PAST TIMES 

by Richard Banks 

It was Saturday, time to get up and clean the car. Not that I wanted to. After a week on the road reping bathroom consumables I really wasn’t in the mood. But it had to be done and on a blue sky day there was no good reason for not doing what couldn’t be put-off past Sunday evening. Of course I only had myself to blame for the way I was feeling, too much to eat and drink the night before. Little wonder then that, after a restless night, indigestion and a hangover were giving me all the excuses I needed to stay in bed. None-the-less I got up. Of course I got up! I’m a doer not a shirker and with a few pills inside me I was on the job by nine and determined to be feeling better by lunchtime and the big match on Sky. 

         I suppose when you have a hangover there’s no better job than sloshing water about on a warm day and with that thought in mind I was almost as wet as the car when the hose went bang and the water stopped. It must be a fuse I thought, but with wet hands and wet everything else this was not the moment for finding out. So, I finished off the car with a bucket of water and a chamois, got changed, and with dry hands set about putting things right. It was a five minute job. At least it should have been, except that there was nothing wrong with the fuse or anything else I could see. It was a job for the shop where I bought it and with only thirty-five minutes until kick off I departed there minus guarantee which had expired the week before. 

         The day was not going well but nothing a good win over United wouldn’t put right. Then it got weird. There was a new face behind the counter. Usually it was Kevin, if not him the Governor, but today it was Arnie. But Arnie belongs to eight years ago. What is he doing here? But with two customers in easy earshot I’m not about to ask. For now we’re two guys who don’t know each other and whose only business involves the repair of a pressure hose. He gives me a receipt on which he has scribbled, ‘round the back, 15 minutes’. He means the kitchen where we use to meet when the shop was a cafe, the four of us, the ‘Invincibles’  the guys who would never get caught, and so far no one has. I should be beating a rapid retreat but I don’t. What would be the point? If he don’t know where I live he’ll soon will, the shop has my address. I stay and make myself a cup of tea. If Arnie says fifteen minutes it’s more likely to be twenty and anyway the shop doesn’t shut for lunch until 12.15 so I’m not surprised when he waltzes in fifteen minutes later. 

         The players will be on the pitch, the match about to start but that don’t matter any more. I’m looking at a dead man and he’s looking at me like it’s Halloween and he’s playing the scariest trick of all time.

         “Thought you were dead,” I say. 

         He doesn’t reply. He tries not to scowl but he does. Never did like the bugger. Then he smiles, more friendly like. Perhaps this is going to be OK.

         “Haven’t you made one for me?” He points at my mug or perhaps the kettle. 

         “Black, no sugar?” I say. Even after all these years I remember that as clear as all the other stuff I would rather forget. I switch on the kettle and put a teabag in a mug that declares the owner’s allegiance to the Hammers. No change there. 

         “So how come you’re in the land of the living?” I ask. I try to make it sound like normal conversation but normal it ain’t. 

         “Well, no thanks to you, that’s for sure. But I suppose I’ve only got myself to blame. Never trust a villain and in those days that’s exactly what you were, a villain with a gun I didn’t know you had. And don’t think because you shot me in the back I don’t know it was you. Who else was there in Kenning Forest at 3am? No one, just you and me, unless you count Bernstein but then he was the reason we were there, the guy we had robbed and were about to bury. No shallow grave for him, you said, you wanted it dug deep so there was no chance of him being found. Room enough for two is what you really meant, except you didn’t. That would have been stupid, even more stupid than me thinking you were a mate. Anything to say or are you just going to sit there looking like the ghost you wish I was?” 

         So, what do you say to a man you shot and left for dead, face down and three feet under? How did I slip up I’m thinking. If I still had the shooter I’d finish the job, but now he’s the one pointing a gun. 

         “Well?” 

         “What can I say, you’ve got me, guilty as charged. Pull the trigger if that’s what you want, but then what good would that do? Why risk spending the rest of your life in prison when you can have all the money that’s owing you. £200K? What about that? No, tell you what, I owe you big time, so you can have half as much again. That’s from my share. What do you say, Arnie? Come on now, you know it makes sense.” 

