CHAPTER EIGHT
Later that night, well after Marjorie had gone to sleep, and the snoring sounds provided suitable insurance against being disturbed, Greebie returned to writing in his memoires. The savage flickering of the candle made this a difficult task and the buzzing of mosquitoes distracted him even more but he stubbornly attended the word, for it was an important mission to outline his life. “One day” he thought “When more people can read, they’ll want to know the events leading to the overthrow of Mogodawn the evil Dark Lord of the Northern Hemisphere.” This was his motivation and since he was now one of the last Druids alive and one of the few who even remember the pyxies he thought he owed it to the world to document all that went before.
He frantically leafed through pages of loose velum searching for the right parchment. “Ah here tis!” he sighed, as he discovered it wrapped around a cylinder of salami. Brushing the globs of fat off the page, he placed the salami into his mouth, and absently sat, spreading the scroll on the table in front of him.
He eagerly read some of what he had already written and began to write anew;
“Something was happening to me at this time that although I was unaware of, would have drastic and lasting effects upon my whole being and livelihood. I speak of nothing less than the psychological development of a fatherless child born out of season. It is not uncommon for such a child to blame himself for the absence of the Father. Little did I realize what I was doing to myself in those early years?
At the age of five I had no insight into this simmering psychosis and at six I began to play further afield than mine own backyard. The exploration of the world was foremost on my mind at such a time. I would often play in the wall of rainforest that forced its way up the steep and sticky slopes, sometimes tunnelling as much as thirty feet into its thick undergrowth.
At seven my mother began to take me with her into Kab-Ababa where my explorations could include the village of thatched huts and the Inn.
I had friends there, principally Roberto Wainwright Junior, the Inn Keepers son. He was a year younger than I but was born a blue child and quite respectful. I the elder was taller and yet the more fragile in build. Roberto did not seem to mind this as he could always defeat me in our many mock battles. These were lessons which taught me to take the passive role or risk physical injury. Roberto’s father, the Inn-Keeper of the same name was called Roberto Wainwright Senior. This puzzled me because it wasn’t the same at all. I admit the first part of his name was the same but the last part was obviously different. I asked him how this could be one day and he replied.
“Ah ‘tis a course I kin see um folks commin so I pulls em a Ale, I do. Then they a’come inter ther Inn an asks me; they sez ‘How’d you know we wuz a’commin?’ An Ay sez a’course I seen ya! So from then on till nowdays all’a deze folks’s calls me Roberto Wainwright Seenya! They do an all!”
It dawned on me it was a nick name.
My close relationship to him and Roberto was bought about by the fact that he employed mother in his Inn. She had many chores in that place and was always busy cleaning tables, cooking meals and sitting on patron’s laps. I often wondered why she had to do the latter. I suppose it was to prevent them falling off their chairs after drinking too much of the Ale. The local clients must have been more accustomed to the chairs as they did not seem to require sitting on by mother. It seemed only the wealthy travellers who journeyed through Kab-Ababa could not handle it. Oddly enough if they sojourned for a while in Kab-Ababa however and spent all of their wealth, presumably on more Ale, they too became accustomed to the chairs so as to not require further sitting on.
It was not long after this that mother disappeared from Kab-Ababa altogether. This happened after a particularly rich traveller came by. He had an entourage of manservants and many animals and was heading for the Lowlands. Father also was missing for a good deal of the time as he was a Sailor. I spent more and more time at the Inn until I finally moved into the barn at the back, next to the deep descent over the side of Mount Baba.”
Greebie’s vision was getting blurry but this was not the wriggly blurriness from remembering things, no this was sheer exhaustion blurriness. It had been a long day and the lingering effects of green Ale combined with the vicious flickering of the candle lulled him to sleep. Soon his quill slid softly across the page and dropped silently onto the earthen floor. The actual falling was the silent part but when it hit the floor it made a thud sound.
He didn’t wake until sunrise however and he immediately noticed that Marjorie was still snoring. After he rolled his parchments up, he decided to get into bed with his wife. This may have proved to be a mistake as disturbing the bed woke her.
“Uh Greebie what time is it?” she moaned in a half dream state.
“It’s sunrise go back to sleep!” he whispered to her encouraging her to enter into her dreaming once more.
Greebie knew about dreaming and the power of the dream-states from the exploits of Druid Chook, Druid Master Evol and Ben Ufi’s own nephew Druid Lufgi Ufi. He remembered their encounter with the evil goddess Mistress of the Dark Lord Mogodawn. Her name was Matilda Te Maze-Pam and although she was the cousin of the Grim Lord herself she was also his lover. This proved to be particularly bad luck for the three Druids who were given the task of stealing the Mainshard from Mogodawns own Citadel.
It all happened at the time Greebie, still a pyxie and Master Druid Mogie were wandering aimlessly around the main continent of Droop. They were doing a lot of thinking in those days. There was a lot to think about, what with the Halfshard in Druid Mogies pocket. Holding such a valuable relic was certainly risking death if discovered.
“Dam!” he suddenly thought as he realised he was thinking about an episode in his life. This was exactly the type of memoire he needed for his book. He knew he should get up and start writing, but if he did he would certainly disturb Marjorie again. He decided then to remember every word of it just as he thought it, but somehow, something inside of him knew this would not eventuate. “Dam!” he thought again. Greebies vision was getting all wriggly and blurry and this time it really was due to remembering.
