Crabbit Faery Tales and Folk Tales of Forumshire

Twists and turns the whole way, oh my!

Dum dum darrrrrrrrrrrrrrr ! Hee hee, the plot definitely thickens

Long wait but worth it. I suspect the next will be quicker since the action has picked up pace.

{{I am hoping the final chapter will be up either tomorrow night (probably late on) or the following day- as that's my 1 day off out of 9 days of work ps does anyone have a spare right shoulder? I seem to have fucked the one I have }}}

Awh, you need a warm massage,

{{{{Yes I do! (and a buckie, obviously ) }}}

Amarie paced back and forth. She had left the main casino and slipped into private rooms reserved for the upper classes where she was anxiously awaiting Gwen. On a table in the centre of the room stood her palantir in standby mode, ready to initiate the next stage in her plan, and beside it was an odd shaped device, slightly too large to fit in the palm of the hand, made of metal and with a large dial on the top of it. The dial was marked at the left FAKE and on the extreme right GENUINE in neat, red painted letters. And there was a single large red button positioned beneath the dial. This was Blue's device given to her by Lance that would authentic the scuttle, or prove it fake.

She paced some more and then checked herself, outward displays of inner turmoil were not good discipline and could lead you into trouble on the Dark Planet. This place must be getting to her more than she thought.

There was a knock at her door and it opened to reveal Gwen and Gingerlocks. They each held in their hand an identical scuttle.

“What's going on?” Amarie demanded in surprise.

“Simple,” Figg replied, “we found two.”

Amarie paused in consideration of what this meant, “Well,” she said picking up Blue's detecting device, “lets find out if either of them is the real thing. That one first,” she nodded at Gwen who placed the scuttle upon the tabletop.

Amarie picked up the device and holding it just above the scuttle she pressed the button firmly.

The device began to vibrate in her hand and then small blue sparks spurted randomly from it and glowed to the floor where they faded.

“Is it supposed to do that?” Figg enquired stepping cautiously back and wishing she had the protection of her bustle about her.

The needle on the dial flickered and trembled and the device hummed in increasing pitch, more sparks flew from it then suddenly it went “DING!” and the humming and vibrating stopped entirely.

Amarie stared at the dial, “It never left FAKE,” she informed them.

“If it did anything at all,” Figg said disbelievingly.

“Well, yours, next,” Amarie said to her and Figg placed her scuttle on the table as Amarie handed the fake one back to Gwen.

Again Amarie held the device just hovering over the scuttle, though with perhaps a little more caution than the first attempt.

Again the sparks began to fly, even more violently this time so that Amarie struggled to hold the detector firmly in her grasp.

The needle quivered and then suddenly it leapt, the sparks were a showering torrent now raining down in an arc all around the device and the humming was becoming a high pitched whine.

The needle suddenly shot right across the dial, “GENUINE!” Amarie declared.

“DING!” went the device. And then it exploded in a hail of tiny spinning metal pieces and blue sparks.

“Damn,” Amarie remarked as the smoke cleared.

“Bugger!” Figg commented patting out some sparks that had settled on the floor about her.

“Well at least we know, the McTyrants do still have the real scuttle,” Amarie said, “and a second fake one for some unknown reason, which is information worth knowing,” she added, “Here,” she scooped up the genuine scuttle and handed it back to Figg, “take them back and place them in the chamber, quickly, before the Chief and his Court return to the Keep,” she considered this, “which with the way Lance plays dominoes might be sooner rather than later. Hurry.”

Figg grasped hold of the scuttle, she wondered what Petty would think if he could see her now, holding the McTyrants most sacred relic? He would probably go through the roof she thought and she smiled at that and noted, odd as it was, she missed him even though he was almost instantly annoying. She wondered where he was.




Petty groaned. It did not feel sufficient for the depths of the dark pain he seemed to be emerging from so he groaned again  for longer, and louder to better convey it then suddenly he sat bolt upright crying out “Gingerlocks perverting the course of McTyrant history!” and then fell over.

“Whit?” Maw said who had been sitting by his bedside, “whit ur yi havering aboot son?”

Petty sat up again and rubbed his head, “Whit? Naw! Wheeshht! Where is she? Wur's Gingerlocks!” he looked around the dingy dark room he was in as if expecting her to be there but the room was devoid of her presence, the dark of night was outside the windows, “wur um I?”

“Wi ur still in Dunfuckinaboot,” Maw informed him, “And we selt yon wee sassenach lass at the market, di yi no mind?”

Petty scratched his wild hair in concentrated thought, “Thur wis a rammy wis thur noo?”

“Aye son,” and Maw's eyes shone with pride, “yi did wull thur starting it, a right good stramish it wis tae,” she hugged him suddenly, “Am that proud aw yi son,” she suddenly released him and then wagged a finger under his bulbous nose, “bit then yi went an goat bottled on the heid by that wee mad mental laddie un yi went aw daft oor yon Gingerlockls lassie. Yi lost a fair bit o' blud son soo a hud tae bring yi here till yi wur ready?”

Petty swung his legs unsteadily from the bed to the floor and Maw helped him stand, “Ready fir whit?”

“Tae gae hame o' course, tae the barrel.”

“Bit whit aboot Gingerlocks?”

Maw humphed at him her chest heaving in perturbed annoyance, “Whit aboot her? We selt her, son, and fur a cracking price thanks tae yi.”

“Oh aye,say wi did,” Petty replied scratching his head and wondering why it was full of Figgs.

“Cum oan then, lets git yi hame son and tae a buckie aw yir ain noo yir a man.”




Amarie had returned to the Keep following the wranglers who had departed a few minutes before her. She wanted to be near the players when the pieces all moved into place to better orchestrate the action. And she wanted to be in more secure surrounds for the next call she must make.

She peered into her palantir. It currently showed Gwen and Gingerlocks  in the corridor leading towards the scuttle chamber.

It was time.

She tapped the dark globe with her finger nail and the image shimmered and she moved around it, re-orienting herself until within the globe an image began to take shape of a long tall head poking out from some heather.

“Offo. Are you ready?”

“Aye, me an ma lads are gud tae go lass. Now fur yir part o' this bargain,” he said authoritatively.

Amarie smiled inside at the very notion Offo thought that he was in charge of any part of this situation, he was about to walk right into a trap that would see the end of his Chieftainship, she allowed herself just the slightest hint of satisfaction as Offo went on demandingly, “how yi gonna get us in?”

“Like this!” Amarie dramatically said and stepping back from the palantir she began to weave from the air between her hands strands of thick black magic. It hissed and broiled and then with  a swoosh it shot through the thick stone walls of her chamber and disappeared.

She returned to the palantir.

“Wull, thuts something,” Offo said admiringly from the palantir staring at a large black hole hanging in the air before him, “whit is it?”

“A doorway, you need only step across and you will be in the Keep of the McTyrant's, in the very heart of the Scuttle Chamber. Take the scuttle from the one called Gingerlocks...”

“Gingerlocks!” Offo interuppted, “She's goat the scuttle?!  Her?! Aw this wull be ma pleasure!” Offo chortled rubbing his hands with glee, “whit a night o' revenge this wull be!”

“Take the scuttle,” Amarie pressed on, “and then return immediately with it back the way you came. Understand?”  Though of course, she had no intention of keeping the route of Offo's escape open for him. That was not part of the real plan. And again she felt that tremor that comes with a well placed move coming together.

“Right then, but sorry lass,” Offo grinned at her across the palantir and for a moment Amarie hesitated in her confidence, “I plan oan daing a wee bit mair than jist stealing thur scuttle. Ah'm goona put the McBanks back oan the map, am goanna rob thur keep o' aw thuve goat and thun A'm goannie burn it tae the groon.  An'  a brought a few mair o' ma lads wi me thun A micht huv let oan tae help me.”

From behind Offo as Amarie panned out the view on her palantir McBanks rose from the heather, long face after long face and at Offo's instruction began going through the hole.

Amarie stared in horror, there must be a hundred, maybe more McBanks. Offo had betrayed her? That was not too surprising maybe. Offo had successfully betrayed and deceived her? That was shocking to her. How had she missed that? How had she not seen this? She stared hard at the palantir. More importantly, what was she not still seeing?

Her mind raced back across all her dealing with the Offo elements of this enterprise, and with dawning horror she began to see the pattern, the pattern of information, reassurances, the pattern that she could now see was designed to make her not look to closely at Offo McBanks doings.

She zoomed the palantir in on the faces of those queueing for entry. She wondered if she could shut the magic down, but the problem was you could not shut it down whilst it was in use and so long as the McBanks kept stepping over the black threshold in groups one after the other there was nothing she could do but wait till all were through. But, she zoomed closer, there was something she was still missing, a piece of this jigsaw that would make sense of it. Of why her eye had been kept away from this.

Then it hit her. And hit her hard.

“Oh, pawns, and wheels within wheels,” she thought. She had believed she was setting the chequerboard when she was always just another piece upon it.

Lemon. Strawberry. Rasberry. She went from group to group as they crossed into the Keep. Even Banana was there. All the jelly factions in fact were represented, how had she not seen it right away? Here was gathered not just representatives of every tribe, but Offo's most faithful and strongest proponents in every faction and of every flavour of the McBanks clan. Here were those who made sure he stayed Chief.

This was still a trap, it was just a much bigger and more fatal one than she had released she was setting in motion. This was Offo and all those who would have spoke for him, defended him and fought for him. All gathered in one place from which she knew there would be no return trip. Nor would Offo be peaceably arrested.

He and all his followers in one fell swoop would be massacred by the McTyrants. That was what she had been putting in place all along. That was the real plan and there was only one person who could have created it. And he had employed her.

This was the real job, not even to set it in place, but to do nothing when the moment came. That was what he had hired her for. Because once the McBanks were in the Keep they had only one way out.

Her.

And she was going to deny them it because she had no other choice. To let them leave with the scuttle would inevitably betray her own hand in affairs. Offo was pompous and boastful at the best of times, after such a triumph? She shuddered to think.

On the palantir the McBanks continued to stream through the portal. A portal she knew she had to close behind them trapping them to their doom in the McTyrant keep. Or perhaps worse, Offo might succeed in both stealing the scuttles and escaping the Keep. She was going to have to try to do something to prevent that. Of course she was, even as she thought of her next actions she could see how her employer had already envisioned the moves. She was just playing her role on the board, only now she knew it.



