Section 6:
“Try to hold still,” said Wragg to Barb.
“Hold still!?” exclaimed Barb, trying to twist around from where she hung on the post, her arms chained above her head so she could barely stand on her toes. This was not easy. Her head twisted around to try to see what Wragg was doing with his whip, and that caused her to go off balance, and her body twisted the other way, bringing her face to face with the post again, while her hips gyrated the other way. She kicked out with one leg, trying to get twisted back again and swung back, her breasts and belly smacking against the rough wood, just as Wragg’s whip arched through the air to connect with her shoulders.
Barb yelped and her body jumped. “Ow!” she yelled. “That hurt!” Messaline sighed.
“It’s all in the cause of science and for your own good,” said Wragg, grinning.
“You could say that in a more serious and sympathetic manner,” suggested Windar. He was sitting in a chair now, with his legs crossed, and an expression on his face that suggested that having Messaline and Barb hanging naked from posts was having some effect on him.
“Perhaps if Erin whipped Barb,” Messaline said.
“Oh,” said Erin quickly, “I couldn’t do that. I’m sworn to protect her.”
“Then protect me!” said Barb. “These guys are whipping me to death.”
“It was one stroke,” said Wragg. “Surely the leader of the Elvish warrior maidens can withstand one stroke.”
“You know what I mean,” said Barb.
“Look,” said Wragg. “Watch this.” He swung the whip which raised red welts on Messaline’s back, giving a satisfactory leathery “whish” sound as it connected. Messaline let out a gasp of breath, but seemed quite satisfied at the same time.
“There,” said Wragg.
“Nothing to it,” said Windar.
“Easy for you to say,” said Barb.
“The thing is,” said Erin doubtfully, “if we’re going to get your memory back.”
“Okay!” said Barb. “I’m the Elf Queen. I remember. Unchain me and we’ll be off to…er…Elfland…Elfville?”
The whip whistled out again and stroked Barb neatly across her bottom. Barb shrieked.
“Now you’ve done it,” she said. “Nobody whips my tight little like that.”
“We might be getting somewhere,” said Wragg. “Just another few strokes, I think, and…what is that thumping sort of noise?”
“Your jacket,” said Windar, “is making it, and it seems to be glowing or pulsating as well.”
The jacket was indeed pulsating with a soft pinkish glow, and a thumping sound, like a heartbeat was coming from it.
“Oh no,” said Erin. “That means…”
“We’re all going to be in trouble?” said Messaline.
“I have to go,” said Wragg, dropping his whip. “I hope I’m not too late. Windar, be a good chap and let the girls down, would you?” He grabbed his jacket and ran out of the dungeon.
“Well,” said Windar. “That was mysterious, don’t you think? Anyone else have some idea what’s going on?” He looked at Erin as he began to unshackle Barb and Messaline.
Erin was pulling on her leggings and tunic. “We need to fortify this place,” she said. “Trouble will be right behind Wragg when he gets back.”
* * *
Eulalia had had better days, or at least less painful ones. Phlebas had finished driving nails through the insteps of both feet and she was now stretched in a bleeding X shape on the cross.
She was exhausted and sagged, hanging by her arms, causing her legs to spread wider. She wondered why they were doing this. They weren’t asking questions any more. Jollyrei was just sitting at the table, finishing a cup of tea, and occasionally offering a comment.
“So our employer is a woman?” asked Phlebas. “Only you said “sir” when, er, he called.”
“It’s a bit difficult to say, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei, his cup clinking neatly into its saucer. “One is unsure of the proper pronoun in some cases. I have not met our patron personally, but I understand there is a question as to whether he or she is strictly human. I believe “he” would be the best choice, upon reflection.”
“Sort of like us then, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“Interesting point, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “Do you have much more to do there?”
“Almost done,” said Phlebas. He was standing in front of her with a set of steel claws. They looked quite sharp.
“I…don’t suppose,” she managed to gasp, “that if I told you where Barb is now, you’d spare my life?”