         “Yeah, that sounds good except that you can’t give me what you don’t have. How did you blow it, Billy? The nags, poker, slots? The bookmaker’s friend that’s what you are. Let’s face it, if you still had the dough you wouldn’t be doing a shitty job pedalling bathroom tat. No, you gambled it away long ago which is why this is all about revenge. Let me tell you what’s next. I’m going to shoot you in the guts and watch you slowly bleed out, then I’m going to bury your dried out carcass next to Bronstein, by that old ruin that use to be a hunting lodge. So, Billy, any last words? Aren’t you going to make a dash for it? Too shit scared? In that case here we go. I’m pulling the trigger. Now!” 

         The gun fires, I scream, scream again, keep screaming but no body hears, so no one comes. I’m on the floor leaking blood. The glare of the sun streams through the window across my face. I shut my eyes to block it out. Then it all goes black, not a glimmer and I’m falling down a big rabbit hole to Lord knows where. “Help me!” And someone does.        

         “It’s OK, Mr Forbes, keep still. No cause for alarm. I’m Dr Assam. You’re in St Benets hospital. I’m afraid you’ve had a bit of an accident – an electric shock from that power hose you were using. You blacked out for a while but you’re back with us now. We’ll be keeping you here overnight but, all being well, you should be leaving us tomorrow. How do you feel, fit enough to answer a few questions? If not it can be put it off until you’re up to it.” 

         “No, that’s fine. St Benet’s you say?”

         The geezer in the white coat smiles. “Yes,” he says. “I’ll hand you over to Sergeant Willard.  He was passing your house when the paramedics arrived.”

         He moves to one side and a rosser steps forward into view and sits down by the bed. He reads me my rights and gets out his notebook.     

         “You’ve been talking in your sleep, Mr Forbes. An interesting conversation with Arnie about missing persons and an unsolved crime. You can deny it, of course. No doubt you will, but if we find those bodies near the old gatehouse it won’t be looking good for you. ..I gather you support Spurs?” 

         “Did they win?” 

         “No sir, it seems their luck is no better than yours, but at least they get to go home. As you keep pointing out this really isn’t your day.”

 

The End

             

Copyright by Richard Banks

Tylywoch ~ 29

 Tylywoch ~ 29 The Subterfuge 

By Len Morgan

Aldor's scouts returned, confirming that the 9^th Clan were massed in strength at all four gates to the Eternal City.  An army of about ten thousand soldiers drilled to obey orders instantly. Their leaders were confirmed as members of the Surbatt.   They would all have views concerning the rights and wrongs of the imminent conflict.   Each, was well aware that anything between five and ten thousand good men would be maimed or die in the ensuing conflict.   Their leaders at least were sure their cause was just, and that within days prince Taleen would be installed as Emperor of the Cheilin Empire. 

It was a stand-off.   Both armies knew the disposition of the other and yet refused to leave their entrenched positions.   Aldor knew the morale of his own force was high.  They believed the Empress still lived and therefore still ruled.   They were well-armed, well-fed, well-led, and highly motivated, from Company levels right down to Platoon levels.   He also knew that they were well-trained.  Each unit would fight as a single entity when the time came, and they would carry out whatever tasks he set for them.   His immediate goal was to get into the Eternal City.   He acknowledged that the 9^th were as well disciplined, but did they have the heart, or the same high degree of commitment, and were their leaders well tested and competent?  Aldor doubted that. 

At midnight, he sent a dozen Quads of Tylywoch to strategic points with the aim of eliminating the Surbatt higher command and as many officers of the Surbatt as could be identified.  They performed their tasks efficiently and, by morning not a ranking officer of the Surbatt remained alive. 

Leaflets and letters were distributed amongst the rank and file disclosing the true situation in the city proving beyond doubt that the Surbatt were renegades.   At first light, Aldor led 1500 Warriors from the 13^th, through the ranks of the 9^th, in column of route straight up to and through the open gates of the city with little opposition. 

(to be continued)

 

Copyright Len Morgan  

 

 THE PASSING OF MOLLY MAGUIRE

By Bob French

It was nearly eight in the evening.  A Friday I recall, on the 23rd of August, in the Year of Our Lord 1915.  The first anniversary of the war to end all wars; a war that if you believe those who knew no better, would end by Christmas.

          I had just got off the tram from St. Pancras and was looking forward to two weeks shore leave from my ship, now docked at Kent when there was a huge explosion.  At first, I thought it was a gas explosion, but something caught my eye and I looked up to see a German Zeppelin slowly vanish into some low cloud.  Without thinking, I rushed towards the smoke and rubble where, just a few minutes ago, a family had been sitting down to evening tea.  As I started to climb over the remains of the front of the semi-detached house, a tall, thick set fireman brushed past me and scrambled into the heart of the house. As quick as a flash, a short woman with a pretty yellow hat pushed past me and followed the fireman into oblivion. Her appearance caught me by surprise, then I could taste the stench of the smoke and the noise of screams started to sink into my head.