The guards were still out cold when Figg and Gwen returned to the anti-chamber of the scuttle, though the two other eel-wranglers had not been just patiently awaiting them in idleness in their absence. Indeed far from it.  The guards, including Paw had all been brought together, still unconscious and all with fixed grins on their faces- the wranglers potions, unction's and ointments might be effective but they were not all cruel, and these guards dreamed of drink and women and of the party of their life times- and placed as if fallen drunkenly or slumped drunkenly around the anti-chamber.

And thanks to the industry of the wranglers when the guards awoke from their slumber their surrounds now matched the slumbered results of a party of a life time. There were buckie bottles, many empty, some partly drunk sitting, lying, strewn, well, everywhere around the anti-chamber. A pair of bagpipes skulked together in a corner, flutes and whistles too. Some of the guards even had party hats strapped to their heads in place of their haggis plumed helmets or held bottles still clutched in sleeping hands.

And Figg could not fail to notice there were ladies undergarments strewn about too, well she assumed they were, as they bore about as much resemblance to her own preferred woollen undergarments as they did to a ball of string, which by an odd coincidence they did bear a striking resemblance too. And on the faces and necks of many of the guards were the smudged imprints of red lipstick.

When it came time for the wranglers to awaken them from their stupors it would be to hazy memories of a party of guilty pleasures, which with the scuttle returned and nothing seemingly amiss, none would wish to discuss afterwards. Let alone report in. It would be embarrassed glances, and shuffling to bed trying not to catch anyone else's eye. Which was how all really good parties eventually end.

Figg picked her way between the comatose and drugged bodies to the doors of the scuttle chamber and Gwen handed her the fake scuttle she had been carrying.

“Just lock the doors behind you, put them back exactly as you found them, and climb back out.”

“And then I am finally free?” Figg demanded to know.

“Yes, Lance will keep his word to you.”

Figg nodded reassured that climbing back down the dark stinking privy was worth doing again and entered the chamber. The wranglers closed the doors behind her and they thudded shut and inserting the large iron key Figg turned it in the lock until she heard and felt the satisfying clunk. Turning to place the scuttles back upon their pillar she was surprised to find four McBanks and a large black hole from which more were exiting.



Nothing. Not a bleep, not a flash.

Ringo stared at the palantir almost unblinkingly until Norc could finally take it no longer.

“Come on!” she cried leaping up, “weird shit is going on out there and Gingerlocks is involved in it and we are still fucking sitting here.”

“Until the Ambassador tells us its time, its noo time,” Ringo stubbornly insisted without looking up from the palantir.

“She isn't going to fucking call!” Norc said beating her head against the wall in frustration, “you said it yourself, something isn't fucking right about this.”

Ringo sighed, what was annoying was she was right. Something was not right about any of this, none of it, he could feel it in his waters.

“There's shit going on and we are doing fucking nothing!” Norc went on, “you're supposed to be a fucking detective, don't you want to go out there and detect shit?”

“U've course A dae!” Ringo exploded, “but A allsay huv tae follow ma orders.”

“What fucking orders? No ones calling!”

“Bleep! Bleep!” went the palantir and they both stared at it in stunned silence.

Ringo reached out a hand and tapped the surface of the globe and the image of  Amarie flowed into being within its depths.

“It's time, Offo will be in the scuttle chamber any moment now, but there is one thing you really should know,” Amarie said gravely.

“Whit thing?”

“You might need backup, Offo's has brought at least one hundred of his finest and most loyal men with him and he intends to burn down the keep and steal the scuttle. And right now you raising the alarm might be the only thing that stops him.”

“Fucking yeah! The games afoot! “ Norc cried unsheathing her axe with zeal and a glow in her Viking eyes.

“We'll see whit we cun dae,” Ringo said as the palantir dimmed, “richt then,  first wi raise the alurm,” he said to Norc.

“Fuck that first we're saving Gingerlocks.”

“Whit? Naw, yi heard the Ambassador thur cud be a hunner McBanks between us an' her by noo.”

“Yeah,” Norc grinned, “I fucking know that.”

“We'll nuver maek it oan oor ain.”

Norc unsheathed her second axe, “Two against a fucking hundred in a glorious do or die raid to save a friend from the enemy- they will sing fucking sagas of us for years to come, even if all we do is go down fighting,” she grinned at him again devilishly, “Even if we fuck this up its a win/win in Viking terms. So what are you waiting for?” She threw open the door and charged out into the corridor.

“Norc nooo!” Ringo cried, then cursing under his breath about Fjordian Vikings he unsheathed his sword and checked his quiver for crossbow bolts and slinging the bow itself across his back followed Norc.


Amarie's palantir was bleeping ominously. She went over to it anxiously wondering what else could be going wrong. It was the portal. Or rather the multiple portals now. The original was overloading and in order to offset the extra load it had opened up new exit points in a short range all around the original scuttle chamber portal. It was depositing McBanks randomly around the Keep now instead of into the chamber. This could be both a good thing and abad thing. It meant they could possibly gain more of the keep quicker through the element of surprise, but it also meant they would take longer to regroup when Offo arrived.

She swivelled round the palantir till she was facing Offo's direction again and saw he and his personal bodyguard, as the last of the McBanks to enter, were about to do just that.

Hurriedly she stepped back round the dark globe and concentrated. She had some control yet, if she could dictate which portal Offo ended up in then locked in the scuttle chamber would be the favoured choice as only a handful of his men were already there, and if nothing it would keep him separated from the rest and continue the confusion as long as possible. Until Ringo and Norc could raise the alarm at least.

She waved a hand full of darkness before her and concentrated as Offo stepped into the blackness.




At first Figg had managed to evade the grabbing arms of McBanks just by being faster and smaller but it was inevitable as more emerged from the black gaping hole that they would catch her, especially as she was burdened with the two scuttles and the door key.

But fortunately after the first two groups of four the portal seemed to stop depositing long headed McBanks all around her. Which gave her some hope of being able to keep darting round the chamber until she got a chance to escape down the privy chute.

It was unfortunate for her therefore that just as she thought she saw her chance and was about to make a dash between two looming McBanks for the privy lid, that Offo and his henchmen were deposited  right in her way and she careered straight into them unable to check her momentum.

The scuttles flew from her grasp and bounced away together out of her sight. When she was hauled finally to her feet between two strong handed McBanks for Offo's inspection the scuttles, which they had retrieved were once more indistinguishable to her as to which was real and which was not.

“Ach michty me!” Offo cried with a huge grin on his face at the sight of Figg, “if its noo we sassenach Gingerlocks whose been such a thistle in ma arse aw this time. An noo here A huv yi.”

Just then the black hole behind them seemed to shudder, warping the air around it then with a noise like a cat being dragged backwards by the tale it shrunk from sight to a small dark blob then vanished in a small cloud of black dust that snowed softly to the chamber floor.

One of the McBanks from the first group to arrive, who as it happened was one of the prominent figures in the even more prominent Strawberry jelly wing of the McBanks clan pointed aghast at where the hole had been, “That wis oor oanly way oot!” he cried and spun to Offo, “yi said yon Ambassador wid keep it open till efter we left- noo while wur still here. Wur trapped, in the McTyrant keep, naw, naw, wi're noo trapped, wi're fucked is whit we ur!” he yelled.

“Calm doon Affa McBanks,” Offo admonished, “aye, she hus betrayed us, but di' yi ken whit else she is? Sumwhere in this keep. A' wur goanna find her and make her let us oot. No go an' organise the lads!”

“We cannae go, the dairs locked,” Affa snarled back and stormed off in a huff at Offo.

Offo turned to Figg, “Wurs the key?” he demanded.

Figg remained defiantly silent and turned her head nonchalantly downwards to examine the floor.

“Ah said,” Offo roared, “wurs the key?”

Still Figg did not respond, “Search her,” Offo ordered.

This meant her holders momentarily had to release their grip to do the searching which was the exact moment Figg had been waiting on to squirm violently free of their grasp and dart across the room in the direction of the privy. Offo himself in a fury sprang after her.

He caught her round the waist with a diving leap and they both went hurling forwards towards the privy in the floor stopping with Figg's head just inches form the wooden lid.

“An' wir dae yi think yir going?” Offo demanded.

“Nowhere it seems,” Figg grunted squirming in his grasp and reaching one hand to the lid and flipping it upwards and with the other reached for her waistband, “but the key is going in here!” and she dropped the key down the privy chute where it jangled merrily down the stone sides and then there was silence as it fell out the bottom and into the air.

“Whit huv yi done?” Off demanded, “Yi daft lassie whit huv yi dun?”

“Locked you in here,” Figg replied smugly as she was hauled to her feet by her captors and held.

He turned on her face red with rage, “An' yir locked in here wi me Gingerlocks and naebody is gonna save yi this time!”




Petty hopped about on his cart seat as he drove along, he bounced in agitation. It was no good, all that time drinking, then all the fighting, then being knocked out, then getting the two carts prepared, then being kicked by the horse, then setting off and the jostling from the cobbles beneath that paved the road from their stables to the main gates of Dunfuckinaboot. Petty could hold off no longer.

“Haud on!” he cried back over his shoulder to Maw's cart which was trundling along behind. Petty reigned up his horse, timed his exit to avoid the horses attempts to back heel him, and dashed for the bushes and trees that clustered around the base of the cliff of the Keep.

“U've goat tae gooo!” he cried as he disappeared into the dark of the undergrowth and Maw shook her head and sighed in resignation.

Petty hoisted up his kilt in a state of panic and a moment later he was in a state of sheer blissful relief as he let a days worth of bladder explode onto the side of an unfortunate birch tree. He turned his face upward, eyes closed in blessed relief and rapture and heard distantly above him a tinkling noise. Then again, louder, and closer.

He opened his eyes just in time to see a large iron key bounce of an out-jut of granite six foot above him and glinting in the dark as it tumbled over and over as it sped downwards in the grip of gravity it  hit him resoundingly between the eyes.

He went over backwards with a loud yelp and a cry of  “Ooh you fucker!” wincing in agony as a large red welt began to bloom right in the centre of his forehead.

From the road he heard Maw cry “If yir huving thut much truble son wi micht huv tae get yi tae a physician.”

Petty groaned and hauled himself up from the ground and began looking for the key in the dim light, fortunately it not fallen far and he found it by chance, turning to search about him, striking it with one foot.

He looked at the key in his hand. He looked at again. His eyes widened. He looked up at the only possible place it could have come from then he looked back down at the key again. He had seen it before, many times before. It was THE key. The chamber key. He had seen his father proudly proceeding with that key firmly in his grasp on Scuttle Day Parades since he was a little lad.

