The Blade

Chapter 10

"That's Lob.  You know, the Awesome Grand High-Keeper of the Blade."

Grandpa frowned down at the little man, who seemed to be uncharacteristically nervous.  "The what, now?"

"The Awesome Grand High-Keeper of the Blade.  C'mon, you must know about him."

To George's horror, Grandpa picked Lob up, inspected him from all angles, turned him upside down and then gave him an experimental shake.

"Uh-uh-uh he-he-he-lo-lo-lo mis-mis-mis-ter-ter-ter," stuttered Lob.  Apparently unimpressed, Grandpa placed him back in the trunk, where he wobbled unsteadily on his feet for a few seconds, before deciding it was a good time to sit down.

Grandpa sniffed.  "Georgie, lesson number one for when we get to Volanda—never believe a single word a gnome says to you."

"A gnome?"

"That's right.  Your friend there is a gnome.  And not of the garden variety.  Shame, really.  At least they're good for something."

"Hey!" protested Lob.  "I've been helping the lad."

Grandpa gave him a poke.  "What, by lying to him?  Grand High-Keeper, my arse.  What are you doing in my trunk?"

In a flash, Lob was back on his feet.  "What am I doing in your trunk?" he sputtered, face red.  "What am I doing in your trunk?  It was  you that put me in here, you forgetful old geezer!"  He stalked off and sat in a corner of the trunk, facing the wall and muttering to himself, "What am I doing in his trunk?  Only been watching his stupid sword for thirty-seven years, ain't I?  No bloody gratitude, I dunno..."

Grandpa scratched his head, and gave the little man's back a thoughtful look.  "Hang on.  Let me see...oh, yeah.  You're the little bugger I caught trying to steal my socks, when I was packing to leave Volanda.  I forgot all about you."

Lob continued to mutter.  "Forgot all about me, he says.  Well, maybe I'll forget to not punch him in the nadgers, next time the old fart's not looking.  Maybe I'll forget not to chuck his precious sword down the privy, one of these days.  Forgot, my tiny arse..."

Not for the first time that evening, and he suspected, not for the last, George was thoroughly confused.  "Stealing your socks?  So he's not the keeper of the Blade?"

"Awesome Grand High-Keeper," grumbled Lob.  "Looks like bloody forgetfulness runs in the bloody family.  I dunno, no respect..."

Grandpa grinned.  "Well, I suppose in a way, he is.  The keeper, that is, not the awesome bit.  As punishment for thievery, I stuck him in the trunk and sentenced him to watch over the Blade.  Not that he could actually do much to stop anybody nicking it.  Other than maybe annoy the crap out of any potential thieves, I s'pose.  Plus he might at least give 'em a bit of a surprise."

"You put him in the trunk?  So he's been living in there for thirty years?"

Lob's muttered monologue continued unabated.  "Thirty-seven years, but who's counting?  Oh, that's right—me.  Dunno why I bother, sometimes..."

"But...but...why didn't you just get out?" asked George.

Back on his feet in an instant, Lob whirled around and stomped back towards George.  "Think I didn't try?  Once that bastard over there cleared off, course I scarpered.  Got about half a block before a bloody cat tried to eat me, I nearly got run over by a garbage truck, and then a little girl kidnapped me, took me home and tried to marry me to her stupid doll.  It actually wasn't such a bad deal, now that I think about it.  I scored this nifty outfit, and she was a pretty good sort, that doll.  Barbie, I think her name was—astronaut, or something like that."  For a moment, Lob stared dreamily off into space, but then shook his head and continued. "But anyways, I buggered off out the window, got my little gnome-arse back to the trunk ASAP and haven't left the house again, since.  In Volanda, I was a mover and a shaker, but this ain't Volanda.  Here, I'm just potential roadkill.  So, I figured that if I behaved myself and did my time, maybe I could plead to get sent back to Volanda again, one day."  He glared accusingly at Grandpa.  "Only this wrinkly old bugger never came back, did he?  Forgot about me, didn't he?"

George turned on his grandfather.  "Is that true?  You stuck Lob in a box, trapped him in a whole new world and then forgot about him?"

Grandpa scratched his nose.  "True?  I s'pose so, Georgie.  But in my defence, so what?  He's a bloody gnome.  It's not like he matters, or anything.  If the little bugger didn't want to get stuck in a box, he shouldn't have gotten in there to steal my socks, should he?"  George opened his mouth, but before he could protest further, Grandpa turned on Lob.  "And as for you, you can quit your moaning and just shove over.  We're going back to Volanda, so if you shut your gob-hole and stay out of the way, I s'pose you can come along.  I reckon you've done your time."

For once, Lob was speechless.  Meekly, he shuffled to one side, as Grandpa awkwardly climbed into the trunk beside him.  The old man looked expectantly at George.  "Come on, then.  Climb in.  It'll be a bit of a squeeze, but at least it's a quick trip.

Once again, George opened his mouth to speak, but his time he was interrupted by a sudden pounding on the front door of the house.  "Open up!  This is the police!"

Grandpa rolled his eyes.  "Oh, great.  Georgie, if you really want to go rescue your mother, now's the time.  Get in, boy."

Hemmed in by the henchmen all around her, eyes streaming from the cold night air, Marie could see very little from her perch on the back of the giant bird.  Desperately, she clung on to the rope-like harness that encircled the creature's chest, catching only occasional glimpses of the moonlit countryside terrifyingly far below.

With her restricted vision, she didn't see the rocky cliffside until it was only metres away, so there wasn't even time to scream before the roc flew straight into it.  As she braced for impact, the darkness became absolute, and she felt herself falling and falling, further and further into a yawning void of dizzying blackness.

And then, as if someone had flicked a switch, the world re-appeared.  She found herself still seated on the back of the bird, still holding onto the harness, and still surrounded by dark-clad men.  Blinking to clear her eyes, she found that they were now wet with more than just tears - it was raining.  Above her, the formerly clear, star-strewn sky was now a sodden, dark grey.

"Welcome to Volanda, my dear," called Vardun, from his seat at the front of the group.  "My apologies for the rather unfortunate weather.  But have no fear, we'll soon have you out of the rain, and warm and dry.  Well, out of the rain, anyway.  I must admit, my dungeons are not particularly warm, and most likely, not very dry, either.  Still, not to worry.  I expect your stay will be rather brief."  He turned to look in her direction, and she caught a glimpse of red from within the depths of his cowl.  "One way, or another."