Phlebas shrugged and turned to Jollyrei.
“I think,” said Jollyrei, “that the time for prevarication is past. The answer, dear girl, is no. Our employer has apparently discovered that location, which fits with what we know of you and your associates. You have become superfluous to requirements.”
“Ahem,” said Phlebas.
“Correction,” said Jollyrei, “superfluous to all but the most esoteric requirements of Mr. Phlebas.”
Phlebas raked the claws expertly across Eulalia’s ribcage, under her breasts. She stiffened and writhed, letting out a moan. Phlebas examined his work as Eulalia sagged on the cross again. He raked the claws across the ribs on the other side. She hardly moved anymore, but let out a sobbing wail.
“Symmetry, Mr. Jollyrei,” he said.
He had raked claws across her ribs, inserted hooks in her breasts, and inserted red hot needles into almost any sensitive skin she had. He had even found inventive spots that she hadn’t realized were sensitive. She had to admire his knowledge of female anatomy.
“That was a less than convincing scream that last time,” Jollyrei said. He strolled over and looked at the despondent woman hanging on the cross, her once smooth body now an artist’s palate of hardware, welts, burns, and blood.
“It’s a lot of blood, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.
“Lovely blood, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“One might question the artistic need for such ostentatious expression, especially since we were finished with our questioning. It could be said to lack subtlety.”
“She’s a bit past her peak performance, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas, reaching for his now red hot poker. The handle itself made a sizzling noise as he picked it up, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Eulalia stared at it in terror. As dull as her senses were, and as resigned to her fate as she was now, she was surprised that she still had that fear. Phlebas surveyed the woman hanging in front of him. He glanced at the red tip of the poker and then down to the junction of her spread thighs.
“I don’t think this will result in blood, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas , stepping in front of Eulalia.
“No,” she whispered, or groaned. “No more…”
He inserted the poker. Eulalia’s eyes went wide and her mouth opened in shock and a silent scream that nevertheless seemed deafening, as her body stiffened and thrashed, threatening to pull out the nails in her feet. The sound the poker made was indescribable.
“I like it when they beg, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
Jollyrei raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his tea.
* * *
“You’ve never been to the Elf lands,” said Erin.
“Then how can I be your Queen?” asked Barb.
“You just are,” said Erin. “We admire your rebellious spirit, your opposition to oppression, and your sense of self-sacrifice. We are inspired by your courage.”
“Courage and sacrifice are very important,” agreed Messaline.
“I’m not into self-sacrifice,” said Barb. Erin looked surprised. Messaline looked skeptical.
“I just seem to get into a lot of trouble,” said Barb. “It’s not my fault!”
“That’s why I am to protect you,” said Erin. “You fight against the injustice and wrong, and this puts you in danger. But your dedication, sense of honour, and leadership inspire us.”
“Do I make laws and things?” asked Barb.
“No,” said Erin, “ that’s not really how it works. Elves don’t like laws much. But if you die, we would be upset.”
“Wow,” said Barb. “I’m not sure I’m ready for all that responsibility.”
“She is not going to die,” said Messaline. “Your Elves and my Amazons will be here soon…I hope.”
“We’re not going down without a fight!” exclaimed Barb. “No more being a slave!” She wondered why it sounded like her voice saying that. Then she realized it was her.
“See?” said Erin. “How could we not admire that?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” muttered Barb, “but I’m tired of being pushed around and whipped.”
Messaline patted her on the shoulder. Barb embraced Messaline. Then Messaline kissed Barb, and soon there were swishes of fabric, the exposing of legs, and then various parts got a bit wet, and other pink parts became tumescent. Tongues and fingers were used to good effect until…
"Gaahh!” said Barb.
“Well, you know what you’re doing there anyway,” said Erin cheerfully.
* * *
“I think she’s dead, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas somewhat sheepishly. He pulled the poker out of Eulalia’s abdomen between her thighs where he had finally impaled her.