Half an hour later, the fireman, the little woman with the pretty yellow hat and I stumbled out of the smoke and debris, having cleared the house of the old couple.  They had been sitting in the parlor taking a cup of tea when the bomb had struck the house. Their whole life’s possessions destroyed in a matter of seconds.

“You ain’t from around here are you sailor boy?”

I turned and looked down at the woman in her yellow hat and smiled. 

“What’s so funny then?”

I leant forward and straightened up her hat and attempted to brush some of the grime that had fallen on it, when she pushed my hand away.

“Ear, enough of that, taking liberties with a single girl.  I don’t even knows your name?” 

I smiled. “John.  John McCormack Miss, of His Majesty’s Ship, Doncaster.”

“You’re a long way from the sea, aren’t you?”

“Got me a 14-day pass and thought I’d spend it up here in the smoke.  I grew up around these parts before I went to sea.  Then when war broke out, I moved from trawlers to fighting ships.”

“So, whose waiting for yer then?

I felt a stab of pain dig into my heart.

“No one.  My parents were killed in the first bombing of the city, then my sister, Edith goes off and joins the Army Nursing Corps.  She’s out in France now doin’ her bit.”

“Fancy a drink then?”  I stared at the woman, then glanced around the surrounding area.  All I could see was devastation, smoke, fire and people wandering around in a state of shock.

“Where?  Everything has been trashed.”

“Just follow me, sailor boy.  I knows a place.”  And with that, I diligently followed her through the ruins. 

We had been walking for about fifteen minutes when she suddenly turned down a very narrow dark alleyway and tapped on a door.  It opened a few inches, then opened wider and I heard a thick Irish accent greet her.  “Hi Molly.”

“This ‘ere is John, a friend of mine.  We just been digging out the Philipson’s.  Poor blighters coped it.  As I pass through into a very short hallway, the Tall, thickset Irishman put up his hand.

“Are youse carrying then?”  I stared at him and frowned.  “Do you have any weapons on you mate?”

“Sorry Paddy left them on board my ship.”  He seemed to accept my declaration and let me pass.  I caught up with the woman who had started to descend a narrow, poorly lit, flight of stairs.  When we reached what felt like the basement, she pushed open a door and we stepped into a brightly lit room.

“Fancy that drink, John?”  I nodded, then to my surprise, took in the number of boxes and crates of alcohol, cigarettes, chocolate and any other items that were the lifeline of what was known as the ‘black market.’

She caught my eye.  If you got nothing special to do on your shore leave, do you want to help us?”

“What do you do?  I tried to think how such an operation could run without the law getting to hear about it, but asked anyway. “Run the black market for the east end?” I chuckled.

“On the contrary, we have teams of volunteers that goes out to every bombing or explosion in our area to try and ‘elp the lads of the fire brigade dig out those poor blighters.  If we find any survivors, we takes care of them.”

“How?”

“You ask a lot of questions sailor boy.”  A face covered in a ginger beard popped up from behind a dozen crates of chocolates.

“No offence. It is just I’m struggling to find out what a person who had just lost everything could do with a couple of bottles of brandy and some chocolates or ciggys?”

Molly slowly moved to the mirror and took off her yellow hat, gave it a good brush, then, staring into the mirror, placed it back on her head. “We don’t give them any of this stuff.  Well sell it on the black market, and the money we gets, we gives to those poor blighters who needs it, depending on their needs.

I felt so foolish. “So, you are the Good Samaritans saving the lives of those who have just lost everything, and help them to put their lives back together again.  Unbelievable.”

The ginger bearded head popped up again. “We also advise them on how the council can help em.  You know, rehousing, rebuilding, moving schools.  All kinds of stuff.”

I turned to Molly.  “If it is alright with you Miss, I’m In.”

“Good.” She glanced down at my dirty naval uniform. “We can’t ave you roaming the streets looking like a tramp.  You need to change.” Albert!” she yelled and a door over to the right of the room opened. A distinguished looking man wearing what looked like a regimental tie stepped out. “Be a love and give John ‘ere some decent clothes and shoes.  Then give him the brief about what we do.  He starts tonight.”

