#FridayFlash: The UCF Stories #36: Reconstruction

This is episode 36 of my ongoing web serial, updated weekly as a part of #fridayflash. If you are new to The UCF Stories and would like to read from the beginning, or if you've missed an episode, you can find a full index of the episodes here.

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Twinkle buzzed low over the river, the weight of The Book forcing her dangerously close to the fast-flowing water. Up ahead she could see the fairy fortress swathed in scaffolding, a myriad of workers scrambling about on it like so many tiny ants. The ache in her wings forced Twinkle to land on the riverbank, and from there she followed the circuitous land route up the cliffs to the fortress' main gate.

Once past the sentries, Twinkle found herself in the familiar surroundings of the courtyard, familiar but yet different since the collapse of the fortress wall. Piles of dressed stones lay everywhere, jockeying for position alongside heaps of rubble, tools and building supplies, through which were sorting several creatures, apparently gnomes. Twinkle hailed the nearest one.

'Well met, Master Gnome. How goes the re-building?'

The gnome ignored her, so Twinkle strode closer. The nearer she got, the more uneasy she felt. There was something odd about the way the gnome kept scratching his beard, as though he was uncomfortable wearing it. And his tunic did not seem to fit properly either, bunching up around his middle so that he had to re-adjust it every few minutes. It was almost as though, Twinkle thought, he was straightening a lumpy stomach rather than his tunic. She was on the point of calling out to the gnome again when a soft cough sounded behind her.

'M'lady,' said Oberon, 'How nice to see you.'

'Captain Plan...'

Oberon rolled his eyes.

'Oh, sorry,' said Twinkle, 'I forgot. My Lord Oberon.' She bowed.

Oberon waved away her apology.

'Think nothing of it, M'lady. There are times when I am addressed with my new title that I think my previous Lord is standing right behind me. I just can't shake that feeling.'

'Is there any news of my father?'

'No, M'lady. I have my agents abroad in both this realm and the other, but there's not been a word of your father since his banishment.'

Twinkle sighed. 'No matter. I presume my mother is in her chamber?'

'Yes, M'lady. I have managed to,' he coughed, 'Escape for a few hours to supervise the building work.'

Nodding to Oberon, Twinkle set off across the coutryard in the direction of the royal chambers. Half way there she paused, half turning back.

'My Lord, is there something strange about the gnomish builders?'

'I have decided that is something best left well alone, as long as the work is progressing.'

Twinkle nodded, turned and disappeared through the doorway to her mother's chamber.

* * *

Titania lay wrapped her blankets and snoring like a hog when Twinkle arrived. Polite enquiries as to the state of her mother's wakefullness were met with snorts and grunts, so Twinkle was forced to give Titania a sharp poke to the shoulder in order to elicit a response.

'Ugh? What? Who is it?' Titania slitted open an eye.

'It is I, Mother...'

'Who?'

'Twinkle,' Twinkle sighed. 'Your daughter.'

'Whaddya want, daughter?'

'I have The Book.'

Titania sat bolt upright in her bed, eyes wide, a grin spreading from ear to ear. Her tousled bed-hair gave her the appearance of a maniacal hedgehog. Twinkle stifled a giggle.

'You have it?!'

Twinkle nodded, still fighting to keep a straight face.

'You have it!' Titania crowed. 'We're saved! Let me see it, let me see it.'

She snatched The Book from Twinkle's outstretched hands and held it up to a shaft of sunlight which fell across the bed from an open window. Sunlight draped the battered leather cover and Titania laughed. It was a high-pitched, squeaking laugh that made Twinkle wince.

'Perhaps now you will give me leave to go and find my father?'

'Your what? Who?' muttered Titania. 'Oh, him. Yes, yes, I suppose so. Off you go.' She waved Twinkle away.

* * *

Twinkle was halfway across the courtyard when a piercing shriek rent the air. Since it emanated from Titania's window, Twinkle could only presume her Mother had discovered she lacked the key required to open The Book.

Oberon winced as Twinkle approached.

'Is that scream anything I'm going to need to deal with, M'lady?' he asked.

'Hopefully not,' said Twinkle, 'And will you stop calling me M'lady?! My mother has just discovered that when she bid me bring her The Book I took her precisely at her word. She never mentioned the key.'