“I can’t see how you could possibly be surprised by that, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “Your art is rather hard on your subjects.”
“What do we do now?” asked Phlebas.
“Take her down and lay her out somewhere,” said Jollyrei.
“Lay her out?” asked Phlebas.
“We are not barbarians, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “The late Lady Eulalia has been a good sport, and…”
“…now she’s a corpse.” said Phlebas.
“I was going to say she deserves a farewell gesture,” finished Jollyrei. “And it makes things easier for the wolves and such. “
“Environmentally friendly,” said Phlebas. “Nature taking its course.”
“Then we have a lot of time to kill until we get to where the Lady Barbara is, or will be, anyway.”
“Perhaps we could kill a few other things, or people, along the way, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“Hope springs eternal, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.
* * *
Wragg crept down into the ruined cellar. The box in his pocket was throbbing insistently now, the pink glow having turned a bright red. He hoped there were no dangerous animals, or…other things down in the cellar. He only had a knife.
He had run from the dungeon, cursing Phlebas and Jollyrei, and cursing Eulalia for having gotten him into this mess. Then he remembered to curse himself roundly for getting all bothered and interested in Barb in the first place, which had caused him to reach out to Eulalia. He jumped into the fountain in front of the Abbey, found the right way to get soaked to the skin, and then dived forward directly at an ornamental brass duck.
He emerged wet and shivering on the lawn of Eulalia’s cottage, centuries before. The cottage was burning cheerfully. Wragg panicked and looked around. There were no potential assailants, assassins, or culprits of any sort around. “Still,” said Wragg through chattering teeth, “don’t let’s hang about.” He ran off down the track to the main road, guided, it seemed, by the insistent and now live box in his pocket. He grabbed a peasant dress from the clothesline as he passed the gate, and then he was off.
Now here he was in the semi-gloom of the cellar. There was a small table, neatly set, with the remains of a tea service. There was a smell of embers. Most ominously, there was an empty St. Andrew’s cross against the far wall. “Cozy,” muttered Wragg.
He crept forward quietly, hand on his sword hilt, wishing he had brought pistols. “That would show those Roman bastards,” he thought. There didn’t seem to be any danger. “They’re long gone by now,” said Wragg to himself. “They burned the cottage and are off. If they know about the cottage, they know about me, and Windar, and Barb. Never mind, one thing at a time.”
He pulled a small torch out of his pocket and turned it on (despite the fact that batteries would not be invented for another thousand or so years). He shone it around the room. It was quite empty.
He climbed carefully up the ruined stairs and his torch revealed a trail of bent grass leading into a forested area. He followed it. Clouds were rolling in obscuring the moon.
“Just my luck,” he muttered. “Just after I dry off from that fountain portal, now I’m going to get rained on.” He pressed on into the forest, moving more carefully in the growing gloom. His torch suggested there was a clearing up ahead, and the box in his pocket was throbbing insistently, suggesting he was close. He turned off the torch, not wanting to alert anyone that might be in the clearing.
It looked pretty empty, but it was hard to tell. It was really quite dark now, he carefully edged into the clearing, moving slowly and cautiously. Watching the ground for anything that looked like a clue.
There was a sudden flash of lightning. It illuminated the scene in front of him, a small circle of flowers around Eulalia’s body. He crouched down fumbling for his torch. Another flash of lightning showed that he was face to face with what was left of Eulalia’s face. He yelled in shock and surprise.
“Oh my,” gasped Wragg looking along the broken body. “Poor Eulalia. What did they do to you? If I had known…stupid, stupid, girl!” He was shouting that last bit. “I mean, what in all the hells were you thinking!?”
He sat down and just stared at the broken and bloody form on the ground. He pulled out the box. It was a solid red glow now, with a dark box shape in the centre. He nodded.
He set the box down on Eulalia’s chest, just under her breasts. Then he went to work, removing hooks and needles as gently as he could. He noticed the burned destruction of her genitals and decided he didn’t need to look too closely at that. He took out his water bottle and a handkerchief and washed her face.