“Right you are Molly.” I followed the man through into his office and he nodded me to a curtain. Within minutes I was standing in well-worn civies. I glanced in the mirror and thought that my Petty Officer would never let me go ashore looking like this, but, ‘when in Rome ’I thought.

His parting words to me, after the briefing, was that ‘what Molly and we do was, as far as the law was concerned, illegal, and they have been after her for months.  This is the fourth time we’ve moved in the past year, so get in, and get out sharpish.  If you get caught, play dumb.”

As I relaxed with a cup of tea, Molly introduced me to Michael.  A deserter from France.  “Michael here will show you the ropes, so watch, listen and be careful, understood?”

Within the hour, the telephone rang.  Molly took it, then stared at the map that hung on the wall, then put the phone down. “It’s at the East India Dock road and Saracen Street junction. Number 23.”  It took me by surprise at the speed at which Michael grabbed his jacket and a brown leather bag and was halfway up the stairs before I caught up.  It took us fifteen minutes to reach the area but the police and the fire brigade had already cordoned off the area, but Michael pushed his way forward until he came up against the law.

“I’m a doctor.” He raised his brown leather bag that most doctors carried around.  As if by magic, they let him through.  I was about to follow him when a hand stopped me.

“Sorry son, only emergency staff.”  Then I heard Michael shouting over his shoulder, “he’s with me.”

We found that there were four survivors.  The family had lost two young children.  Michael took down as much information as possible, then pretended to look them over, and nodded. 

As we left Michael asked the father where he and his family would be staying.  Once he noted the address down in his book, we quietly withdrew.

Back at the basement, Michael passed the information to Molly who then gave Albert the details.  She smiled at me.  “He’ll work out what we have to sell so we can support them until the council steps in. They’ll get a goodly handout in the next few days. Now go up to Paddy on the door and he’ll tell you where you’re sleeping tonight.  See you at ten tomorrow, and thank you, John.”

This went on for ten days until one night, Michael and I were out on a call.  When we returned, the house where Molly ran her operation was in flames. Thick black smoke spiraled up into the night sky and what remained of the place seemed to be burning furiously.  We tried to get closer, but a police sergeant stopped us.  Michael looked concerned as he asked.

“Did anyone survive Sergeant?”

The police sergeant shook his head, then looked as us.  “To late I’m afraid. You lads local then?”

We shook our heads.  He seemed to be talking at the flames.

“Funny, no one could recall hearing an aircraft or seeing a zeppelin, so it must have been a gas leak.  Pity. We been keeping an eye on this place for a week.  The Guvnor thinks it was the main bases for a gang of black marketers.”  It was then that I saw in the flickering flames the crumpled yellow hat of Molly’s laying in the rubble.

“Which gang?”

“Molly Maguire.  She was very good.  We been after her for nearly a year.  Well, at least we can cross her off our list. By the look of these flames, they’ll be nothing but ashes come the mornin.”

We stayed for a few minutes, then went back to our digs to think about what we should do next.  I couldn’t get it out of my head that Molly was gone.

I looked across at Michael.  What regiment were you from mate?”

“Second Battalion, the Middlesex Regiment.”

“Do you have any family in London?”  He shook his head. “Newcastle.”

We spent that night talking about the old days, before the war and some of the jobs Michael had pulled off before joining Molly’s organization.  I decided that it was time to get back to my ship, so I packed up my things into my kit bag; tried to clean my uniform so that I could pass muster at the quarterdeck, then left.

It was a good half hours walk to St. Pancras, so I stepped out in the crisp morning sunshine.  I came to a crossing and waited until the lights changed. As I stood there staring aimlessly at the people on the other side of the road, a figure moved out of a doorway and caught my attention.  As our eyes met, she smiled, then a double decker bus slowly passed between us.  When it had gone the doorway was empty.  Molly had vanished.  As I joined the surge of people crossing the road, I said a silent farewell and wish her all the best.

