Darius stood on the corner of a crooked little side street looking at the crudely cleaned up puddle of gore outside the “Church of the Undecidedly Holy Mother” across the street from him.

 

There, he knew, was supposed to be the bewildered, wandering, semi-transparent (and of course, hideously ugly) spirit of Choreen Daily. Sadly for Darius, and indeed the whole fabric of the space time continuum, the already slipping grip of reality and little yippy bastard dogs; Choreen was nowhere to be seen.

 

Darius was in a pickle; not literally, you understand, but I assume you get the inference. Not only could he not find the dear departed form of old scary-face, be he’d also forgotten deaths little black book, the one that would tell him exactly where it was ugly had gotten to, and what would be the best way to get there (Think of it as a sort of, ghostly backwards sat-nav). There was only one thing for it: He’d have to go back home and get the book, otherwise he could walk around Go-Mo for years and find nothing but cigarette butts and so much loneliness.

 

 

*          *          *

 

 

Brian was in trouble; he was sitting on the sofa, shaking uncontrollably, having just been sick (Again…) in a strange toilet.

 

His brain was beginning to regret the decision to let him know about magic.

 

Brian was struggling to grasp it; what the hell had happened? People can’t just disappear! They can’t just draw in their concentration to a tight little ball and, with no audible-pop-for-comic-effect, vanish into thin air! It’s just not…Cricket!

 

‘Shit’, thought Brian, as he sat on the sofa and leant back, resting his head on the backline, ‘what the hell is going on here’. He sat up, again, and realised that it was about time for him to start taking control of his situation. He stood up from the sofa and, leaving a neat little note on the dusty table telling whomsoever it concerns that he most definitely did not break the vase or, indeed, still the little black book, he headed for the door. Before he could take two steps, there was a neat little click as the door was opened, and in stepped his black robed friend, looking worried and a little haggard.

 

“Oh, hello.” Said Brian, taking a step backwards “I have some…bad news for you.”

 

“That’s great, but I’m still in a little bit of a hurry, if you don’t mind. I’m just looking for a book; you haven’t seen it anywhere have you?” Said Darius, quickly heading over to his kitchen cupboards and throwing open the doors to reveal an assortment of old cut class tumblers, the kind that you see monocle wearing, mustachio’d, velvet clad old men sipping expensive whisky out of, whilst discussing the rise of Russian gas prices and balance of power in indo-china (Why Indo-China? I have no idea, honestly I just like the name…Do they even have power in Indo-China?).

 

“It wasn’t…little and black was it? By any chance?” Said Brian, trying his best to sound calm

 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s the one, did you see it?”

 

Brian sighed dejectedly, and told Darius his story (Although he decided it would be best to omit the nudity, otherwise the poor guy might never sit in his own arm chair again). He even included, quite rationally considering his state of mind, his thoughts on the subject of him not quite being in Kansas anymore.

 

“So you’re trying to tell me…that a woman came into my house, broke my very old, very expensive vase, stole what’s got to be possibly the most important A5 leaf handbook in the entire world, and left without you doing anything at all to stop her?”

 

“…Well, yes, that about sums it up.” Said Brian, a little shame clouding his cheeks

 

“…Tell me why I should believe you? It could just as easily be you who’s taken it!?”

 

“Well…No, it couldn’t. I’m still here aren’t I? Would you stick around after robbing someone? No. I also wouldn’t have told you about it.” Said Brian, annoyed that he wasn’t instantly taken at face value “I’d just have thanked you for your hospitality and slipped quietly off into the street, wouldn’t I?”

 

“I don’t know! Maybe you’re an idiot or something, you forget, mate, I hardly know you…”

 

“Fair point…So where exactly is does this leave us?”

 

“Well, it leaves me in a great, great deal of shit and, considering you owe me your life well then it leaves you helping me find the utter bitch, who stole my book.”