“This better work, Eul,” he said quietly, “or I’m going to be very upset.” Then he thought about it and said, “and I don’t suppose you’re too happy about it either.”
He placed the wrecks of her hands over the box, folding them together as best he could, noting the damage the nails had done to her wrists. When he was satisfied, he sat back and looked her over. He pulled a blanket and the peasant dress out of his satchel, and laid them beside him. Then he reached over, under Eul’s hands, and pressed an intricate inlay design in the box.
Then he sat down to wait.
* * *
“You might have asked the girl about a portal, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“You are quite correct, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “I do apologize. I can only imagine that I was distracted by our employer calling in the middle of our interrogation, and then, of course, she was dead.”
“Sorry, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “Anyway, it wasn’t a total loss.”
“No,” said Jollyrei, “but I do dislike having to go the long way around.”
“We could go by way of Germany,” said Phlebas. “Starting a war might be a diversion. I bet we could start one to last 30 years.”
“Didn’t we do that once already?” asked Jollyrei.
“Hard to remember all the details, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“Ah well, Mr. Phlebas, only a few more centuries to go. We will, I’m sure, find something to divert us along the way. We have time. Our quarry does not.”
“Funny how that works, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. He tossed a burned out torch into the undergrowth.
* * *
The fortifications of the Abbey were proceeding. It was pretty fortified already, being an old castle built when marauders were not just a fancy word, but an ordinary occurrence. Much of the work was done inside, finding defensible rooms and making sure doors could be barricaded. Messaline also was keen on finding an escape route.
“In case we need to get out and circle back,” she said to Erin. Erin nodded in agreement. Windar looked skeptical.
“Circle back for what?” asked Barb.
“To attack,” said Messaline.
“So, we’re going to escape,” said Barb, “only to return to danger.”
“I think the ladies mean,” said Windar, “that our foe is not going to give up until they are defeated. Escape is not really a final option.”
“Right,” said Erin. “We can’t kill Phlebas and Jollyrei. They aren’t like that. And they just keep coming. Right now they’re on their way, if I understand Wragg correctly. They could be here any minute.”
“But they’re way far away in the past,” said Barb.
“Yes, but they are coming through time. As long as it takes, they can make it so they arrive here in this century, right when we are now, and where we are now.”
“But,” said Barb, “nobody can just walk through time.”
“They don’t have to. They just have to walk here and wait until time passes, and when it gets to today, they arrive,” said Erin.
“The only reason more people don’t do that,” said Windar, “is that they have a tendency to die if they wait longer than about 80 years.”
“Phlebas and Jollyrei aren’t people,” said Erin. “Not like normal people anyway.”
“Do you suppose we could divert the river to flood the old moat?” asked Windar. “That might slow them down.”
“Who would do that?” asked Messaline. “We don’t have any workmen. I don’t think your chambermaids are up to it.”
“I thought perhaps your Amazons could do it, when they arrive,” said Windar.
“You would like them to dig a channel from the river,” said Messaline.
“If they could take their breastplates off, it would be cooler for them,” said Windar, “and we could set up an observation post here to watch their progress, and…them…while they were digging.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said Barb sardonically.
“It would be a diversion,” said Windar.
“For whom?” asked Messaline.
“Even so,” said Erin, “the moat is a good idea. We need to make this place as secure as possible.”
“We can figure that out when my Amazons and your Elves get here, if they get here in time.”
“Hey,” said a voice. They all looked up. There was a large red squirrel on a stump.
“I don’t suppose,” said the squirrel, “that you might give a weary traveller a place to sleep for the night? It’s dangerous out here sometimes.”
“Great,” said Windar. “Talking squirrels. What next?”
“I heard you talking about the Old Firm,” said the squirrel. “We squirrels hear things. Take me in and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“I like him,” said Messaline.
“Why not,” said Windar. “It’ll break up the monotony.”
“What monotony?” asked Barb.
to be continued...
“Try to hold still,” said Wragg to Barb.