With a sudden flash of what this meant he leapt from the bushes rearranging his kilt as he went and and dashing straight passed Maw he cried, “Some bugger's stealing oor scuttle!” and headed for the front doors of the scuttle museum in the base of the cliff in a flurry of kilt and fearful panic.

The tension is rising !!

quite some nice world building.

Things were going well in the casino. Very well indeed. For the Chief of the McTyrants that was. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

His pile of gold had grown considerably with Lance's gold, or rather the Dark Planets gold and the Queens gold, whilst Lance's sack was looking rather forlorn in its hollow sagging emptiness.

But the Chief was in great cheer, he swilled buckie in large vessels with pudgy hands, he stuffed his face with deep fried leg of bull and popped haggis balls for amusement, tossing them up in the air and catching them in his mouth to rounds of applause from his attendant court.

And the whole time he tapped his feet, hands, fingers, anything it seemed in time with the bagpipes which continued to swirl their shrill intrusion upon the air unrelentingly.

Lance on the other-hand was a mess, though all his training brought to bear meant outwardly he barely showed it. But he had not prepared for this, he hadn't thought to hire a bagpipe band to play right next to him whilst he practised the game, or to arrange for random fights to break out spontaneously all around him, or even for the stray escapee haggis which had made a spirited attempt to leap across the dominoes table and chew off the nose of an attendant before it was subdued by a passing caber tosser, who bashed its brains in with the tree trunk he was carrying.

You just could not prepare for these sort of conditions. Casino's, proper, civilised ones, were places of genteel refinement. You did not expect to have to play three games at once whilst a bagpipe blasts down your ear and haggis can attack at any moment.

And as if this were not calamitous enough he was now seriously worried about his ability to hold the Chief, Court and all the attendant guards here long enough for their plot to succeed, before him the middle game was about to fall against him.

The right hand one already had- and if he failed to win the last hand of this three he would be unable to continue with another hand, the game would be over- and not only was he fretting over this but also there was the increasingly pressing matter of the continued absence of the Ambassador.

She should have returned to his side by now informing him by doing so that all was going to plan. Yet still there was no sign of her as with a sense of impending doom he tapped his domino against the table top, the chap chap reverberating through his arm as if were made of lead, which it felt like it was under the pressure and weight of the game.

With relish the Chief placed his final domino on the rows end matching a three and took the hand with a sympathetic nod to Lance as more money was gathered to the Chiefs ever growing pile. They turned their attention to the final third hand and if Lance lost it, the final hand of the night.

“Where the ruddy hell was the Ambassador?” he thought for the umpteenth time, “where the ruddy hell is she?”




The doors to the Scuttle Museum were never locked in case any late night drunken crabbit McTyrant might want to come in for inspiration. But the smaller more discreet door at the Halls far end was locked after dark.

Beyond it Petty knew, as he made his way through the dimly lit hall passed the murals of the great Scuttle tale, were those places that were necessary but out of the public gaze: the privy for the guards, the places where they keep the mop and buckets, the well rooms and somewhere to have a kip between shifts. Working places. And beyond them Petty knew were the tunnels and passageways. Cut through the rock of the cliff over the ages, half forgotten, many running to dead ends or fallen ceilings, others forgotten ways to parts of the Keep or to rooms whose ancient usage has long since been forgotten.

Petty had been in them many times with his Paw, on day trips as a small lad, going from Museum proudly up through the secret ways passed down from guard to guard to the Scuttle Chamber above to watch his Paw don the Haggis Hat of Office, and take his place as Chief Guard of the Scuttle, chest swollen with pride.

He also knew that despite the door being locked after dark there was a spare key on the wide lintel above it and so he let himself in and made his swift way deep into the labyrinth of passages and went ever upwards, guided by the memory of his childhood excursions, towards the Keep and the Scuttle Chamber.



Gwen and her eel-wranglers had not stood a chance, nor the opportunity to use their skills to their fullest so taken by surprise were they.

As soon as the Dark Portal had overloaded it had started depositing McBanks outside the Scuttle Chamber and randomly into rooms and corridors all around it in a wide radius throughout the Keep.

In an instant there had been four of them stepping out of the air weapons ready.

Gwen had taken the first down with a flick of her wrist which contained, in her delicate wrist band a miniscule flicking knife topped with poison.

But before she could act again more McBanks were appearing all over the anti-chamber and all around. Eight, then ten, then fifteen then more than twenty, all in quick succession randomly deposited about the space: in front of her, behind her, on all sides.

She could hear the cries of the other girls as they were either subdued or manhandled to the floor by long faced antagonists. And after what was a short struggle Gwen found herself tied, gagged and bundled in a corner with her fellow wranglers whilst the McBanks pondered how to open the Scuttle Chamber and release Offo and gain their main prize.

The guards of course, including Paw, were where they had been lain out by the eel-wranglers, still ridiculously dressed as if for a party. The McBanks having examined them and found them to be seemingly unconscious by the wranglers hands knew better than to mess with unction's of the Guild and were content to leave them where they lay for now.

Which was why they had not noticed, that whenever their backs were turned, one of the guards was moving. Just an inch at a time away from the pile and towards the nearest exit tunnel. It was Paw.



Petty bounded up the spiralling rough steps and took one of two branching tunnels at the top that were rough cut into the stone work, passages broke off on either side, he went straight on ignoring them, heading ever upwards and ascending stairs whenever he crossed them until finally he knew by the colouring of the stone that he was on the same level as the Scuttle Chamber.

If his memory served him there were a series of anti-chambers along this corridor and a long hall which was used for storing old furniture, long forgotten about and left to mould and spiders, beyond that a door and then into the Keep proper and the main access chamber between the inhabited parts of the Keep and the Scuttle Chamber itself.

Distantly he thought he heard muffled cries as he pressed on, passing through the deep shadows and slanting beams of light that fell from high, narrow slit windows cut in the the outer rock, and which illuminated the heaped forms of ancient furniture draped in equally ancient and dusty cloth.

A breeze blew chill through here at ankle level and blew up his kilt sending shivers up his spine as he approached the door at the far end. This room had always scared him as a child with its cold air ruffling the sheets that hung over everything so that they billowed occasionally as if things alive but unseen moved beneath them in the half light.

He paused, he thought he had heard a cry from beyond the door, dulled by the woods thickness and the heavy absorbent stone of the Keep and wondered if it was just the thought of his childhood fears of things under the sheets playing silly buggers with his mind.

He thought he heard something again, dull and distant and decided the only way to be sure would be to open the door and look. So he did.

On the other side was, as he had expected, the adjoining corridor to the Chamber and standing in it over the body of a McTyrant guard with bloody swords were three McBanks who all looked up at and stared at him, which he had not being expecting.

Petty slammed the door shut again and gulped in the dark.

“Bollocks!” he thought.



It was Gwen from her restrained prone position bundled with her fellow wranglers who noticed Paw had moved. And not just a little either, he had managed several feet of careful crawling and was now three quarters of the way to the closest exit. She marvelled firstly that the McBanks had not noticed and secondly that he was moving at all, given he should still be suffering the effects of the wranglers art.

The first question was answered by observation. It wasn't just that Paw timed his movements to when no eyes were turned his way, he moved so little each time that the incremental gaps went unnoticed, but the accumulative effect was that he was nearly out. She had no answer however to the second question but had to admire his constitution at the least. If the guard could get out and raise the alarm early enough, before Offo could be freed there was perhaps still a chance they would all get out of this alive yet.



Ringo had managed to reign Norc in somewhat from her initial blood hungry zeal and convinced her that if they were to stand any chance at all a somewhat quieter approach was needed.

The room they had been in was in a corridor which led directly to the main halls of the Keep at one end and at the other joined a t-junction which to the left would lead to the Scuttle Chamber.

Ringo had taken the lead with his crossbow fitted and drawn, he had given a second smaller hand-crossbow to Norc who held it loosely and disinterestedly in her hand. And carefully they made their way towards the junction.

Ringo peered round and darted his head back and pointed down the corridor leading towards the Scuttle Chamber and held up two fingers to Norc who nodded, then Ringo pointed down at his own crossbow and then at hers and made a give me gesture, she nodded again.

Carefully Ringo leant fractionally out round the corner and prepared to take his shot. He knew the instinctive reaction of the one he did not shoot would be to turn to his fallen comrade then upon seeing the bolt to spin round and see where it had come from. Ringo had the time it would take for him to spin round to switch bows and move position.

He fired the first shot and one of the McBanks went down in a crumpled heap, as predicted his companion turned in horror towards his fallen kinsman as Ringo dropped his crossbow and Norc placed the second smaller one in his hands, then rising up and running out in to the corridor, rapidly closing down the distant as he needed to do with the smaller weapon, he fired. Just as the McBanks spun round his tall face anxious and then falling in calamity as it was met by a crossbow bolt coming the other way.

The McBanks went down with the quivered bolt still protruding from the centre of his enormous forehead.

“Nice shooting,” Norc complemented, “but you might have left me something to fucking kill,” she looked down at the precision of the shots, “ever taken down a troll? Shoot the bastards between the eyes, you'd be good at it.”

“Duckin' and divin' oan the streets aw Glesgea against aw the worst crabbit buckied nutter scum o' Scotshobbitland is worse than oany troll,” Ringo commented dryly,”Un better practise.”

“So where the fuck now, the Scuttle Chamber?”

“It'll be full o' McBanks,” Ringo replied.

“I fucking know!” Norc said her eyes gleaming as she took her axe firmly in her hands but just then, from the opposite end of the corridor from the scuttle chamber came the sound of a heavy slamming door and the running of feet.

“Quick, git back!” Ringo said snatching up his fallen crossbow and he and Norc ran back down the corridor from where they had come and waited to see who would go by as Ringo reloaded and Norc fingered the edge of her axe in impatient anticipation.




Petty ran back from the door, which he had no means of locking and tried to think what to do. The room was too large to out run them, he would not be half way to the other door before they were in. He considered blocking the door with the furniture, but most of it was huge and ancient, he was not sure on his own he could even move it.

But already he had frozen in pondering to long, the McBanks were at the door. In growing horror at what he was doing and even greater growing fear he darted to the nearest and largest of the shrouded shapes and ducked under the sheets his childhood imagination had populated with things with tentacles, goo and far too many teeth. He did it with his eyes closed.

He held his breath and slowly, half expecting to see writhing tentacles and glistening teeth staring back he eased open one cautious fearful bloodshot eye. There were no tentacled monsters just musty dimness and cobwebs, but he could hear the McBanks, they were in the room now.