 

“Alright…leaving that, quite frankly ridiculous notion behind, and moving onto another equal if not more ridiculous notion; she disappeared, that bitch. I mean like, beyond David Copperfield kind of stuff, really just vanished into thin air. I’ve been over it again and again in my head and yeah, just gone. Explain that one to me, if you don’t mind, please.” Brian said, shifting the conversation to an area that he really wanted to get cleared up (Preferably before his brain mushed into a thick, mealy pulp and leaked fluidly out of his ears).

 

“That’s just a standard instantaneous rematerialisation spell; you said she lifted her cloak up before she did it?”

 

“Yes…” Said Brian, not entirely sure if he was more or less confused than before he’d asked the question

 

“Well then, there’s you answer, she probably had an enchanted cape on. Although it’s pretty uncommon to have one that works properly; people tend to avoid them because of their nasty habit of, well you know, leaving important bits of you behind…”

 

“…That’s fantastic. What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“What are you talking about? What the hell did everything you just said mean?”

 

“Magic, you idiot. You know sorcery? Spells? Witchcraft? The Arts?”

 

Brian buhed.

 

“You…you really have no idea what I’m on about, do you?” Said Darius, looking at Brian with a little concern

 

“…How could you tell?”

 

“The blank look and slight drooling…Sorry, where did you say you’re from?”

 

“Dublin, Ireland. If it helps, I’m beginning to think that something very, very strange has happened to me…”

 

“I’m going to go with yes on that one- Brian was it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Ok, Brian. I think something very…odd may have happened here, I mean like ‘Last Stand of the Angry Animated Trampolines’ odd.” (That really is a most unusual painting…)

 

“So tell me, again, where does that leave us?”

 

“Well it leaves us in exactly the same position as we were in the last time you asked me that question; I’m out one very important, universe critical black notebook; and you still have to help me look for it.”

 

“I don’t even know your name!”

 

“It’s Darius.”

 

“Ok, Darius,” Brian began, with an unusual little air that plainly said ‘Darius is a really, really stupid name’ that Darius chose to ignore “I’m going to level with you here; I have a little bit of a problem with the outside.”

“You have a problem with the outside? What did it rob you or something?”

 

“Hilarious,” Brian quipped “No, I’m an agoraphobic.”

 

Darius Buhed. (It’ll catch on, you wait. Next few months it’ll be the lexicological sensation that’s sweeping the nation.)

 

“It means I’m afraid of wide open spaces.” Brian sighed on the inside

 

“You know what else you are?”

 

“Sad, pathetic and a little afraid..?”

 

“Apart from those…”

 

“No.”

 

“You’re the only one who’s seen that thief, and so you’re the only one who can pick her out of a crowd.” Darius sighed “You do know that, right? I need you if I’m going to find that book, and believe me when I say that I need to find that book…”

 

“Outside isn’t good for me, Darius.”

 

“That’s great, I don’t care. You didn’t stop that bint from taking my things Brian, you owe me.” Darius shrugged his shoulders “Besides, like I said earlier; I saved your life.”

 

Brians fear wasn’t coming to him when he thought about going outside. Usually it did, usually he choked up at even the thought of stepping out his front door to go across the street and do his shopping; but right now, he seemed to be perfectly fine. ‘Oh dear’ he thought to himself ‘I’m really going to regret this, aren’t I?’

 

“Fine, I’ll do it!” He shouted, a little louder perhaps than he should’ve.

 

“Of course you will. You’re a good fella Brian, bit of an idiot, but still…” Darius smiled; Darius wasn’t goo with people, it came from spending so much time collecting souls and so he was surprised that, despite his neuroses and of course the fact that he was standing in front of the guy wearing a long black robe with matching hooded cowl and looking thoroughly bloody scary, he’d managed to make friends with Brian so quickly.

 

“So, when exactly do we start then?” Asked Brian, glancing at the door and then looking back at Darius, who was shorter than him by about a head, making it a fairly awkward looking situation.

 

“No time like the present eh? I say we head now, get the jump on the bitch…” Darius started for the door “Come on Brian, I really need that book back…”

 

Brian rolled his eyes a little, and followed his new friend out the door and into the unknown…

 

 

*          *          *

 

 

Scorpius was, as was previously alluded to in the last chapter (Which, due to the natural progression and logical structure of a book, you will have read before beginning this one) pissed. As I said, it’s his natural state of being, so form now on I’m only going to bring it up if he’s really, really angry. In summary, please, from this moment on, assume Scorpius is pissed.