 

Copyright Bob French

Halloween

 Halloween 

Jane Scoggins 

We had had a good night out at the Travellers Joy pub in Rayleigh, me and the girls. Six of us old friends. It had been ages since we had had a night out together, before the Covid pandemic struck in fact. We had all had Covid at some point over the last 18 months or so. Jenny and I had been really poorly and Jenny still didn't feel 100% but apart from a lingering cough for a month after, the other girls hadn't been too badly affected. Anyway we were all glad to have survived intact. Both Ann and Clare had lost a loved one during the lock downs. Ann her Nan, and Clare her Granddad who had been in a nursing home. Neither had been able to visit and say goodbye. A horrible time it had been. We were all triple vaxed up and ready to celebrate all the missed birthday celebrations and Christmas get togethers. We all arranged to get a taxi home or have our partners pick us up by11pm. At11 pm I was the only one left to be picked up. My partner Tony had texted to say there had been a bit of a hold up on the A127 but was on his way. The pub was ready to close so I was waiting outside on the little terraced balcony.  We had had a scorching summer and although it was the end of October it was quite mild. There was virtually no traffic passing at that time of night and not a soul about. It was quite nice waiting in the quiet gloom. We had all had quite a lot to drink, me included, which was unusual, but I felt mellow rather than inebriated. After 10 minutes or so I thought I would walk around the car park a bit to avoid starting to get cold. It was getting a bit misty and the Halloween pumpkins dotted about were looking a bit spooky with their funny cut out eyes and mouths. One of the flats across the road had one lit up in the window which looked more cheerful than scary.

After a while, I stood nearer the road to look out for Tony as the pub lights were now turned off. All was silent and then I heard a muffled voice somewhere near but no actual person to be seen. I thought it must be my imagination until I distinctly heard a young voice say:

 ‘Miss, Miss’.  I looked around but there was no one. And then I saw a most extraordinary thing that so shocked me  I was rooted to the spot. Looking down I saw what looked like a hand appearing out of the ground. Impossible I thought. Then it moved and stretched its fingers. It looked like the hand of a young male. I looked closer, yes I guessed, a young man’s weather beaten hand. The air was beginning to feel cooler and a bit damp. Whatever I had drunk that evening had definitely gone to my head. The voice came again. ‘Miss Miss’. The voice seemed to be coming from below the ground and then with a swirl of mist it rose above the ground and was very close. I waited, still rooted to the spot. The voice came again nearer to me.

‘Miss, my name is James. James Cook. I died a very long time ago.

‘How long ago,’ I heard myself ask. As if it mattered at all.

‘In 1829 Miss’ came the disembodied reply.

‘ It was wrong Miss, a miscarriage of justice Miss, I never done what they said I had. Mr Green the farmer I worked for said I set fire to his property Miss, and they believed him and took me off to prison. It broke my Mam’s heart it did. I had to go to court. There had been a few arsons about that time what with all the dissatisfaction with farm worker's conditions. Everyone working on the land was frustrated. They had taken our contracts away and we only got what we worked for, so during the winter if there was nothing much to do ‘cept feed the animal no one got paid until planting time in Spring. It was hard to survive, and some didn't. I was 15 at the time and although headstrong didn't have any evidence, so it was my word against Mr Green’s. He didn't like me one bit. He had a nasty temper and worked me to the bone. He beat me once too. He was a horrible man. His wife was scared of him. When his daughter Molly even dared look in my direction he would shout and ball at me and reduce my dinner ration. I would of left if I could but my Mum was a widow and couldn't really afford to keep me in food. In fact I used to scrump apples and plums for her and a handful of corn for her 3 chickens now and again to help her out. It was the only way. But I did hate him and he knew it. I don't know who did torch his barn, he was not liked by anyone, but it weren't me. But he was determined to punish me for anything he could and apart from being asleep in another barn, I had no alibi. He was an influential man was farmer Green. I stood no chance. I'm sure my Ma believed me but what good was that to her. I couldn't help her out anymore.  I never thought  for me it would come to the gallows, but with all the unrest with farm workers and labourers and the arson attacks the judges were coming down hard to try and frighten folk and stop it happening.’ 

There was a pause while I digested this information as best as my fuddled brain could. He carried on with what sounded like a little sob in his voice.

 I was shocked to hear the judge say ‘The sentence of the court upon you, is that you be taken from this place to a lawful prison and thence to a place of execution, and that you be hanged by the neck until you are dead. And may the Lord have mercy on your soul’

‘Where you are standing now Miss, is where the gallows stood, and where I was hanged. Walking up those steps with townsfolk standing watching was horrible. I dared look up at them standing there. I told my Mother not to come and I was glad not to see her face. But I did see my brother. He was crying so pitifully I had to look away. I never knew who burnt down farmer Green’s barn. It could have been anyone with a grudge or it could have been an accident. But I was blamed and had my life ended cruelly and wrongly. I was barely 16 years of age. I can never settle. I am troubled and restless. Tonight is Halloween when many spirits are abroad. Most living folks do not have the spiritual power to believe in the spirit world so do not hear or see us. You have heard me though and it has helped me that you have listened. Do you believe me?’ 