'Ah.'

'She has however, finally given me permission to go in search of my father. If she wants the key, she's just going to have to wait until I have found him, isn't she?' Twinkle winked.

'Meanwhile, I shall be the one stuck here on the receiving end of your mother's temper. I can understand why your father took to the bottle.'

'For that I apologise. You were always kind to me while I was growing up. You don't really deserve this. I will try to return quickly, but for now I must fly lest my mother has the chance to change her mind. That will be difficult though, I had her scribe make an official note of her permission.'

'It's alright.' Oberon hugged her. 'Now, away with you while you still can.'

As Twinkle swooped low over the fortress wall, Oberon once again turned his attention to the gnomish builders.

'We don't employ Goblins, my arse,' he muttered as a nearby builder's false beard fell off at his feet.

#FridayFlash: The UCF Stories #36: Reconstruction

#FridayFlash: The UCF Stories #26: An Unwelcome Guest

This episode is number 26 in my ongoing web serial, updated weekly as a part of #fridayflash. If you are new to The UCF Stories, you can read from the beginning here.

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Master Jamieson was halfway across the landing, on his way to discuss accommodation arrangements for the newly-arrived escapees, when the other front door opened and Swazzle stepped inside, the little wyrm at his heels. Jamieson took one look at the beast, let out a very Scottish sounding squeak and fled back into his Butler's Pantry, slamming the door behind him. Swazzle listened curiously to the lock being thrown, the door bolted, shrugged and headed for the stairs.

Botchett was in his kitchen and in a foul mood to boot when Swazzle arrived.

'There are times, Mother,' Botchett said to his wife, 'When I could cheerfully strangle that bloody witch, like.' He cast an angry glance towards the ceiling.

'Yes dear.' Mistress Botchett continued stirring the huge pot of pease pudding on the stove.

'I mean,' Botchett thundered, 'Is it my fault Lady Mandrake's the only person in these parts who could've supplied the amulet we needed? Well, is it?'

'No dear.'

'So Aveena owes her a favour, like. So what? It could have been a lot worse. She's had a few favours out of me over the years, and I'm still here, aren't I Mother?'

'Yes dear.'

'And will you stop saying “yes dear,” “no dear,” “three bags full dear.” This is serious, like'

'Yes de... Oh look, it's Captain Swazzle! How are you, bonny lad?'

Swazzle nodded to Mistress Botchett.

Botchett gave his wife's back a hard stare. 'Aye, well...' he muttered, trailing off as the little wyrm poked its snout around the leg of the kitchen table. Botchett's eyes widened and he leapt backwards off his chair. 'By the god's balls, bonny lad! What's that doing in here?'

'Hello, Master Botchett.' Swazzle indicated the little wyrm, which was now rubbing its head against the table leg. 'What, him? Followed me home from the fairy castle raid. Cute isn't he?'

Botchett had gone pale, sweat beading on his forehead and there was a definite tremor in his voice when he spoke. 'Do...do...do you know what that is, like?'

'Some sort of baby wyrm?' Swazzle shrugged.

'Bonny lad, that,' Botchett pointed shakily at the little wyrm, 'Is a young Welsh Draig.'

'Oh good,' beamed Swazzle, 'I'd hoped you might know what it was. I'm going to need a hand looking after it.'

'Looking after it?!' Botchett's eyebrows climbed into his hairline, his eyes now the size of saucers. 'Looking after it?! It's not stopping here, Captain. No way, like.'

'Why ever not?'

Botchett took a few deep breaths. 'You wouldn't happen to know what Draig's eat, would you, bonny lad?'

'No.' Swazzle skritched the Draig behind its ear. 'I was rather hoping you could enlighten me on that score.'

'Gnomes, bonny lad. Gnomes!' wailed Botchett. 'Pretty much anything else as well, but Gnomes is their favourite, like.'

Swazzle looked crestfallen. This could be a problem, he thought.

'And it's not just that,' Botchett ticked points off on his fingers. 'Draig's only understand Welsh. And need a fire to sleep in.'

Swazzle noticed the Draig eyeing Mistress Botchett's stove covetously.

'And they're totally untrainable,' Botchett continued. 'No, bonny lad, it'll have to go. Off back to Wales with it, and the sooner the better, like.'