“Hold still!?” exclaimed Barb, trying to twist around from where she hung on the post, her arms chained above her head so she could barely stand on her toes. This was not easy. Her head twisted around to try to see what Wragg was doing with his whip, and that caused her to go off balance, and her body twisted the other way, bringing her face to face with the post again, while her hips gyrated the other way. She kicked out with one leg, trying to get twisted back again and swung back, her breasts and belly smacking against the rough wood, just as Wragg’s whip arched through the air to connect with her shoulders.
Barb yelped and her body jumped. “Ow!” she yelled. “That hurt!” Messaline sighed.
“It’s all in the cause of science and for your own good,” said Wragg, grinning.
“You could say that in a more serious and sympathetic manner,” suggested Windar. He was sitting in a chair now, with his legs crossed, and an expression on his face that suggested that having Messaline and Barb hanging naked from posts was having some effect on him.
“Perhaps if Erin whipped Barb,” Messaline said.
“Oh,” said Erin quickly, “I couldn’t do that. I’m sworn to protect her.”
“Then protect me!” said Barb. “These guys are whipping me to death.”
“It was one stroke,” said Wragg. “Surely the leader of the Elvish warrior maidens can withstand one stroke.”
“You know what I mean,” said Barb.
“Look,” said Wragg. “Watch this.” He swung the whip which raised red welts on Messaline’s back, giving a satisfactory leathery “whish” sound as it connected. Messaline let out a gasp of breath, but seemed quite satisfied at the same time.
“There,” said Wragg.
“Nothing to it,” said Windar.
“Easy for you to say,” said Barb.
“The thing is,” said Erin doubtfully, “if we’re going to get your memory back.”
“Okay!” said Barb. “I’m the Elf Queen. I remember. Unchain me and we’ll be off to…er…Elfland…Elfville?”
The whip whistled out again and stroked Barb neatly across her bottom. Barb shrieked.
“Now you’ve done it,” she said. “Nobody whips my tight little like that.”
“We might be getting somewhere,” said Wragg. “Just another few strokes, I think, and…what is that thumping sort of noise?”
“Your jacket,” said Windar, “is making it, and it seems to be glowing or pulsating as well.”
The jacket was indeed pulsating with a soft pinkish glow, and a thumping sound, like a heartbeat was coming from it.
“Oh no,” said Erin. “That means…”
“We’re all going to be in trouble?” said Messaline.
“I have to go,” said Wragg, dropping his whip. “I hope I’m not too late. Windar, be a good chap and let the girls down, would you?” He grabbed his jacket and ran out of the dungeon.
“Well,” said Windar. “That was mysterious, don’t you think? Anyone else have some idea what’s going on?” He looked at Erin as he began to unshackle Barb and Messaline.
Erin was pulling on her leggings and tunic. “We need to fortify this place,” she said. “Trouble will be right behind Wragg when he gets back.”
* * *
Eulalia had had better days, or at least less painful ones. Phlebas had finished driving nails through the insteps of both feet and she was now stretched in a bleeding X shape on the cross.
She was exhausted and sagged, hanging by her arms, causing her legs to spread wider. She wondered why they were doing this. They weren’t asking questions any more. Jollyrei was just sitting at the table, finishing a cup of tea, and occasionally offering a comment.
“So our employer is a woman?” asked Phlebas. “Only you said “sir” when, er, he called.”
“It’s a bit difficult to say, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei, his cup clinking neatly into its saucer. “One is unsure of the proper pronoun in some cases. I have not met our patron personally, but I understand there is a question as to whether he or she is strictly human. I believe “he” would be the best choice, upon reflection.”
“Sort of like us then, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“Interesting point, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “Do you have much more to do there?”
“Almost done,” said Phlebas. He was standing in front of her with a set of steel claws. They looked quite sharp.
“I…don’t suppose,” she managed to gasp, “that if I told you where Barb is now, you’d spare my life?”
Phlebas shrugged and turned to Jollyrei.