He opened the other eye. The light was almost non-existent beneath the drape of white cloth, which, squinting back over his shoulder seemed to be draped over an ancient wardrobe which his back was pressed against, one door was slightly ajar.

He heard distinctly the cautious approaching foot falls of the McBanks and then they stopped and he heard a muffled discussion and then a cry.

Petty panicked. Had they discovered him already? How? He looked about him to see if some part of him was extruding and that was when he noticed his footprints in the thick dust of the floor. His great muckle hob-nailed boot prints were clear, even in the poor light under the shroud.

The guards just walked through the room they did not wander off into it. Petty realised his solo trail of prints would be obvious and lead them right to him, about any second...now!

He panicked again and just as the three McBanks reached the wardrobe and grasped the drape to pull it aside Petty slipped desperately into the furniture. It was pitch black in there and he gingerly tiptoed back as far he could go, expecting at any moment to feel the solid wood of the back of the wardrobe. But he did not as the wardrobe it turned out no longer had one.

Fumbling backwards in the dark Petty fell clean out of it and into the other end of the drape which wrapped around him as he tumbled backwards and snagged on a carved wooden horn at the very top of the wardrobe.

He yelped in distress and in a surge of sheer panic drove forward, the sheet entirely entwining his head and upper torso. The wardrobe tipped dangerously with him as he pulled, teetering over him as the McBanks on the other side staring through the wardrobe wondered what on earth was going on.

Then there was a ripping sound and the sheet tore around the carved horn releasing Petty who catapulted forwards towards the open door still engulfed in half of the sheet.

The wardrobe swung back violently, rocked then tipping over far enough to fall into the grip of gravity it keeled over entirely back towards the three McBanks.

Two escaped its fall and one went down under it with a cry and a painful crunching noise.

Petty rebounded out the door with a chant of “Oh bollocks! Oh bollocks! Oh bollocks!” and running completely blind and in a state now of complete and utter panic he careered of the walls bouncing straight down the corridor leading directly to the Scuttle Chamber.


Norc and Ringo watched as a short figure, or possibly a ghost, in a white sheet ran past the junction shouting “oh bollocks!” repeatedly, which in Ringo's mind probably ruled out ghost, and was shortly followed by two very angry McBanks in pursuit who fortunately were so intent on their prey they did not even look up the corridor towards their hiding place.

“What the fuck is going on?” Norc asked with a puzzled frown.

“Eru kens,” Riugo replied with a shrug, “lets follow thum an' see.”



Paw had made it, painfully, carefully, cautiously, calculatedly inch by inch he had crawled incrementally to within escaping distance of the exit. All he had to do now was leap to his feet, charge down the tunnel before any of the McBanks in the Chamber could react to stop him. Then all he need do was to raise the alarm before the McBanks found a way to release Offo and the Scuttle from the Chamber.

It was all going to be in the timing and Paw with incredible patience and skill picked his moment perfectly. Suddenly leaping up from his prone position and into a fierce burst of speed which would have carried him easily and safely into the confines of the corridor.

Would have done that is if he had not instead collided full on almost the instant upon standing with Petty draped in a dusty white sheet running at full speed the other way shouting “oh bollocks!”

The McTyrants went down in a flurry of cloth and swearing and flaying limbs and were almost instantly surrounded by McBanks and joined by the two others who had been in close pursuit.

Petty was dragged aside and eventually, as he insisted on thrashing , cursing, kicking and generally making life difficult for the McBanks, was unravelled from the cloth.

“Petty?!” Paw exclaimed in bewilderment, “whit are yi daein' here yi daft bastard?”

“Um,” Petty looked round at the circle of tall McBanks faces staring unfriendly at them, “I came to warn yi sumwan wis trying tae steal the Scuttle,” he managed trying to avoid Paw's gaze.

“Oh wull cheers, thanks fur that son,” Paw said graciously and quietly then roared, “because I wid nuver huv FUCKING guessed otherwise!”

Petty struggled weakly as he was manhandled and searched by the McBanks which produced the key. Petty didn't dare catch Paws eye as beaming widely the key was tested in the lock of the Scuttle Chamber and with a heavy clunk unlocked the door.

The door swung back to reveal Offo behind all his men cautiously expecting McTyrants outside, when Offo saw it was instead his fellow clansmen he pushed his way through and greeted them warmly.

Behind him emerged his men and with them Figg.

“Gingerlocks!” Petty cried in delight and without thinking.

“Petty?” she responded in amazement, “what are you doing here?”

Petty did not respond but simply stared at her, “what are you doing here?” she asked again and when he still just stared she put her hands on her hips in her customary manner of annoyance.

And that was just it, she had hips. If Petty had been asked to physically describe Figg he would have said that she had a bonny freckled face with a shock of long wild ginger hair, steel blue eyes and full red lips and a frown that could bore through solid rock. And there it would have ended because the only description he had for the rest of Figg was- 'bustle shaped'. And now here she was before him in tight fitting leather and,Petty was flustered.

“Well?” Figg cried, “what are you staring at?”

“Curves,” he managed in a croak.

“What?” Figg said arching an annoyed eyebrow to join her annoyed hands on hips.

“You curve,” Petty tried to explain further making vague gestures in the air with his hands trying to indicate the fact that for the first time in his life he was being confronted by the fact that Figg had hips and a swelling bosom he had hitherto failed to consider existed, “Um,” he managed to add to his wisdom so far going bright red to the tips of his ears.

Figg stared at him then looked down at herself in her skin tight leather cat-burglar outfit, “Oh,” she said in dawning comprehension and a sudden sense of exposure. She took her hands off her hips, “that's it first chance I get I am getting my bloody bustle back!” she said just as Offo cried to his clansman, “Kinsmen o' the Sacred Jelly. A'll no furgit this, but wi need tae find the Ambassador, bit tull me first Seamus, how in aw o' Forumshire did yi get the key back aefter yon treacherous wee sassenach Gingerliocks threw it doon the lavvy pan?”

Petty looked at Figg his face falling as she turned to him, “oh you didn't?” she hissed and Petty winced.

“Yon ragged smelly wee McTyrant hud it oan him, ran right tae us wi it inaw,” Seamus replied smiling and pointing at Petty.

“You let them out?” Figg roared, “you bloody idiot Petty!”

“Aye,” Paw chimed in in agreement.

“A wis trying tae save the scuttle!” Petty protested.

“What by bringing them the key to it?” Figg retorted, “didn't you think when I threw it away there was a damn good reason for it? You complete clot!”

“A fogoat A hud it oan me,” Petty defended.

“You forgoat?!” Figg exclaimed mocking his accent, “how could you forget that?”

“A huv a bad memory when folk ur chasing me an' trying tae kill me!”

“Yu've a shit memory at the best o' times son,” Paw chipped in unhelpfully, “yi'd furget yi're ain baws if yi wernae carryin' them aboot in a wee bag.”

“Paw!” Petty protested.

“Quiet!” Offo barked and then seizing the two scuttles he held them up to Paw, “Why twa?” Paw stared silently back at him, “aw right, which is the real wan?” again stony silence,” naw that it matters, wi'll jist take them baith tae be sure,” Offo turned from Paw to address Seamus, “we need tae coordinate the men aroon the Keep an' secure oor positions. I want this Keep searched. We huv tae find Ambassador Amarie's quarters or we dinnae huv a way oot o' here, and we huv tae find her afore the alarm is raised. Cum oan! Lets git tae it.”

He pointed to the still prone guards sleeping off the wranglers unctions, “run them threw where they lie,” he ordered with a dark smile then he turned to Gwen and the wranglers, “We dinnae want oany trouble wi' the Guilds,” he said, and turning to Figg and the others instructed, “throw thum aw in there,” he pointed to the Scuttle Chamber, “an' lock the door,” he suddenly reached out and grabbed Figg by her hair, “dinnae worry Gingerlocks, I'll be back for yi an yir friends afore A leave,” and threw her through the chamber door where she fell heavily to the floor. Petty struggled angrily in the grasp of his captors but futility, “Noo find me that Ambassador!” Offo cried.




“That's it,” Ringo said as he heard Offo giving the orders, “we cannae fight aw of them sagas or no bloody sagas.”

“Why the fuck not?” Norc retorted indignantly.

“Fur a start wi dinae even ken how many o' them there ur, an' wi dinane ken wi're they aw ur, we huv tae get backup.”

Norc tossed her axe restlessly from hand to hand, “Fuck! Fine, lets go get help, but then we start killing some of these bastards.”

They hurried back along towards the junction, just in time as the McBanks began to move out behind them from the chamber, but unfortunately the corridor ahead was no longer empty, a group of six McBanks were coming down it right towards them.

“This is more fucking like it!” Norc cried gleefully as Ringo raised his crossbow.

The first McBank went down with a bolt in his chest before they had closed half the distance. Ringo cast aside his crossbow and drew his sword even as Norc careered seemingly wildly into the group, slashing to her right with her axe in one hand and taking half a tall skull with it, and swinging low with her other hand holding a short bladed knife which embedded in the belly of the McBanks on her left. That took care of half the group in the opening flurry but the remaining three were prepared now and the fighting that followed was hard and in the confines of the corridor longer than they needed.

The sounds of battle had raised the alarm in Offo's group following and the first of them came hurrying round the corner weapons in hands.

Ringo dispatched his opponent and turned to see the McBanks flooding towards them, he grabbed Norc by the scruff of her collar as she duelled violently with the two remaining opponents and pulled her away through her protests and continued attempts to hack at McBanks, parrying with his sword as they retreated. Norc struggled from his grasp and threw her blade striking the last of the original group in the forehead sending him crumpling to the ground even as his kinsmen leaped over his body in pursuit of them.

They fled along the corridor which led to a large hallway from which all the main rooms of the Keep could be reached but the Main Hall, which was below them at the foot of a broad set of stairs was filled with McBanks , the few remaining courtiers and guards who had not gone to the casino easily over powered, and now the triumphant McBanks were ransacking the throne room.

Looking back over their shoulder they could see the pursuit close behind and darting down a side passage they turned into a short corridor which led to a spiral staircase and with no other option they took to the stairs, bounding up them two at a a time.

They raced round corner after corner, going up floor after floor with no exit and the sound of pursuit on the stairs close behind until finally Norc had to turn axe in hand and hack viciously and gleefully at the leading McBanks who pressed to close before they could continue again, their pursuers more wary in their pursuit now.

Eventually the cold air of night blew against their face and they emerged atop a tall tower, a bell hung there on a rope.