 

Anyway, back on topic. Scorpius had begun his new reign of terror by investigating something that had been bothering him for as long as he could remember.

 

Since Scorpius was a young lad growing up rough on the streets of Go-Mo, he’d been able to sense a massive emanation of hellish demon-power coming from the very centre of ‘The Heath’. Being a massive evil bastard (And of course because he had warlock-ian powers, but mostly the bastard thing) he was particularly sensitive to emanations of power.

 

It was this that had led him to seek out Ludwab, because even though they’re possibly the least effective and most entirely useless organization in the entire city; they kept very, very accurate records.

 

“My liege” said the secretary “My liege please, let me do that, you sit back and have a rest.”

 

“I’m not a king, you useless old fool.” Said Scorpius, harshly. Admittedly, you could be forgiven for thinking that Scorpius was a king; not a benevolent, good hearted, people loving, tax alleviating, peaceful king but one of those cold bastards who raises taxes so high that you, quite literally need to pay six pounds to take a piss. “I’m doing myself. Tell me your name again.”

 

“Fortesque, sir. Fortesque Barrington the Third, accountant by trade, secretary by choice, warlock by birth, sir.” Fortesques voice dripped with grease, like a KFC Family Bucket.

 

“I very much doubt that last bit, Fortesque. Tell me, man, why do you think I’m doing this myself…?” He inquired

 

“Well sir…I-I don’t know sir.” Fortesque was dwarfed by Scorpius. Like all of the members of Ludwab, he himself had some measure of skill with the demonic arts, but he’d never seen skin quite so artfully melted before…

 

“I’m doing it because, if I let you do it, you’ll make a tit of yourself and I’ll end up killing you for your incompetence.” Scorpius said, with a calm, graceful air that suggested not only was he at home letting people know that he’d happily kill them, but also that if he chose, he’d make a bloody good politician… “And, despite my cold and passionless exterior, I’m come to like your smarmy and insignificant manner.”

 

“Oh…Why, thank you sir…” It wasn’t much of a compliment, thought Fortesque, but at least he wasn’t dead.

 

“But don’t think if you don’t fulfil your assigned duties to an acceptable standard that I won’t turn you into a small puddle of primordial ooze just as quickly as I would anyone else.” He said; just to make himself entirely clear on the subject.

 

“O-of course sir.” Said Fortesque, with just the slightest little hint of worry in his voice.

 

“Now, tell you what you can do for me Fortesque. Round up the troops, I want to have a full investigation on the go, there’s something very, very important happening in The Heath, and I would really rather like to know what it is.”

 

“The…The troops sir?”

 

“Yes, Fortesque, the troops. It’s a figure of speech, I mean all of the members. Surely we have some who aren’t drunks or idiots?”

 

“Well yes, sir, but I think that those members happen just to be you and I, sir.”

 

“Very clever Fortesque. Well then, sober up the rest of them, we’ve got work to do. Important, important work. I plan to make this organisation great again.”

 

“Sir, if you don’t mind me saying, we were never actually great, sir.”

 

“Well, yes, you do have a point there Fortesque…” Scorpius frowned and sat down behind a large, well varnished oaken desk and picked up a grotty old biro. “Remember our little discussion, Fortesque, that had to do with ooze?”

 

“Yes sir, on my way now sir…”

“Good man.”

 

Fortesque scuttled out of the large room, shutting the door behind him, and leaving his new master to lean heavily on the desk and sigh. He was working too hard these days; trying to get too much done. His little blue eyes had huge great bags under them, and his black hair was beginning to gray at the temples. Oh and lets not forget the crows feet, scars and sallow, yellowing skin.

 

Scorpius was not an attractive man; well, at least you can say that his outward appearance reflected what lay within. Admittedly, also, he wasn’t hideous either. Think a sort of…bizarre, slightly creepier version of Christopher Walken (Although I have to admit that it’s hard to think of anything that’s creepier than Christopher Walken, but anyway. (He’s a lovely man…but really, keep him away from your children if you want them to grow up sane.))