'What about the Welsh Gnomes?' Swazzle asked, stalling. 'Won't they object?'

'Aren't none,' replied Botchett, 'Bloody Draigs ate 'em all, like.'

As if on cue, the Draig made a sudden break for the stove, growling and snapping at Botchett as it rounded the table. Mistress Botchett shrieked and fled into her husband's arms as the Draig leapt, squirming into the firebox until only the tip of its tail hung down the front of the stove like a limp, scaly bell-pull.

Botchett glared over his wife's shoulder at Swazzle, who, hands raised in supplication, backed out of the kitchen intent on finding someone who could make him a stout cage with central heating.

* * *

When dawn broke, the wyrms broke off their attack against the fairy fortress and all uninjured personnel set themselves to the task of searching the rubble for survivors. Titania thundered into the courtyard just as Oberon tumbled unsteadily from a hole beneath a heap of stones.

'Seize him!' Titania bellowed, fairies from the nearest rescue party jumping to her command. Grabbing Oberon they dragged him unceremoniously to where Titania stood seething, the guard captain, shirtless and slicked with sweat, snapped a salute.

Titania sniffed Oberon's breath. 'Drunk. Again.' Oberon stared blearily back at her, belched, then grinned. 'Oh, I have had enough of this,' she sighed turning to the fairy guards, 'Hold him still.' This should have been done a long time ago, she thought.

'King Oberon, you have, and not for the first time, been found drunk when this kingdom needed you, when your people needed you. You have run from conflict, endangering your people and your Queen. The finding of this summary court is that you are guilty as charged. Our sentence is banishment.'

Oberon's legs gave way as sentence was passed, a dark stain spreading down the front of his hose. His eyes pleaded with Titania to give him just one more chance, his body sealing his fate by at that moment letting loose a stinking fart that made his guards gag.

Titania raised her wand, flicked her wrist, and Oberon vanished in a cloud of silver sparkles.

Turning to the guard captain, her eyes appraising the rippling muscles of his slick torso, Titania slung a languid arm round his shoulders.

'Captain...?'

'Plantain, my Queen,' he replied as Titania steered them toward her private apartments.

'Plantain, eh?' she purred, 'I'm not so sure I'm keen on that.' She thought for a moment. 'I know! I'll call you Oberon.'

If Titania had but looked she would have seen the dubious look in Captain Plantain's eyes.

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This week also marks the release of the ninth episode in The Great Chocolate Conspiracy multi-part story. You can find episode 9 over at Icy Sedgwick's blog Icy's Blunt Pencil. Don't forget to follow the #GtChocCo hashtag on Twitter for more updates on this project. For more information, and to read from the beginning, please go here.

#FridayFlash: The UCF Stories #26: An Unwelcome Guest

#FridayFlash: The UCF Stories #21: An Audience With Lady Mandrake

The gateway to Lady Mandrake's citadel.

In which Botchett and Aveena, in search of an amulet, venture deeper into the lair of Lady Mandrake...

As Botchett and Aveena made their way to the citadel it began to rain, a cold, hard rain that fell in sheets, swirled by the biting wind. They were almost upon the entrance when Aveena spotted a slight, unkempt figure lounging against the wall of the porch, trying to keep out of the weather. Layers of ragged, filthy clothing swathed the figure, giving it the appearance of a large hamster.

Sensing their approach, the figure snapped upright as Botchett stepped into the porch. Aveena caught sight of a much thinner man than she had at first thought, shoulder length greasy hair framing a narrow, weasely face. Twinkling brown eyes shone out above a narrow, pointed nose which, in turn, gave way to a set of protruding, yellow teeth as the face smiled in recognition.

'Pilgrim? What brings you here?'

'For a start that's Master Pilgrim to you, bonny lad, and it's none of your business why I'm here.' Botchett moved towards the door, the figure sidling round to put himself between Botchett and the entrance.

'Shift,' barked Botchett.

'I can't,' whined the man. 'I have my orders. Lady Mandrake said...'

'Listen, bonny lad, I am going in there to speak to your mistress whether I gave to go through you first or not.'

'But...but...I'll have to announce you...'