‘ Yes, I do,’ I heard myself say almost in a whisper. 

Just then I am alerted to Tony’s car lights as he swings into the pub car park.

 He stops the car and leans over to open the passenger car door. Before I get in I look all around me in a slow 360-degree movement. Nothing to see or hear. Tony calls me to get in. Giving me a peck on the cheek as a welcome he says laughing.

‘ Good Lord love. Good night with the girls then? You look like you are three sheets to the wind, or have you just seen a ghost? Well, it is Halloween. Let's get you home, you definitely don’t look quite right.

I am silent as we drive home. Was that real or just my imagination?.

 

Copyright Jane Scoggins

Concrete Haiku

Two Pictographs:  Concrete Haiku

By Robert Kingston

 CONUNDRUM 

Peter Woodgate 

I’m sitting here, beer in hand,

The sun is shining, ain't that grand?

No, for as the clouds go floating by

I’m suddenly aware, that I,

At present, am a lucky “B”

Whilst all around catastrophe.

This world mankind has deeply wounded

Power is paramount and money laundered

Don’t look too far into the future

Wealth is the power, no need to nurture

All that’s precious to this earth

To safeguard mankind’s future girth

Around this planet that we lease

A short time, should we not find peace.

So, what is peace? The end of war?

A unity of rich and poor?

A realisation of us all

That we will face the greatest fall

From grace that we were given

Yet now, just into greed we’re driven.

I could, of course, shout from my box

And chain myself with many locks

To a railway line somewhere,

They’ll say “that is most unfair”

However, should I attempt that way

Or glue myself to a motorway

I will need to ensure I pray

That I won’t be run over.

A conundrum now is what I face,

Do I act, end in disgrace?

Or simply do nothing at all

Just curl up into a great big ball

And let the world roll by?

I’ve made up my mind

It’s not my business

I shall sit in the sun

And drink a few more Guinness.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate Oct 2022

 

Tylywoch ~ 28

Tylywoch ~ 28 Fighting Back… 

By Len Morgan

 Axen, the fourth member of stealth quad, returned with news that Galyx had gone to confront Glamhorten.

"We have to provide him with support," said Soren.

"The other three members of my quad are with him, as well as a captain Vadeem?"

"A good man!   He couldn't be in better company." Lieutenant Veille assured them.

"Galyx said they would be able to look after themselves, we should get to the Throne room in the palace to support the Empress and her guardians," said Axen, "an all-out attack is imminent, and despite rumours to the contrary the Empress still lives!"

A cheer went up from those within earshot, re-echoing as the news was passed on.

The spread of the news and the obvious boost it gave to the morale of all, was evident.

Schell looked to Veille, "What is our current position Lieutenant?"  

He squatted on his haunches and cleared a space in the dust at their feet with his poniard.   They gathered around, torches were hoisted above the spot.  

He inscribed a small cross with the point of his blade "We are here - Two floors above is the rear of the Throne room,  we should emerge about thirty yards from the rear entrance which will be heavily guarded on the outside."

"A quad will reconnoitre and report back before we move," said Schell, nodding to a quad leader who motioned to his men.   They moved out swiftly to complete their mission. 

.-…-. 

"There is a unit of two hundred men on call in a nearby suite of rooms, and a guard of ten permanently watching the door.   They are there to prevent escape, they are not positioned to defend themselves from without.   There have been several unsuccessful attempts to break into the Throne room, there is blood in the passage" the quad leader explained.   "The doors are heavy and solid, made of Ironwood which is not predisposed to take fire easily, the hinges are heavy and unmarked by previous attempts to break in.   I would suggest they are holed up in the safest place in the palace, there's no good reason to break them out at this time."

""Can we take out the guard & support units by stealth?" asked Schell.

.-…-. 