“I think,” said Jollyrei, “that the time for prevarication is past. The answer, dear girl, is no. Our employer has apparently discovered that location, which fits with what we know of you and your associates. You have become superfluous to requirements.”
“Ahem,” said Phlebas.
“Correction,” said Jollyrei, “superfluous to all but the most esoteric requirements of Mr. Phlebas.”
Phlebas raked the claws expertly across Eulalia’s ribcage, under her breasts. She stiffened and writhed, letting out a moan. Phlebas examined his work as Eulalia sagged on the cross again. He raked the claws across the ribs on the other side. She hardly moved anymore, but let out a sobbing wail.
“Symmetry, Mr. Jollyrei,” he said.
He had raked claws across her ribs, inserted hooks in her breasts, and inserted red hot needles into almost any sensitive skin she had. He had even found inventive spots that she hadn’t realized were sensitive. She had to admire his knowledge of female anatomy.
“That was a less than convincing scream that last time,” Jollyrei said. He strolled over and looked at the despondent woman hanging on the cross, her once smooth body now an artist’s palate of hardware, welts, burns, and blood.
“It’s a lot of blood, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.
“Lovely blood, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“One might question the artistic need for such ostentatious expression, especially since we were finished with our questioning. It could be said to lack subtlety.”
“She’s a bit past her peak performance, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas, reaching for his now red hot poker. The handle itself made a sizzling noise as he picked it up, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Eulalia stared at it in terror. As dull as her senses were, and as resigned to her fate as she was now, she was surprised that she still had that fear. Phlebas surveyed the woman hanging in front of him. He glanced at the red tip of the poker and then down to the junction of her spread thighs.
“I don’t think this will result in blood, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas , stepping in front of Eulalia.
“No,” she whispered, or groaned. “No more…”
He inserted the poker. Eulalia’s eyes went wide and her mouth opened in shock and a silent scream that nevertheless seemed deafening, as her body stiffened and thrashed, threatening to pull out the nails in her feet. The sound the poker made was indescribable.
“I like it when they beg, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
Jollyrei raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his tea.
* * *
“You’ve never been to the Elf lands,” said Erin.
“Then how can I be your Queen?” asked Barb.
“You just are,” said Erin. “We admire your rebellious spirit, your opposition to oppression, and your sense of self-sacrifice. We are inspired by your courage.”
“Courage and sacrifice are very important,” agreed Messaline.
“I’m not into self-sacrifice,” said Barb. Erin looked surprised. Messaline looked skeptical.
“I just seem to get into a lot of trouble,” said Barb. “It’s not my fault!”
“That’s why I am to protect you,” said Erin. “You fight against the injustice and wrong, and this puts you in danger. But your dedication, sense of honour, and leadership inspire us.”
“Do I make laws and things?” asked Barb.
“No,” said Erin, “ that’s not really how it works. Elves don’t like laws much. But if you die, we would be upset.”
“Wow,” said Barb. “I’m not sure I’m ready for all that responsibility.”
“She is not going to die,” said Messaline. “Your Elves and my Amazons will be here soon…I hope.”
“We’re not going down without a fight!” exclaimed Barb. “No more being a slave!” She wondered why it sounded like her voice saying that. Then she realized it was her.
“See?” said Erin. “How could we not admire that?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” muttered Barb, “but I’m tired of being pushed around and whipped.”
Messaline patted her on the shoulder. Barb embraced Messaline. Then Messaline kissed Barb, and soon there were swishes of fabric, the exposing of legs, and then various parts got a bit wet, and other pink parts became tumescent. Tongues and fingers were used to good effect until…
"Gaahh!” said Barb.
“Well, you know what you’re doing there anyway,” said Erin cheerfully.
* * *
“I think she’s dead, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas somewhat sheepishly. He pulled the poker out of Eulalia’s abdomen between her thighs where he had finally impaled her.
“I can’t see how you could possibly be surprised by that, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “Your art is rather hard on your subjects.”