“An alarum bell!” Ringo cried gleefully and leapt for the rope as Norc took the top step and began to hack as McBanks tried to storm the top of the stairs, “Any time about fucking now would be good,” she shouted back to Ringo as he began to ring the bell.

Loud and clear it peeled out over the Keep and courtyard below, and within moments it was taken up by other bells in parts of the Keep yet unsullied by the McBanks presence, and soon in the town all abound bells were ringing too. The alarm was up.

Ringo turned round to find a grinning blood soaked Norc, behind her the stairwell was blocked with a pile of gooey bodies and bits of bodies, “I think they've given the fuck up,” she said wiping a blood smeared hand across her face which just smeared more blood on herself, then her eyes widened, “Oh fuck!” she said staring out over Ringo's right shoulder, “No! Fucking no! Do you see what I fucking see?”

“Whit?” Ringo said spinning round, and looking down at the courtyard expecting to see a whole army of McBanks, “whit?”

“Not there,” Norc said impatiently, pointing out to sea, “fucking there.”

Ringo stared out the dark sea where among the white crests of the waves beneath the pale moon a small fleet of red sailed longships was approaching.

“Its my fucking Dad.”




In the Casino Lance was down and all but out. One hand, one hand remained. He had lost every last one leading up to this, but if only he could keep this one hand he could play at least one more game. And he needed to, something clearly had gone wrong, Amarie had still not returned.

He looked down at his hand. A two/four and a blank/one. It was a good hand especially as there was a four on the table waiting to be matched with, if the Chief did not first that was, as it was the Chiefs go. He had three dominoes remaining.

The odds so far were in Lances favour, for about the only time that night. The Chief grunted and then with great annoyance chapped the table with one of his dominoes and Lance placed the two/four domino in its place leaving him just one to play and finally win a hand.

The Chief looked down at the table and then placed a two/blank on the end- it was exactly what Lance needed to get rid of his last domino and claim the game.

Which was exactly when all the alarm bells began to ring.

The Chief looked up in surprise demanding “Whit the hell is going oan?” as the guards dragged themselves to attention and left the buffet tables. Suddenly courtiers who had real jobs rather than just looking good at Court were all business and people were coming and going from the Casino in search of answers. Even the bagpipe band finally, mercifully for Lance, ceased their playing in a slow wind down of screeches.

“Well?” the Chief demanded getting to his feet.

“Um, what about the game old chap?” Lance said hopefully on the verge of placing his final domino and at least wining some small part of his money back.

An attendant ran up out of breath, “Great Chief,” he panted, “it seems the McBanks are attacking.”

The Chiefs eyes widened and a hubbub of voices swept round the casino, “Thur attacking the toon?”

“No, they are in the town, they are in the Keep!” the attendant cried and the hubbub of voices got even louder, “we think they may be after the Scuttle.” Now the hubbub was a raging roar.

“Impossible!” the Chief cried, “How cud they git inside the Keep withoot first getting inside the toon? And we wud ken if they hud dun that.” He paused then pivoted slowly round to face Lance, “unless o' course they hud sum ootside help tae get thum inside.”

“Now,” Lance said raising a hand, “I have ben here with you all night in good faith.”

“Aye, an wurs yir wee Ambassador friend got tae?” He rounded to the assembled court, “no McBanks Is taking oor Keep or stealing oor Scuttle. Anyone, not a McTyrant found within the Keepo is tae be killed oan sight!”

A second attendant as equally out of breath as the first arrived and spoke briefly to the first attendant in heaving breaths, “We appear to be under attack from Vikings,” he said to the Chief.

“Vikings? No, McBanks,” the Chief said frowning.

“Yes Chief, McBanks, and now Vikings too apparently. They are landing at the beach and storming the Keep.”

“Whit?” the Chief said flabbergasted, “fine, we fight them an aw if thuts how they wunt it. Kill everyone not in McTyrant tartan!” he cried, “understood?”

“What about the Ambassador, “ Lance interjected worriedly, “surely you re not going to kill her, are you? Not really sporting I mean, not cricket.”.

“She hus diplomatic immunity,” The Chief spat, “but A wun her found an' taken and brought tae me,” he glanced at Lance, “Fur her ain protection.”

Then leading his men the Chief, his court and al his guards left the casino, leaving Lance sitting all but alone at the domino table with an empty sack and a sense of impending dread.


In the Scuttle Chamber Figg stared at the door as it was slammed and locked behind them. She turned to Petty, “Great. Nice one Petty,” she remarked, “worst rescue ever. Now I'm locked in here, again and it's your fault and we've no way out.”

“That's noo quite true,” Paw interjected lifting up the privy seat,”thurs the way yi came.”

“Oh no, not again!” Figg said wrinkling up her nose.

“Dinnae worry lass, yi'll no be dain it alone this time, Petty is goan way yi.”

Gingerloccks and the Three Crabbit Scotshobbits has come a long way....

Paw stood in exasperation arms folded across his chest. Petty and Figg were fighting.

“I'm going down first!” Figg was insisting, “I am not having you staring up at my behind,” she added firmly and definitely.

“Wull A'm noo goin' secomd, A'm the wan in a kilt wi nuttin' unner it,” Petty argued back.

Figg glanced down at Petty's kilt, “Nothing?” she queried, “as in nothing at all?”

“Nuttin'” Petty confirmed, “oany lassies and sassenach wear yon mucky pant things.”

Figg considered this again, “Fine, you can go first,” she said changing her mind, considering even the possibility of an accidental glance up Petty's kilt as she climbed to be a risk too far, “But if I see you looking up even once, I'll kick you so hard, right in the nose! And stop staring at me!” she added putting her hands on her hips, which in the skin tight catsuit were most definitely now clearly present and correct and which was not helping Petty. His jaw fell slackly open.

Petty gulped, closing his mouth, “A'm noo starin',” he protested, “A'm....looking,” he managed.

There was something about the combination of her stance, with her hands on what were Petty could not deny her developing curves, and of which she seemed to have quite a lot, and the juxtaposition with her expression, which could be best described as thunderous.  For some odd reason it made him want to run through fields picking her flowers. Why he had no idea.

“Um,” he added and was saved by the heavy, large and hairy at the knuckled hand of Paw on his shoulder pulling him aside.

“Noo listen son,” Paw began in a low whisper, “mind, get oot, go straight tae the Casino an' warn the Chief, goat it?”

“Aye.”

“An' son.”

“Aye Paw.”

“Try noo tae make a complete arse o' it.”

“Right Paw.”

Paw put both his hands on Petty's shoulders and his voice dropped even lower into a husky whisper, “efter that go back tae the museum. Yi ken yon wi secret cupboard?”

“The wan yi kep yer buckie in whun yir supposed tae be oan duty?”

“Shhh!” Paw hissed, “Aye, well thurs a false bottom, go in it and get the spare key fer this room, yi'll need it.”

“Thurs a spare key?!” Petty blurted in shock.

“Yi want a megaphone wi that son there's cunts in Ozhobbitson never heard yi,” and for good measure he clipped Petty round the ear which went red and stung immediately, “o' course thurs a spare, centuries o' buckied guards yi thunk wi've ne'er lost the key afore noo? Usually it turns up doon the back o' a chair or summwan accidentally ate it, but there's aw'ways a spare. So go un get it! An' Petty son, an' a cannae believe am huving tae ask this o' yi,  yi o' aw folk, but son, wi need tae get they scuttles back, summhow, yi huv tae git thum back an' return thum here, afore oanywan else sees um. Baith o' thum, it's goat ta be baith. If yi daen't oor name is ruined an' wi wull be struck frae the clan an' nae longer be able tae call oorsels McTyrants.”

Petty gulped at the weight of this, and of the seemingly impossible task now of recovering the scuttles from Offo. “Right Paw,” he said nodding uncertainly and then feeling this was not quite enough added, “A'll no let yi or Maw doon Paw.”

“That wull be a first son. Noo go, get yirsel doon that shite shute and save yir family reputation frae ruin.”





Lance sat with his head on the dominoes table, his empty bag next to him. His career was over. He had lost the Queens money, he was in debt to the Dark Planet, the Ambassador had seemingly abandoned him, and the McBanks would most likely have the scuttle by now. If there was a way this night could have gone any worse he could not think of it.

He heard the sound of the footfalls approaching the table but was so despondent he did not even bother lifting his head. He did not have too as rough large hands seized him and dragged him to his feet, “Chief wunts a word wi yi” a stern voice said and he was dragged unceremoniously from the Casino and down the steps and across the square which led to the broad main stairs up to the Keep up which he was led, equally roughly stumbling on the steps as he went and was finally deposited at the top where the Chief of the McTyrants and several hundred of his men were crammed in the confines of the courtyard before the Keep.

He noted that a McBanks flag flew from the window on the right side of the Keep. And with an arched eyebrow he equally noted approaching from sea a large fleet of long boats filled with Vikings.

The huge rounded bulk of the Chief homed into view, parting his men in a similar manner to that of a huge boulder cascading down a mountainside through trees.

“Yi!” he said pointing a pudgy finger under Lance's nose, “Wi ken yi're noo a business mun, wi hud yi pegged fir a conman at first, thought yi'd try tae sell us Londonshire Bridge oor summitt. Then when yi asked fir a high stakes game at the casino wi had yi pegged as trying tae game us, thought wi'd rumble yir game the night. But yi're no that either are yi? cus a conman widnae be that shite at dominoes.”

“Is there a point to this summarization?” Lance enquired wearily.

“Oh aye, thurs a point awright,” the Chief said drawing out his dagger and holding the point at Lance's throat. “cause it seems tae me thut its wan hell o' a coincidence that yi wunt a big game, bring me an' maist o' ma men oot the Keep, oan the wan night the McBanks huve  a secret way in. And Viking choose tae attack!” the Chief roared waving his pudgy arm at the shore, “sae tell me, Lance, gie me wan gud reason why I shudnae jist rip yi open and deep fry yir innards and huve sassenach fer ma tea!”

“Well,” Lance replied tensely, “apart from the obvious health reasons would it make any difference if I told you that I was neither conman nor trying to game you, but rather here under direct orders of Her Majesty Queen Tinuviel.”

The Chief hesitated.

“If I may?” Lance said moving one hand carefully into his jacket and pulling out a folded document which he handed to the Chief.

The Chief began to read it and his face fell, he lowered the dagger, “So who ur yi really?”

“I am exactly what you need right now,” Lance said smiling and drawing the Chiefs glance down towards the closing Vikings as the Chief finished the letter.

“Yi're a diplomat.”