'Which will mean leaving your post, won't it? And we both know how the Lady feels about people leaving their post, don't we? Eh?' Botchett winked at Aveena.

The man was still spluttering as Botchett and Aveena pushed past him into the citadel.

'Thank you, Rat,' Botchett called back over his shoulder then, turning to Aveena, 'That bugger's well named. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could spit, like.'

Aveena was about to reply when the combined smells of overcooked vegetables, unwashed humanity and smoke from braziers fuelled with rubbish assaulted her nose and throat and she gagged, coughed, tears leaking down her cheeks. Botchett seemed unaffected by the stench.

Botchett glanced around the huge chamber they found themselves in. Moonlight filtered in through many windows set into a high, vaulted ceiling. Moonlight combined with flickering light from the braziers gave just enough light to reveal a community of ragged figures standing in the shadows around the perimeter of the room, the murmur of countless conversations slowly stilling as Botchett and Aveena made their way towards the dais at the far end of the room.

Lady Mandrake reclined on her throne as Botchett and Aveena approached. Dressed entirely in black leather, her shock of shoulder length blonde hair tipped with red seemed to shine out of the darkness of her ensemble, which was topped off by an old fashioned black top hat. Aveena shuddered as she realised the aura coming from the clothing was of human skin, not leather. Botchett seemed either unaware or he chose to ignore the fact.

Lady Mandrake glanced slowly up from the crystal goblet, the contents of which she had been contemplating.

'Master Pilgrim. What a pleasant surprise. It's been far too long.' Her honeyed tones made Aveena feel particularly uncomfortable. 'To what to we owe the pleasure of your company in our humble abode?' She punctuated the last sentence with an expansive gesture.

'My Lady,' Botchett bent his knee to her, Lady Mandrake laying a hand upon his head. Aveena could see from his aura that it took all of Botchett's self control to keep from cringing at her touch. 'We are in need of your unique expertise, like.'

'Oh,' Lady Mandrake's eyebrow rose into her hairline, 'How so?'

'I...we have need of an Amulet of Resurrection...'

'Vincent,' Lady Mandrake interrupted absently, 'Refreshments for our guests.'

The tall, thin faced man in the black suit standing just behind the throne nodded imperceptibly before disappearing into the shadows, returning shortly with a tray of crystal goblets and a matching jug of deep red liquid. He filled a glass for each of them, refilling Lady Mandrake's goblet as she held it out for him.

Lady Mandrake drank deeply, 'Ah, that's better. Now, what was that you were saying about an amulet, Master Pilgrim?'

Botchett lowered his voice and a whispered discussion took place to which Aveena was not privy. She could however, get a sense of the toing and froing of the negotiations from the periodic flares in Botchett's and Lady Mandrake's auras. By the time Botchett called her forward, Aveena had a sense the negotiations had concluded with each on an equal footing, though perhaps slightly in Lady Mandrake's favour, but only just.

'Allow me to present Miss Aveena Murphy,' Botchett said as Lady Mandrake held out her hand to Aveena. Aveena took the proffered hand and in an instant understood more about Lady Mandrake than she could ever have wished. She attempted to pull away, but Lady Mandrake held her fast, Aveena sensed her gazing deep into her eyes.

'Yes, Master Pilgrim,' purred Lady Mandrake, 'I think perhaps we can do business.' She turned her attention again to Aveena. 'There is much power within you, young one,' she said matter of factly.

Aveena finally managed to wriggle her hand free and turned to Botchett, her face a barely concealed mask of anger. She was still fighting to control herself when Lady Mandrake spoke again.

'You will of course stay and dine with us. I will have Vincent draw up the contract while we eat.' Lady Mandrake rose languidly to her feet and strolled towards a large mahogany table, loaded with dishes of fine foods.

As they followed at a distance, Aveena hissed at Botchett, 'Contract?'

'Well, you didn't expect her to give us the amulet for nothing, did you, bonny lass?'

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This week also marks the release of the fourth episode in The Great Chocolate Conspiracy multi-part story. You can find episode 4 over at Crone's Cauldron Publications. Don't forget to follow the #GtChocCo hashtag on Twitter for more updates on this project. For more information, and to read from the beginning, please go here.

#FridayFlash: The UCF Stories #21: An Audience With Lady Mandrake