“What do we do now?” asked Phlebas.
“Take her down and lay her out somewhere,” said Jollyrei.
“Lay her out?” asked Phlebas.
“We are not barbarians, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “The late Lady Eulalia has been a good sport, and…”
“…now she’s a corpse.” said Phlebas.
“I was going to say she deserves a farewell gesture,” finished Jollyrei. “And it makes things easier for the wolves and such. “
“Environmentally friendly,” said Phlebas. “Nature taking its course.”
“Then we have a lot of time to kill until we get to where the Lady Barbara is, or will be, anyway.”
“Perhaps we could kill a few other things, or people, along the way, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“Hope springs eternal, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei.
* * *
Wragg crept down into the ruined cellar. The box in his pocket was throbbing insistently now, the pink glow having turned a bright red. He hoped there were no dangerous animals, or…other things down in the cellar. He only had a knife.
He had run from the dungeon, cursing Phlebas and Jollyrei, and cursing Eulalia for having gotten him into this mess. Then he remembered to curse himself roundly for getting all bothered and interested in Barb in the first place, which had caused him to reach out to Eulalia. He jumped into the fountain in front of the Abbey, found the right way to get soaked to the skin, and then dived forward directly at an ornamental brass duck.
He emerged wet and shivering on the lawn of Eulalia’s cottage, centuries before. The cottage was burning cheerfully. Wragg panicked and looked around. There were no potential assailants, assassins, or culprits of any sort around. “Still,” said Wragg through chattering teeth, “don’t let’s hang about.” He ran off down the track to the main road, guided, it seemed, by the insistent and now live box in his pocket. He grabbed a peasant dress from the clothesline as he passed the gate, and then he was off.
Now here he was in the semi-gloom of the cellar. There was a small table, neatly set, with the remains of a tea service. There was a smell of embers. Most ominously, there was an empty St. Andrew’s cross against the far wall. “Cozy,” muttered Wragg.
He crept forward quietly, hand on his sword hilt, wishing he had brought pistols. “That would show those Roman bastards,” he thought. There didn’t seem to be any danger. “They’re long gone by now,” said Wragg to himself. “They burned the cottage and are off. If they know about the cottage, they know about me, and Windar, and Barb. Never mind, one thing at a time.”
He pulled a small torch out of his pocket and turned it on (despite the fact that batteries would not be invented for another thousand or so years). He shone it around the room. It was quite empty.
He climbed carefully up the ruined stairs and his torch revealed a trail of bent grass leading into a forested area. He followed it. Clouds were rolling in obscuring the moon.
“Just my luck,” he muttered. “Just after I dry off from that fountain portal, now I’m going to get rained on.” He pressed on into the forest, moving more carefully in the growing gloom. His torch suggested there was a clearing up ahead, and the box in his pocket was throbbing insistently, suggesting he was close. He turned off the torch, not wanting to alert anyone that might be in the clearing.
It looked pretty empty, but it was hard to tell. It was really quite dark now, he carefully edged into the clearing, moving slowly and cautiously. Watching the ground for anything that looked like a clue.
There was a sudden flash of lightning. It illuminated the scene in front of him, a small circle of flowers around Eulalia’s body. He crouched down fumbling for his torch. Another flash of lightning showed that he was face to face with what was left of Eulalia’s face. He yelled in shock and surprise.
“Oh my,” gasped Wragg looking along the broken body. “Poor Eulalia. What did they do to you? If I had known…stupid, stupid, girl!” He was shouting that last bit. “I mean, what in all the hells were you thinking!?”
He sat down and just stared at the broken and bloody form on the ground. He pulled out the box. It was a solid red glow now, with a dark box shape in the centre. He nodded.
He set the box down on Eulalia’s chest, just under her breasts. Then he went to work, removing hooks and needles as gently as he could. He noticed the burned destruction of her genitals and decided he didn’t need to look too closely at that. He took out his water bottle and a handkerchief and washed her face.