“Yes,” Lance lied smoothly.

“Thut disnae explain why yi drew us oot the night, did yi ken this was going tae happen?”

“What I do or do not know is for the Queen to know and her alone,” Lance replied tersely and he hoped enough to stop further questions that might lead to who actually stole the scuttles, something he felt the Chief most definitely did not need to know the truth of, “right now what you need is someone to strike a deal with those Vikings. And in my experience those chaps can be rather exuberant once they start, and its so much easier to find a diplomatic compromise to a situation before they are trying to chop your bally head off with an axe, do you not find? Shall we begin gentlemen?”  Lance said confidently stepping away from the Chief and his men and in the direction of the docks. And wondering if there might be a tiny chance to salvage something of his career yet. Assuming the Vikings did not just kill him off course.




“If you are looking up! I warn you!” Figg shouted downwards into the dark of the tube where she could hear Petty panting as he edged his way down the latrine.

“A'm nooo looking up!” Petty's voice echoed hollowly back at her, “whit wud be the point? Yir dressed in black in a black lavvie on a black night. A cunnae see ma ain hands let alone yir arse.” He was he had to admit slightly disappointed at this state of affairs himself as he had reckoned a kick in the face was probably a worthwhile trade off.

They continued their awkward descent for several more minutes in near silence save for their exertions, until finally they could feel the cold night air gathering in the chute as they neared its end and emerged out onto the cracked granite cliff-face.

Bells were ringing.

“Hear that?” Figg cried as they began the climb down towards the trees, “someone already raised the alarm.”

Petty clambered carefully downwards, Figg followed and then glancing to her right over the tops of the trees she saw beneath the pale moonlight the sails of the longboats on the sea.

“Vikings!” she said in surprise.

“Whir?!” Petty said nearly slipping from the cliff in panic and looking downwards in fear.

“I can see their boats coming into the harbour.”

“Whit? A Viking raiding party, here?” he craned his neck to see,  “It cannae be! Thud huve tae be oot their heeds.”

“Maybe they are working with the McBanks?” Figg suggested as she continued to follow Petty's descent.

“Thur Vikings. They didnae work wi oanywan. They turn up, charge oot their boats, set everything oan fire an' pillage, plunder an' the other thing.”

Figg paused in her in climb, “What other thing?” she said carefully.

“Yi ken,” Petty replied.

“No,” Figg said gritting her teeth, “I don't bloody well ken. No one will tell me, so you will or I'll stamp on your bloody head.”

“A thought everywan kenned it,” Petty replied, “it's, yi ken, whit they dae wi...lassies.”

“Is it the same thing people in love do that no one will tell me about?” Figg asked suspiciously.

“Aye, at least A think sae,” Petty replied uncertainly.

“So,” Figg went on as patiently as she could, “what exactly is is they do with the lassies?”

“Sing them a song, gie them flooers, and then ask their permission tae marry thum and if they say aye, they taik thum back wi thum tae Fjordialand wire they live happily ever efter.”

“Really?” Figg said surprised and disappointed, “are you sure? Doesn't seem very, Viking.”

“That's whit Maw telt me,” Petty shrugged and continued to climb.

Petty reached the ground first and automatically turned to look up in the dark to check Figg's progress and was met with a rock coming the other way, thrown by her and with the accompanying message of  “eyes down!”

They peered cautiously out from the trees, the road beyond was busy.  McTyrants, in response to the alarm had risen from their beds, pub stools and gutters and were streaming, or staggering, or weaving, or vomiting their way towards the front of the Keep armed with whatever had first come to hand.

“Well what now?” Figg asked sticking to the dark of the shadows.

“We stick tae Paw's plan, wi go an' get the Chief.”

“What for?”

“Whit dae yi mean whit fir?”

“Well the alarm is already raised, so we don't need to raise it do we?” she pointed out, “but you know how to get us back in the Keep don't you?”

Petty hesitated, “Why would we want tae dae that?”

Figg stalked past him, “Because I am going to get my bustle back.”

“Whit!” Petty exclaimed running after her, “yi want tae go into a keep full of armed McBanks, and about tae be sieged by McTyrants, tae git yir bustle?”

“Yes,” Figg said firmly.

“Yi're bloody mad!”

“I am not going about in public dressed like this. People can see my...,” she hesitated, “people can see me!”

“People cud see yi afore,” Petty pointed out.

“Not this much of me!” Figg insisted, “now can you get us in or not?”

“Aye,” Petty admitted reluctantly, “but we need tae stop aff oan the way fir a key.”





“So what the fuck do we do now?” Norc asked peering over the edge of the Keep wall at the courtyard below which was filling up with McTyrants streaming up the stairs only to find the keeps huge doors heavily barred against them.

Ringo stopped swinging on the bell rope, there was no need now the clamour was up and bells still rang out not just around the keep itself but distantly and near throughout the town. He looked around in the dark of the night at the trails of torch light that marked the gathering crowds.

“A'm goanna dae whit A'm here tae dae,” he said with a firm nod.

“And what the fuck is that?”

“A'm supposed tae arrest whoever stole the scuttle, an' thut's exactly whit A'm goannie dae.”

“Your going to arrest Offo? Just us two? I thought I was the crazy fucking one here?”

“Noo, not Offo, he never stole it originally.”

“You mean those fucking eel-wranglers we saw? But we don't know where the fuck they are?”

“So we dae whit yi always dae whin thurs been a theft then,” Ringo said pushing passed her and kicking one of the dead McBanks bodies out the way down the stairwell.

“And what the fuck would that be then?”

“We investigate the crime scene.”

“The scuttle chamber?” Norc said surprised eye brow raised, “it might still be full of McBanks.”

“Thun thats wur yi come in.”

Norc grinned at him and unsheathed her axe, kissed him wetly on the cheek and said, “you always get me the best fucking gifts,” and with a whoop of delight charged down the stairs and Ringo followed.





Petty, perched somewhat precariously on a chair in a small cupboard like room at the back of the museum, stretched up and felt the base of the secret cupboard. He was searching for the catch that would reveal the secret bottom and the spare key to the Scuttle Chamber. A buckie bottle clinked as it fell on its side bumped by his roving hand.

Whilst he was doing this Figg was continuing to explain what had happened to her after her sale, and just as Petty smirked at a satisfying click from the cupboard she got to the bit of the tale where she stole the scuttle. Petty promptly fell off the chair.

“Yi did whit?!!”

“We were going to put it back!”

“Let me get this straight,” Petty said getting up from the floor and rubbing his arm, “yi, yi, stole the most sacred relic o' the McTyrants, and then yi wire jist going tae put it back? An' um meant tae believe that um A?”

“Yes,” Figg insisted, “look I didn't have a choice, Lance..”

“The fella that bought yi and jist happened by chance tae be some sort o' unnercover agent?” Petty interrupted doubtfully.

“Yes,” Figg said putting her hands on her hips in annoyance at being doubted, “he is on some mission from the Queen...”

“Ooh the Queen?!” Petty exclaimed interrupting again and then seeing the serious look and thin line of Figg's set mouth said, “whit, the Queen?” he made a gesture in the air as of someone swinging a golf-club.

“Yes, that bloody Queen,” Figg went on in annoyance.

“Of course. An' whit wid the Queen want wi the McTyrant's scuttle?”

“She doesn't want it, I told you we were going to put it back. Don't you listen? All they wanted to do was test it somehow to see if it was the real thing. But no one expected there to be two of them.”

“Naw, naebody expected that,” Petty hesitated a moment in thought, “except Paw,” he added, which was true it was just that up till now there had not been time to notice that he had noticed that.

“Anyway, we got the scuttle, Gwen and the eel-wranglers took it to be tested...”

“The eel-wranglers wur in oan this tae?! Why not?! Everyone else seems tae be!”

“Yes,” Figg said in exasperation, “would you pleases stop interrupting me! And when they brought it back they said one was real, one was fake and then booof! McBanks everywhere.”

“Boof!”

“They just sort of appeared out of big black holes in the air. And, well you know the rest. And that is why we are going to find my bustle.”

“It is?” Petty said quizzically scratching his head.

“Yes, because there is one other person in all this I haven't told you about yet?”

“Who?”

“The person who tested the scuttles, an Ambassador staying here in the Keep. She might be able to help. Its also where I left my bustle. So stop gawking, get back up on that chair and find that key and lets get going before we are caught.”






Ringo and Norc, much to Norc's disappointment met little resistance on the way down to the level of the scuttle chamber. The McBanks had mainly been put to more important tasks, manning the main doors in and out, and placed at various windows overlooking the courtyard below.

Those groups Offo had assigned to the search for the Ambassador, as many as he could spare in fact from the defences, they managed to avoid by sticking to the back passageways and the thin narrow staircases normally only used by the servants.

The time it took them had given Ringo a chance to formulate a plan of attack, to devise his strategy carefully for their assault upon the scuttle chamber.

In the end it did not matter what he had planned as Offo, needing his men more elsewhere had left only two remaining guards. And Norc, who was already disappointed at the lack of carnage on route did not give them much time to respond, leaping in and charging down one with a mighty blow before the other had managed to organise their sword.

Norc paused, stepped back and lowered her weapon, “Oh for fucks sake!” she said at the long pale face of the McBanks, “take your fucking time why don't you? Can't anyone in here at least give me a fucking fight?!”

Sensing this was maybe bravado, and never being more wrong in what was now is short life, the McBanks smiled, raised his sword and said, “I'll give yi a fight wee la....” his tall grinning head said as it left his neck, “...ssie...”it finished as it rolled on the ground and the body pumping a crescent of bright red blood slumped to the ground.

“Well he was a fucking disappointment,” Norc observed lowering her axe.

There was a dull banging from the scuttle chamber door and paw's voice called through it “Hullo oot there! Anywan thur?”

Ringo strode over to the door and found it was locked fast, “the doors locked, thur disnae appear tae be a key,” he informed the rooms occupants, “cun yi tell me are thur representatives o' the eel-wranglers guild in thur?”

There was a long pause then a female voice said, “I speak for the Eel-wranglers, what do you want?”

“Whits yir name?”

Whose asking?” cam the cautious reply.

“A um Ringo McRotten of the Glesgie Constabulary, and A'm sorry to inform yi that A um here tae arrest yi oan suspcion o' stealing the Coal Scuttle o' the McTyrants. Oanything yi say, or the Glesgae Constabulary says yi said, can, and maist definitely will be used agin yi in a Court o' Oor Law.”

There was another long pause and Norc stared at him, “Seriously? You are fucking doing this now?”