Glamhorten held out her arms to Galyx gesturing as if to draw him to her, like a fish on a line.   He walked slowly and purposefully towards her as if in answer to her beckoning.   She felt an inner thrill of excitement, if she could only get into his mind and turn him she would have accomplished something her people had attempted in vain for centuries, to gain access to the secrets of the Tylywoch.   She, would if successful become the 'Premier Bride' at a stroke.   His mind seemed strange, but it had submitted easily enough to her will, they embraced.   Maybe too easily she thought, alarm bells ringing, in her mind.   They kissed and she relaxed her poisoned lip balm was intended to bind him to her, ‘I have him, he's mine now,’ she thought. 

He felt the taint of infection, the beginnings of a non-reversible chemical reaction that would fix his addiction.   His lips tingled and burned, the heat spread rapidly to his mouth, throat, oesophagus, lungs, then into his bloodstream.   He had set in motion the body mechanisms to contain and counter its effects, but it spread so rapidly he was doubtful they would be successful.   He may have acted in time if the antidote were of sufficient potency…   Even as the thought flashed through his mind he remembered his purpose; ‘to protect and defend the empress’. 

She entered his mind, moving easily without let or hindrance, into his higher conscious mind.   'Who are you?' she asked.

'I am Kebu master, thirteenth warrior of the Natural Disasters, welcome to your release!' He replied.   "Death with Honour" he screamed with every sinew of his body fully expecting to die. 

"OOOH!"  She cried out involuntarily and hastened to escape from his mind but found the way barred.   She struggled, writhed and squirmed in her efforts to find a way through, but he held onto her as if they were fused as one.

"AAAAGH!"   She cried in fear and terror, she called out ferociously for Bedelacq to aid her, but nothing escapes his carefully crafted mind trap. 

He slid his blade into her back and inscribed a circle six inches in diameter, six inches deep severing veins arteries sinew and bone, effectively separating her heart from her body.   As he did so he released her from his mind trap.   "You fool!   I have escaped," she yelled in triumph, but it was short lived, in her haste to leave his mind she returned to her own body without checking it was still viable.   Once back inside her dying form, she discovered her error too late! There was insufficient life force remaining, to enable her to transfer to another host.  She was trapped and would suffer the fate of this ageing body.   In an instant, she relived her whole life and acknowledged her release.  

"Thank you" she whispered in his ear with her remaining breath.

Still supporting her now limp form, he thrust his arm into the hole in her back, grasped her heart, and tore it from her body, as Aldor had instructed him during the final sessions of his training as a Generalist.  

"The brides of Bedelacq, can only be released by separating the heart from their body."  He realised as he did so that he'd probably signed a death warrant for all those she had enslaved.   He remembered Vadeem had warned of her cry for help…   He looked down at the corpse, now ageing rapidly as if attempting to recoup stolen centuries.   He removed himself from the heap of putrefaction, in order to retain the contents of his stomach.

The heavy doors burst open and in came an eclectic collection of men and women. 

"She's dead!" he announced, raising her heart high.   "You can do nothing to aid her now.   There must be a way to ease your suffering and fight the addiction, but I can promise you nothing." He said in a neutral voice. 

A young soldier in his early twenties spoke for them, "we were forced into slavery far worse than anything you would believe, we have all done things we would like to forget, not willingly you understand, but we are far from proud of our actions.   Now you have freed us, and given us an opportunity to atone for those acts, you have earned our gratitude, and as best we can we will fight with you to eradicate the Surbatt from this land they have defiled!"   There were general murmurs of agreement from all the others, inside and outside the room.   When he looked he realised there were several hundred from all walks of life.

.-…-. 

Veille watched with admiration as the six quads, disguised in 9^th Clan Brown, moved amongst the sleeping enemy troops.   Silently and efficiently slitting the throats of the would-be killers of his cousin, and empress.   He felt no compassion or guilt for their demise.   There is no glory in warfare; he'd learned that in his first engagement, six months after receiving his commission.   The rule is kill or be killed.   If you are greatly outnumbered you reduce the odds in any way possible.  Half an hour later the work was complete.   The last to die were the guards, the bodies, 200+, were used to create a wall to barricade the door to the Labyrinth where others were still lost, they would find no escape this way.  His own men, now with 9^th Clan colours over their own red, took up the positions recently occupied by the hostile force and by so doing released the quads to disperse and carry out other covert operations. 

Veille and Schell stood in plain view of the rear door to the throne room.

"We need to speak with my cousin the empress and the Tylywoch commander" Lt Veille called out.   They waited several moments, then the door was unbarred to admit them.

After quick introductions and handshakes all round they explained what actions had been taken and their future plans. 