“This better work, Eul,” he said quietly, “or I’m going to be very upset.” Then he thought about it and said, “and I don’t suppose you’re too happy about it either.”
He placed the wrecks of her hands over the box, folding them together as best he could, noting the damage the nails had done to her wrists. When he was satisfied, he sat back and looked her over. He pulled a blanket and the peasant dress out of his satchel, and laid them beside him. Then he reached over, under Eul’s hands, and pressed an intricate inlay design in the box.
Then he sat down to wait.
* * *
“You might have asked the girl about a portal, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“You are quite correct, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “I do apologize. I can only imagine that I was distracted by our employer calling in the middle of our interrogation, and then, of course, she was dead.”
“Sorry, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “Anyway, it wasn’t a total loss.”
“No,” said Jollyrei, “but I do dislike having to go the long way around.”
“We could go by way of Germany,” said Phlebas. “Starting a war might be a diversion. I bet we could start one to last 30 years.”
“Didn’t we do that once already?” asked Jollyrei.
“Hard to remember all the details, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“Ah well, Mr. Phlebas, only a few more centuries to go. We will, I’m sure, find something to divert us along the way. We have time. Our quarry does not.”
“Funny how that works, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. He tossed a burned out torch into the undergrowth.
* * *
The fortifications of the Abbey were proceeding. It was pretty fortified already, being an old castle built when marauders were not just a fancy word, but an ordinary occurrence. Much of the work was done inside, finding defensible rooms and making sure doors could be barricaded. Messaline also was keen on finding an escape route.
“In case we need to get out and circle back,” she said to Erin. Erin nodded in agreement. Windar looked skeptical.
“Circle back for what?” asked Barb.
“To attack,” said Messaline.
“So, we’re going to escape,” said Barb, “only to return to danger.”
“I think the ladies mean,” said Windar, “that our foe is not going to give up until they are defeated. Escape is not really a final option.”
“Right,” said Erin. “We can’t kill Phlebas and Jollyrei. They aren’t like that. And they just keep coming. Right now they’re on their way, if I understand Wragg correctly. They could be here any minute.”
“But they’re way far away in the past,” said Barb.
“Yes, but they are coming through time. As long as it takes, they can make it so they arrive here in this century, right when we are now, and where we are now.”
“But,” said Barb, “nobody can just walk through time.”
“They don’t have to. They just have to walk here and wait until time passes, and when it gets to today, they arrive,” said Erin.
“The only reason more people don’t do that,” said Windar, “is that they have a tendency to die if they wait longer than about 80 years.”
“Phlebas and Jollyrei aren’t people,” said Erin. “Not like normal people anyway.”
“Do you suppose we could divert the river to flood the old moat?” asked Windar. “That might slow them down.”
“Who would do that?” asked Messaline. “We don’t have any workmen. I don’t think your chambermaids are up to it.”
“I thought perhaps your Amazons could do it, when they arrive,” said Windar.
“You would like them to dig a channel from the river,” said Messaline.
“If they could take their breastplates off, it would be cooler for them,” said Windar, “and we could set up an observation post here to watch their progress, and…them…while they were digging.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said Barb sardonically.
“It would be a diversion,” said Windar.
“For whom?” asked Messaline.
“Even so,” said Erin, “the moat is a good idea. We need to make this place as secure as possible.”
“We can figure that out when my Amazons and your Elves get here, if they get here in time.”
“Hey,” said a voice. They all looked up. There was a large red squirrel on a stump.
“I don’t suppose,” said the squirrel, “that you might give a weary traveller a place to sleep for the night? It’s dangerous out here sometimes.”
“Great,” said Windar. “Talking squirrels. What next?”
“I heard you talking about the Old Firm,” said the squirrel. “We squirrels hear things. Take me in and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“I like him,” said Messaline.
“Why not,” said Windar. “It’ll break up the monotony.”
“What monotony?” asked Barb.
to be continued...
It's a pity that I'm not alerted of each episode : I was only stayed at the 4th ! 