“If yi wunt the person who stale the scuttle yi've goat the wrang lassie,” Paw's voice said through the thick door, “she didnae dae it.”

“Then who did?” Ringo demanded.

“Gingerlocks,” Paw said and Norc and Ringo stared at each other wide eyed, “if yi ken her, sassenach lass, head o' orange hair like the arse end o' a Highland coo efter a storm. If yi wunt who stole the scuttle, she's the wan.”

“Where the fuck is she?” Norc demanded, concerned for Figg.

“She goat away, wi ma boy Pettty, by noo they shud huv the key tae this dair, if they huvnae been caught yet, if yi want yir arrest Sergeant McRotten first find thum and bring thum here.”





“Look” hissed Petty, creeping up low to the bannister which ran round the upper level of the Main Hall, “they've taken the Hall an' it looks like this whole side o' the Keep. See, thur barricading aff the doors tae the other wing. Thu've noo goat enough men tae hold the whole place doon.”

Figg crept cautiously up beside him and lifted her head just enough to peer over the top and down to the Hall below.

It was full of McBanks, Offo was there, sitting on the McTyrant Chiefs chair giving orders, sending men to secure and defend entrances.

“A'm gonna kill that bastard!” Petty said venomously grinding his teeth at the sigh tof a McBanks in the Chiefs place.

“Remembur,” Offo cried as another large group of long faced McBanks headed out of the Hall, “tap priority is tae find thut Ambassador. Alive. She's oor ticket oot o' here. A wull lead the search o' the upper levels maeself.”

“Come on!” Figg hissed tugging at Petty's sleeve and half walking half crouching back to the corridor behind them, “Did you hear that? We have to get up there now before Offo does.”

Petty nodded grimly and followed wondering what Offo meant by the Ambassador being their way out.



Lance strode confidently down the pier towards its end just as the first of the long boats began to draw into it, its dragon prow looming high over him. He continued to stride confidently, looking confident was a large part of the plan. It got a bit more tricky when huge armed Vikings began to leap from the sides.

The largest of them lumbered towards him, an axe in one hand a brightly painted shield in the other.

“Who are you little man?” the Viking rumbled thickly.

Lance held up a hand, smiled politely and then coughed, “If you would care, gentlemen,” he said very loudly, “to look over my shoulder and towards the courtyard behind me up the slope there,” the Vikings craned their heads on their huge thick necks to see what he was indicating, “you may see several hundred McTyrants already awaiting your arrival. You cannot raid here, pillage plunder, and,” he coughed a particularly small English sort of cough that conveyed acute embarrassment at broaching a subject,” the other thing. Not while the entire massed clan of the McTyrants is ready and waiting for you. Speed and surprise are your weapons, you no longer have either. So who am I you ask?” he said turning to the huge Viking, “I am the person who can solve that problem for you.”

“We did not come to raid the town or fight McTyrants,” the Viking replied, “we came for my daughter, and for the head of the man who took her. Ringo McRotten. Can you get us that, little man?”

Lance sighed, he should have known better, his night could in fact get worse after all.




“That's it,” Figg cried running down the corridor to the large heavy wooden door at its end, “this is it.”

“Yi said that the last three dairs,” Petty moaned traipsing behind her and listening out for the sound of any pursuit behind.

“Yes but I'm sure this time,” Figg replied laying her hand on the door and pushing, it opened with a heavy creak and swung ponderously back, “Not locked.”

Carefully Figg peered in, “My bustle!” she cried in joy, then spotted mewing beside it on the floor her kitten,”um,” she said pulling the door over.

“Whit is it?” petty askjd worried.

“Stay here.”

“Whit?”

“I'm going to change, stay here and guard the door.”

“Whit aboot yon Ambassador, shud we noo find her first?”

“If she is there I'll see her won't I? Now, just stay here and don't come in till I tell you too.”

She slipped in the door and closed it firmly behind her.  Petty shook his head in annoyance and paced outside the door, eventually the door opened again.

Figg was standing there fully attired in her bustle once more with a beaming smile, “Finally I feel properly attired again.”

“Yi look, lovely,” Petty said feeling he aught to say something along those lines even though, personally, he preferred the cat suit, “cun A cum in noo?”

Figg stepped aside and Petty entered into Amarie's rooms. It was dark, there was a single lamp on a table in the centre of the room but it was unlit. A large black raven cawed from the open balcony outside.

Thin drapes billowed in the chill night breeze, the pale moonlight casting long deep shadows into every corner of the room. The fire in the grate was almost out, nothing more than dull orange embers.

“Is she here?” Petty said whispering though there was no reason too.

“Let's find out,” Figg replied with a shrug,. “Ambassador!” she called loudly, “are you hear?”

“Shhhst!” Petty cried, “yi're aff yir heid, dae yi wunt the McBanks tae find us?”

“She doesn't seem to be here,” Figg observed, “lets check the bedroom, light that lamp would you.”

Petty grumbled as he dug about in his shirt pocket for his flint box but eventually managed to strike a long dirty yellow flame on the wick. He closed over the glass door and held up the lamp and walked towards Figg who was by the bedroom door. She went in and gestured with her chin for him to follow with the light, which he did. But the bedroom was likewise devoid of an Ambassador.

“I wonder where she is?” Figg said, “at the very least we should warn her that Offo is after her.”

“Wull thurs nae point hangin' aboot here oany longer,” Petty said, “Offo an' his men wull find thur way up here eventually, un we dinnae wunt tae be here whun he does.”

“Agreed,” Figg nodded and they went back in to the main room. Figg went to the door whilst Petty returned the lamp to its table, dragging the shadows in long dark streaks with him across the wall.

“Do that again,” Figg said frowning and looking at Petty as he sat the lamp on the table.

“Dae whit agin?”

“Walk over there and come back again to the table.”

Petty turned and walked back the way he had come, Figg rolled her eyes, “With the lamp idiot!”

“Wull yi ne'er said that!” Petty humphed and went back and fetched the lamp before repeating his walk, “so whit is it?”

Figg frowned again, she was not sure what it was, something, there was something not right about the shadows. But just then they heard the sound of feet in the corridor outside.

Figg pulled the door open and looked out down the corridor and her gaze met that of Offo at the far end with six of his men behind him.

Offo's eyes bulged and his face went red from bottom to top like a thermometer rising in a volcano, “Gingerlocks!” he cried.

“Oh bugger!” Figg cried in response and slammed the door shut, she desperately tried to lock the door but there was no key for the lock, “its Offo!” she cried to Petty, “we have to hide?”

Petty spun round all directions on the spot, “Whur?”

Offo raced up the corridor his men hard behind him and with a triumphant cry he put his hand on the door knob and threw open the door.

What with Vikings about, and McBankses at the door, and Norc's foul mouth, it's no wonder I can't relax... but Figg does have her bustle back, so I guess there is some hope left....

{{Good to see you are still hanging in there Orwell!   - I do appreciate all those who have stuck it out for the long haul its a become! But this is building to a close I promise, in fact the ending hasn't changed a huge deal since I was about half way thorough the story and had some idea of where it was all heading, bar a few modifying factors along the way, its just taking a lot more pages to actually write it out than I had suspected (my bulletin point notes for the last chapter for example was 1 paragraph of 6 lines- as you can see from above its hard to judge how long that extrapolated out on the page will be.     ) I think 1, 2 chapters at most to the finish!}}}

this is going to take hours to read.

{{Well yes, if you have to begin at the start it will anyway. Its sort of the first unofficial, and typical of here, completely accidental, Forumshire novel- as in a novel written on Forumshire, about Forumshire and its inhabitants. And you are its star- not sure if thats a thing to be proud of or worried about Figg, but its certainly a notable accolade of some sort at least }}

Its certainly exciting If that was me facing Offo & his horrid henchmen I would have guffed myself out the window by now

bite size bite size! do they do bite size in Scotshobbitland?

{{This is the bitesized version! Had I set out to write a novel chapter length would be roughly 20-30 pages- these are half that on average to make them more bitesized! }}}

{{{authors note/apology- first sorry about time this is taken- RL has been both a blessing and a complete bugger of late, I assume its some sort of cosmic balance thing to my crabbit levels up. And secondly though this is technically the last chapter it was way, way too long to post as such so I have split it in two and heres the first bit. }}}





“So? Whit they efter?” the Chief of the McTyrants demanded as Lance made his way back up the slippery dock, the Vikings disembarking behind him and filing up in ranks behind their Chieftain.

“Well there is good news,” Lance replied with a watery smile, “they are not here to fight McTyrants or pillage your town.”

The Chief eyed up the growing ranks of Viking beefcake, heavily armed Viking beefcake, “Wull thur noo here fur a deep-fried haggis supper tae takeawa' ur they?”

Lance had no idea what this meant so ignored it and instead went on, “In fact they are only here to extract the daughter of their Chieftain, whom they have good reason to believe is inside your Keep.”

“Whit gud reason?”

“Someone told them they saw her there.”

“Aye, thut is a gud reason,” the Chief conceded, “well aw gud then, we cun welcome thum in an' use 'em, A mean, ask thum tae help us like deal wi these weasel lang-faced McBanks!”

“There is one small fly in the cucumber sandwiches,” Lance interjected raising a warning hand.

“Thur aw' ways is, is there noo? Sae whit is it?”

“They want the head of the man they believe has taken their Chieftain's daughter, one Ringo McRotten. They are in fact rather keen on that. Very keen one might say.”

“Sae ? Let thum huv his heid an' lets be gettin' oan way it!”

“He is a Sergeant in the Glesgae Constabulary,” Lance added raising an eyebrow.

“Wull, dangerous joab, coppering,” the Chief shrugged, “bad thungs huppen aw the time.”

“And on a secret mission for Her Majesty Queen Tinuviel,” Lance added raising both eyebrows.

“Aw shite!” the Chief sagged, his fat seeming to settle like an over hastily poured trifle.

“Precisely, “ Lance agreed, “it's a bit of a sticky wicket I'm afraid.”

The Chief considered the options arms folded across his huge heaving chest and one hand stroking his chin with a sound like a dead mouse wrapped in sandpaper being dragged through a cat litter tray.

“Tell thum they cun huv Ringo's heid,” the Chief decided.

“I say! What?!” Lance exclaimed.

“We huv tae get intae the Keep first,” the Chief pointed out, “afore they cun cut oanywans heid aff, in the meantime A'd ruther they wis helping us than fighting us, sae dae it!” the Chief ordered waving his hand towards the Vikings.