He looked at Marjorie, her snoring was very quiet but definitely there. “God I hope I remember!” he thought loudly.(This was not thought loud enough for God to actually hear)
The memories that Greebie struggled to remember were hardly ever present in his mind. He was not actually with Druid Chook, Master Evol or Druid Lufgi Ufi; on their quest, he was elsewhere with Druid Mogie. He remembered pointing out to the Druid that a Druid travelling with a Pyxie harks of well, the Pyx and that what is associated with the Pyx was the Halfshard. It occurred to Greebie way back then, that as two travellers their disguises were not very convincing. He thought they were walking in the face of obvious risk and he was not even a Druid yet. Being still a pyxie gave him little power and hardly any credibility at all. He was worried about other things as well. How could he finish his training now that Skard was uninhabited. Where could he attend school and who could teach him? What was he to do with his life, must he wander about forever thinking like Druid Mogie.
It seemed the more he thought the more he found to complain about. But there they were, wandering about aimlessly; thinking.
Then one day as Druid Mogie was doing the very serious business of trying to light a fire, by the side of the road, he turned and spoke in a low flat voice. “It’s time boy” he said.
“Time?” queried Greebie.
“Yes, time for you to be made a Druid full and proper.” He decided. “I can do it you know!” he added.
“But; but I’m only 15!” protested Greebie fearing the responsibility but inwardly becoming excited at the prospect.
“Hm yes I realize that. You will just have to be the youngest Druid of all time. Do you think you can handle that?” he asked.
“Well yes but; but how? How can I complete my studies and how can we have a ceremony and do I get to wear the funny hat and cape and do I get my own staff and…”
“Wait; wait it won’t happen right this instant. There are things we must complete first. I can give you trials instead of college and no; there’s no funny hat, but rest assured within the year I can make you a Druid full and proper” Druid Mogie assured.
Their needs were to take them into the shadow country under the permanent penumbra of the planets ring system. That land was nought but bamboo forests in a permanent and almost impenetrable jungle of thick mists and cold air. There was a place called Beaconslit at the very bottom of the land mass. It was a sea port populated with all manner of beings dwarfs, elfs, dwelfs, orcs, goblins, but mostly by Arkwrights; therefore most health preserving people avoided it.
This would be a good choice as they could camp in the jungle and make journeys to the city for provisions when needed. Although not as wealthy as most Arkwrights Druids were nonetheless wealthy. This was a product of scrimping and saving for twelve hundred years whereas the Arkwrights had shipping to their benefit. The trick would be to stay clear of their recruitment programs for rowers, some of which were suspect to say the least.
Druid Mogie hid his wealth from all suspecting eyes. He constantly changed big money for small change whenever he could, without raising alarm. In everyday transactions he used the smallest possible denominations of coin so as not to raise alarm at his wealth. These were the sorts of things he taught Greebie; that, and how to cook small creatures without making smoke, and languages, knowing them, but not speaking them in public, always overhearing what was being said about them. He was a cunning old Druid and Greebie was the best of students.
They lived for a time on the outskirts of Beaconslit in a slum area, also occupied by orcs and goblins. Ugh what a smell that place had, what without sewage or even running water and when it rained faeces and God knows what else ran the streets with the rain.(God did know but pretended He didn’t)
There they built a small shelter not much bigger than a tent. It was made from bamboo logs and branches of something that looked like banana trees. Strangely they were reasonably comfortable there, well hid in open daylight, assimilated into the company of the poorest and most horrid creatures that nobody would ever challenge. Occasionally Druid Mogie would absently drop a penny onto the ground in the vicinity of the slum, for it to be found by other inhabitants. This was a type of insurance, as long as pennies were being found, the other inhabitants would not eat them.
A year and a day; well, some time anyway, they remained in this hutch while Druid Mogie taught Greebie the finer points of Druidship and certain secrets as was outlined above. Occasionally they ventured into Beaconslit to purchase supplies, and to overhear any news of the mainland, or Skard, or the other Druids. The Arkwrights had loose lips that could be opened for just a few pence. It was on such a journey that they learned that Mogodawn himself was sailing for Skard to retrieve his armies. He was furious.
“They’ll have to stop at Beaconslit before sailing to Centre Lotta” said Mogie quietly to Greebie. “This could be our only chance to turn the tides on him” he whispered.
“What do you mean?” asked Greebie innocently.
“I mean we have to stop Him. If he retrieves his army nobody in the world will be safe from his wrath. He has to be stopped!” cited Druid Mogie.
“But how can we do anything, he still has his henchmen. (Men of the Hench from old Skardian horse. These were the ancient Horsemen of the rulers) “
“Well, I have a cunning plan” said Mogie “these Arkwrights will do just about anything for money and they’re not too bright either. If their instructions are clear they’ll follow them to the letter” he said.
“What are you planning Druid?’ asked Greebie with a sly smile knowing that the Elder was as devious or more so than the Arkwrights themselves.
“Watch and learn my boy. Watch and learn. Come on.” He invited as he began to walk toward a group of Arkwrights.
“Hail noble Arkwrights; I have a purse of moneys for you.” He called. “Which of you is in charge of this scrawny lot?” he added speaking their language. “I am a messenger from the northern borders. I’ve come on a secret mission to find the chief Arkwright of Beaconslit. There is more money than you can imagine if you will follow the orders of the Grand Doodad of Droop” he said dramatically.
Throwing the purse of money at the biggest Arkwright he approached.(The said Arkwright had no trouble catching the purse of money)
“These are the orders of the Grand Arkwright Doodad of Droop to whomever is strong enough to follow the orders and receive riches beyond even an Arkwrights dreaming” said Druid Mogie with authority.