"As we speak there are quads engaged in acts of sabotage, damaging stores and equipment, poisoning food and water supplies, killing covertly, anything to demoralise and lower the morale of the foe.   Soon they will be jumping at shadows.  I've seen how Schell's quad's operate, they are impressive. With their help, I know we can win!" Veille enthused.

"What news from outside?" Ferrice asked. 

"There is a large 9^th Army outside the City, which is currently being held there at stale mate by a force commanded by General Aldor" said Schell. 

"He’s alive?”  The Empress smiled “I know who my money would be on." 

"We must get back!" said Schell.

"May chance never be a factor," said Ferrice as they left.  favouring him with a smile. 

.-…-. 

"How did he get away?" asked Weilla.

"It seems he abandoned his post momentarily to talk with a young woman.   When he returned his companions were gone."

"So, he reported back to the guard post?"

Amree nodded.

"Open up inside or we break down the door, then we will take no prisoners!"    The guard sergeant yelled.

"How many?" asked Weilla.

"Between fifty and sixty military, but there are others, the curious, trouble makers and the easily led and many more…"

"Too many to fight.   What Clan are they?"

"It's another mixed unit, about a third are from the 9^th," said Amree.

"Then I think I should try talking with them.   Tell the quad to leave now.  I will do what I can to sow the seeds of doubt in their minds.   You and Galt stay to give the illusion of normality."   She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.   "Open the door," she whispered.

"What do you want with us" Galt yelled into the square.

"You're Tylywoch, enemies of the empire," a faceless voice replied. 

"I am Tylywoch!" Weilla called from the shadows in a clear strong voice, "I am sworn to protect the Empress with my life, against all her enemies and any who plot against her.   This is and always has been the sole purpose of the Tylywoch and the 13^th Clan.   If she is dead, we have failed…" 

"You lie!   Your spawn are even now holed up in the Emerald palace, denying us the right to pay our respects and bury the Empress you have killed!" 

"They are holding the throne room, the oldest part of the palace.   If they are still holding, it can have only one meaning.   The Empress still lives!"   She paused for effect, conscious of discussions going on in the hidden places; she waited for the talking to subside before continuing.   "They are simply doing their duty, in this instance, protecting her from Surbatt assassins, who made this abortive attempt on her life.   I've no doubt the person to who I am speaking is a member of the Surbatt or he would already have acknowledged the truth of what I say.   Outside the palace, and even in this group here today the 9^th comprise a 3^rd  of its complement, in the palace, they are in even greater concentration, two in three.    There are tens of thousands of warriors from 9^th Clan outside the walls effectively, laying siege to the Eternal City.   Is that correct would you say?"   She spoke to the voice without reply.  

Weilla stopped talking and walked out into the sunlight.   A young woman, small in stature, apparently harmless and vulnerable.  

The voice in the crowd seemed to wake up.   "Emperor Taleen will cleanse the world of all you verminous outcasts!" he yelled.

"You see at last?   There it is, Emperor Taleen!" she paused for effect "they have no intention of assembling the Knodd as the law decrees, upon the death of a ruler.   You imply they will select Taleen over the other eleven nominees, do you know something we do not?" she left the question hanging a moment, after cleverly isolating the voice from the crowd.  "Obviously not!    Yet here you are talking of Emperor Taleen…?   If the Divine Light has been extinguished, there is no heir, and the Knodd must be assembled immediately!   Has this been done?"

"Kill her!"   The voice yelled full of anger and venom.   A dozen arrows sped toward her.  Weilla stepped neatly aside as if to avoid something she would rather not step in. 

Then stood, defiantly in full view.   "Will you try again?   Does the truth hurt you so…?" 

The volley was not repeated.

" I believe bloodshed can be avoided and common sense prevail.   There is an army of the 9^th Clan currently encamped outside the Eternal city, this was never meant to be.   Even so, the threat to peace is not from the 9^th, but from the Surbatt."   She became silent as the combined voice of the crowd rose in response.    Incredibly all around the square, Surbatt members and sympathisers were being disarmed.

"The word is spreading, truth cannot be stifled, it grows and spreads like a cleansing wind, banishing the fog of lies and deception, removing the mist of doubt and uncertainty revealing, in all it's clarity, that truth alone remains!"   She hurled the words with feeling and passion with the full force of her lungs, like javelins, throwing her arms wide in triumph as her missiles so obviously hit their intended mark.

(To be continued) 

Copyright Len Morgan