 

He hadn’t expected to find anything in Ludwab, not really. An emanation of that power would have to be covered up on a huge scale to be kept out of the ever vigilant noses of the Sorcerers of the Nine Towers; and if the Sorcerers of the Nine Towers couldn’t keep track of it, then there was no chance for this pitiful little coven of useless, vacuous hedge wizards.

 

No, he always knew he’d have to do this one on his own, perhaps that was the pull? Or, indeed, perhaps the pull was the fact that that kind of conjured emanation could give him enough power to turn the world inside out without anybody noticing. (And that, let me tell you, is a feat not to be overlooked…)

 

He sighed again; Scorpius liked sighing, although he’d never known why, he got a sort of pleasant satisfaction from it.

 

It was time for him to get to work…

 

 

*          *          *

 

The Thief stepped lightly into the cold, marble floored room. She stepped lightly not because she was, as she liked to call it “On the Thiev’” but because, having done her job so very well for so many years, it had just become natural for her to walk everywhere and make as little noise as possible. For the record, this tended to be no noise at all.

 

The Thief was a little disturbed about her encounter with Brian earlier. Not because she’d seen him naked, or even because he’d caught her stealing from Darius, but because she’d been stupid enough to drop a bloody vase, and then yell at the thing like that would help. It was so…unprofessional.

 

The marble room was dark, dark all but for a lit podium at the top which was where she headed. This was the part of her job that she hated; sure, she loved catching the bad guys, preventing the crimes and of course, all the free, perfectly legal stealing that she got to do, but she wasn’t sure that all those things made it worth it, when compared with meetings with her bosses.

 

The bosses were…scary. Plain and simple. She knew they were human, well, to a certain extent. There were probably a few Dwarfs and Elves in there, and maybe a goblin if the department was feeling especially liberal, but that’s not what bothered her…

 

What bothered her was the fact that they were so bloody matter of fact about everything. Matter of fact and cold. Kind of like the marble room they always met in…

 

She stepped (lightly again, as was her way) onto the lit podium at the front of the room, and immediately a voice rang out, strong and clear from the eaves of the wide hall.

 

“Bloody hell, Agent Ang’amarin, we didn’t see you there. You really are good…”

 

“Ahem…” came a cough, from directly opposite the first voice

 

“Oh god! Sorry Sarg-“

 

“AH-FUCKING-HEM! Thank you, Mr. Yellow! Thank you fro your completely sad and unprofessional behaviour, you fucking cretin.” Came the light, coughing voice. It was probably a woman…or castrati, you never can tell… “I take it, Agent Ang’amarin, that you’ve got what we sent you for?”

 

“Of course I do.” She shouted back up at the disembodied voice

 

“If you’d like to leave it on the podium, please Agent.” Came a third, harsher voice “And piss off. You’re not an investigator so you’re not needed. On your way out, Agent, send in the group waiting outside.”

 

“Yes sir.” She set the notebook down on the lit podium, and stepped down. She sauntered back down the hall in similar silence, and as requested sent in the next group of analysts and investigators. Life in the Golden Morovar Department of Special Investigations (Or as it’s known in certain circles; DSI: Golden Morovar…) was always…interesting. I suppose that’s why she worked there, but of course she’s of a fictional disposition so I can’t actually ask her…

 

The Thief was, in fact, Agent Simyan Ang’amarin, a young, sexy, nubile little slip of an elf girl who worked for DSI, which for those of you who need the modern day, current universe references (Which will be all of you, because all of you aren’t me and so don’t know exactly what I’m talking about) is a little like MI5 or, for you Americans; the FBI.

 

It just so happens that, by order of impromptu pan-galactic coincidence, the DSI was in fact investigating exactly the same thing that Scorpius was, albeit through a much more long, winding and indirect route. This is important, and, as it’s the end of the chapter you may wish to take some notes on the affair, so you may refer to them later and ensure that you’re up to date with all the relevant knowledge.

 

Thank you,

 

David