had a right to know. 

         The Director reminded himself that this was not a public meeting and that although he expected to do most of the talking it was essential that Glen should also speak. “So, Glen, GOPOC

stands for Grand Order for the Protection of Commerce. Does that mean anything to you?”

         Glen shook his head. “No, Grandad never mentioned it.”

         “Or your father?”

         “No.”

         “Good. That’s the way it should be. Only those within its ranks should know of its existence and the mission it fulfils.”

         “And what is that?”

         “A good question. In short to oppose the Moscow Collective. But what’s that you are thinking. You want to know about GOPOC and I am telling you about another organisation, but with good reason, for without the Collective there would be no GOPOC. What, Glen, do you know about the Bolchevik revolution?”

         “The usual stuff, 1917, Lenin, Stalin, the end of Czars and the beginning of Communism.”

         “Well said, a succinct summary to which you can add world revolution, the destruction of the old order in Europe and its replacement by satellite states subservient to mother Russia. In this were significant opportunities for personal profit, opportunities very apparent to the small and middling entrepreneurs who in 1917 renounced capitalism and belatedly joined the ranks of party bureaucrats and commissars. But how were they to benefit from the opportunities about to unfold? Their past was against them. At the back of every queue they were also the most likely to be purged. The Secret Service was where they wanted to be, stirring up trouble in countries ripe for change, destabilising their economies and taking their cut from the chaos that ensued. But when they failed to get the preferments their talents deserved they decided to form their own secret service, an organisation known only to themselves that would mop up the commercial opportunities insufficiently exploited by the politicos primarily concerned with regime change.”

         The Director took a sip of his coffee. “All clear?”

         Having signalled his response with a nod Glen decided to interpose a few words of his own. “And did they ‘mop up’?”

         “Oh yes, and with great success, extending their operations into more and more countries. In 1952 both their existence and the extent of their operations were discovered by a commercial analyst working for the London Chamber of Commerce. The UK Government was duly informed but on the advice of our NATO allies choose to believe that the only credible threat to our political and economic well-being came from the Soviet State. A few months later the murder of an eminent London banker convinced the City Fathers that if the Government were blind to the dangers they faced there was no alternative but to defend themselves. That’s when the Grand Order was formed, a covert watch and response force that would, when necessary, provide an armed deterrent ready and able to go head to head with the Collective. Recruited from the City institutions its membership passed down families from father to son. If you decide to join you will be the third generation of your House to do so.”

         The Director poured himself another coffee observing as he did the affect of his words on the young man. “Any questions?”

         “Yes. I take it from what you have said that my father and grandfather were not permitted to tell me this.”

         “Absolutely not. In the normal way you would have been recruited on your twenty-first birthday and your membership confirmed in a ceremony attended by senior officials and those members of your family within its ranks. Unfortunately the death of your father ten years ago and the more recent passing of your grandfather means that you will be the sole representative of your family; that is, of course, if you decide to join. The Grand Order is not without its dangers – your father’s death may not have been the accident it was assumed to be – but nonetheless you may consider that the benefits of membership are worth the risk. Firstly in serving your country you will be continuing a family tradition; your father and grandfather would have been proud of you. Secondly no member of the Grand Order has ever been unsuccessful in business. Your grandfather took great care in securing for you a position at Penrose Morgan. It was his ambition that in time you would become a partner. We can, of course, make that happen. So, as you can see, there are opportunities as well as danger. The choice is yours. What say you?”

         “But I’m not twenty-one yet.”

         “Two months shy but when you placed that advertisement in The Times you identified yourself to the Collective as a potential threat that must be eliminated. So, early or not, you need to make your decision now. Are you with us or not?”

         Glen pondered briefly on the choice he had been asked to make and decided that there was no choice at all. If Dad and Granddad had been members then so must he.

         “Count me in.”

 

                                             *****

         The Director allowed himself a few moments reflection. It had been a cruel deception, but a necessary one. Once recruited into the Grand Order who knows what harm the young man might have done, but sometimes a family link was not continued despite the benefits of membership; for some a quiet life was better than the uncertainties of one more eventful. He could have expressed doubts, said no, but by his assent had declared war against the comrades that he, the Director of Operations, was duty bound to protect. All that remained was for him to pass sentence in the name of the Collective and watch as the man in the zip-up jacket took aim and sent their enemy tumbling lifeless to the floor.

         The Director placed his cup and saucer back on the tray and retreated without comment to his office. He had a report to write. By the time it was done the coffin would be in use once more and on its way to the crematorium. Everything had been done by the book. The story of Glen was at an end.

 

Copyright Richard Banks