Lance, with a sense this was going to get messy further down the line turned and walked back down the pier to inform the Vikings they could join the fight and claim Ringo's head.





The Ambassadors room was ransacked. It was the only word for it.

Having charged into the room initially with a triumphant cry, only to find the room dark and empty, Offo had gone on a frenzied rampaging search of the quarters. First to the Ambassadors bedroom and then back into the main living area before going with his men out upon the balcony.

Still turning up nothing he had then ordered his men to search the room by apparently destroying it.

In the main living area the ancient oak dresser had been pulled out from the wall and slammed over onto its face, revealing no one hiding in the small confines behind and spilling the contents out across the floor among splintered wood.

In a pique of tantrum and rage Offo tore down all the drapes only to find nothing but the dark night air behind. Finally they had returned to the bedroom where the sounds of the bed being upended and the wardrobes smashed resonated off the thick stone walls.

All of this had been watched with no little amount of amazement by Petty and Figg.
The main reason for their amazement being that they were in the room.
Pressed in fact into the one of the rooms corners where the shadows were deepest and being held there by Ambassador Amarie against whom they were both tightly backed up to and pressed close to.

Petty looked sideways at Figg as Offo ranted and raved and pulled the place apart searching for them, and Figg looked back with a look on her face as equally mystified as his. Why could Offo and his men not see them? They were right there next to them!

After a final rage in the bedroom Offo and his men returned to the main room stopping no more than a foot from them.

“Yi saw thum?!” Offo cried to one of his men, “didn't yi! Tell me yi saw thum?”

“Wi aw saw thum,” the man reassured.

“Then,” Offo cried wildly clawing his hands down his long head dragging the skin with it, which looked like what would happen if you held a vacuum cleaner below a blood hound's chin, “whir in the name o' aw the jelly ur they!?” he cried spinning around and moving within inches of where Petty, Figg and the Ambassador were, apparently and despite all logic and sense, hiding.

Petty stared. Right before him Offo was standing gesticulating and on his belt hung the scuttles. Tempting. Tantalising. He had no idea why Offo could not see him but it did not matter, all he could think of were his Paw's orders and if he could somehow pull it off that it would finally prove to all, himself included that he was now a man. He took a deep breath. He began to reach out a tentative hand.

Figg saw what he was doing and frowned so fiercely at him her eyebrows nearly met in the middle, but Petty's hand continued to reach out till his fingertips brushed the tarnished metal. Then Offo spun away from him crying, “Thuy cannie jist vanish intae thin air!” leaving Petty's fingers trailing in empty space before Amarie snatched his arm back in close.

“Offo,” one of the men said carefully, “wi huv tae find the Ambassador, this daft wee lassie is naewan.”

“Naewan!” Offo cried, spinning back into Petty's range again as he turned to face his men, “Naewan! She is Gingerlocks! She set yon witch oan us, an' yon evil hound o' Morgoth! That Gingerlocks is a curse tae oor clan! An' she tasks me, she tasks me! An' A shull huv her! A'll chase her roon the jelly mounds of Scoone, roon Big Rabs Hard Rock O' Shame afore A gie her up!” he finished panting heavily with sweat dripping in long, long streaks down the sides of his pendulous face. His men stared at him.

“Whit aboot the Ambassador?”

Offo stirred and snarled then sighing said, “Aye, cum oan lets find the damned Ambassador,” they turned to leave the room, filing out and Offo added, “but A will get Gingerlocks afore wi leave, A will get her. Sumhow.”

The door slammed shut behind them and Petty and Figg breathed a sigh of relief. They waited long enough to hear the footsteps receding then Amarie released them and they sprang away from her.

“How did they noo see us?” Petty demanded staring at the door Offo had gone through, but Figg who had turned round quicker than Petty was quick enough to see the Ambassador emerge out of the blackness of the shadow in the corner before the shadow itself dissolved away around her.

“I knew there was something wrong with that shadow!” Figg cried, “It didn't move when the light hit it, or get smaller. In fact it was just big enough to conceal a person.”

“Three, if two of them are small enough,” Amarie smiled down at her, “people never notice shadows, you have a keen perception.”

“She's jist nosey,” Petty muttered under his breath,then turning to Figg said, “How cums yi ken Offo and the McBanks?”

“I don't have anything to do with the McBanks,” Figg replied haughtily, “and I don't like your insinuation.”

“Whit insinuation?” Petty replied equally haughtily, “A jist wunner how yi ken the swore enemy o' the McTyrants? Cause he certainly seems tae ken yi!”

“See? Insinuation!” Figg said pacing her hands on the hips of her bustle.

“Excuse me but I think we…..” Amarie butted in to no avail.

“Ah jist think A'm well within ma rights unner current circumstances tae wunner whit yi have tae dae wi him?”

“Nothing! Not that I need to tell you anyway if I don't want to.”

“Wull it didnae look like nothing! He wis going mental looking fur yi.”

“We really should get on,” Amarie tried again, moving between them.

“Sae how di yi ken him?” Petty demanded peering around Amarie.

“It was before I ran into you,” Figg snorted likewise leaning round the Ambassador as if she were an inconvenient pillar, “so none of your damn business.”

Amarie held up her hands, “Enough!” she cried, “can we leave this argument until we are safely out of the Keep please?”

Figg took her hands from her bustle hips and Petty in turn demurred, “Offo is looking for you too,” he warned Amarie as as she collected up her palantir.

“We heard him say you were their only way out,” Figg added then paused till she could see more of the Ambassadors face and asked, “did you let the McBanks in?”

Amarie turned fully to her, an odd half smile on her face, “I said you were perceptive,” she said, “but what matters now is they never leave, and they never find us.”

“Then wi hud probably bettur leave right noo,” Petty said, “A huv a feeling Offo wull be back vury soon.”

“Why?” Figg frowned at him.

“Because,” Petty said ruefully holding out his hand, “sooner or later he is going tae notice he oanly has wan scuttle.” There held in Petty's outstretched hand was a scuttle.





Lance surveyed the scene before him. It was not a happy one. But it was a torch-lit chaotic one under the pale moonlight and dark scurrying clouds.

The main court atop the stairs and indeed all the way down the stairs and into the streets below, was filled wall to wall with McTyrants. They could get no closer to the Keep as McBanks armed with crossbows and bows watched keenly from the narrow slit windows of the Keep ready to fire on any who approached.

The crowd, or more like rabble, was a frothing mix of guards, soldiers, police and general populace who made up the bulk of the numbers. They sported every weapon conceivable from the humble buckie bottle all the way up to a siege catapult, which if actually used was likely to cause considerably more damage to those on the outside than the inside.

A huge ram had been hefted into place and was being swung with impressive force against the doors of the Main Hall by six of the town's finest caber tossers protected either side by shield bearers who occasionally fell to McBanks fire only to be replaced by another. The caber tossers on the other-hand seemed to take half a dozen arrows in them before they even noticed anything was amiss, and most of the bolts and arrows simply whipped and cracked and snapped upon contact with the immense bulging muscles that moved about the caber tossers bodies like humpback whales mating.

The door Keep reverberated to every strike, echoing off the Keep walls and magnified by the surrounding water, but the doors which had been built with exactly this sort of thing in mind were resisting.

Worse yet the several hundred strong, armed, largely drunk McTyrant's crammed into a small space who had all come expecting a fight and had not yet found one were in the process of resolving this dilemma by fighting with each other. Sporadic rammies were breaking out throughout the heaving crowd.

The Chief of the McTyrants grunted in annoyance, “Speak tae the Vikings, tae see whit they cun dae,” the Chief ordered to Lance who did as asked despite not seeing what they could do but wait the McBanks out. The problem was the Keep had been built to be defended by few men against a siege, and the key to building a keep with such a design in mind he considered as he approached the Vikings trying not to slip on the wet and dark dock, the very key thing, the most important thing of all in fact, was, when the siege started to be on the inside. That was their problem here, compounded by the fact the Chief did not want to destroy his own Keep.

He approached the Viking Chieftain who was picking fish bones from his teeth, “Hello there!” Lance cried cheerfully, “the Chief of the McTyrants requests you join the fight.”

The Chieftain looked up at the Keep and leisurely continued to pick out the bones then he rumbled, “There is no fucking fight.”

This Lance considered was technically true, they had so far failed to reach anyone to fight. “Yes, but that is rather what the Chief is hoping you can resolve.”

“We are fucking Vikings!” the Chieftain rumbled.

“Yes, rather,” Lance agreed.

“We sail in, we jump out, we set shit on fire, we steal the fuck out the place, we do some of the other, and then we piss off again taking with us whatever the fuck we want. Understand? We do not siege buildings.”

“Ah yes, of course,” Lance conceded and trudged despondently back to the Chief of the McTyrants to impart this news.

The problem of course was that either they needed to get inside those doors, which was not looking like it was going to be a quick endeavour, and seeing the increasing pile of fallen bodies around the ram a costly endeavour in lives, or they had to lure Offo outof the Keep into the open, which was even more unlikely. What would be best he considered was to get those doors open from the inside. But he could not see how.

He reached the Chief and was about to tell him what the Vikings had said when he suddenly looked down at his tuxedo. His bow-tie was at an angle, which was unlike him, he straightened it thoughtfully. His tux was as much a badge of his office as his agents license from the Queen was.

Suddenly with an inner surge of red rage he thought, 'I've had about enough of this bloody place!” he had since coming to Scotshobbitland done everything wrong he realised and everything had gone wrong. But dammit he was still, until she fired him at least, a secret agent of Her Majesty Queen Tinuviel, and here he was acting as messenger to a fat McTyrant devoid of ideas as to how to get into his own Keep. And the smug fat git had beaten him at dominoes too and probably cost him his career. 'Well to hell with it' he thought, “it's time I acted like a secret agent.”

Instead of going to the Chief he veered aside and pushed and shoved is way towards the outer wall of the Keep where it curved round the cliff-edge and the whole hillside the Keep was build upon fell away to the distant shore below with its docks and sheds and sea shimmering silver in the moonlight. He followed the wall careful round the top of the cliff away from the doors and the main throng as far as he could go.

He had been in this Keep and knew its layout- the upper floors were less defensible than the lower for the very good reason they were upper. But around the side, he looked up, yes, there were the Ambassadorial rooms, complete with balcony. Yes they were too high up for even the longest siege ladder to reach, yes the rock of the Keep was constructed by some dwarven sorcery that had vitrified the stone into a glassy smooth sheen all but impossible to climb without specialist equipment. But Lance had got into many a balcony for a variety of reasons in his career and thanks to his tech genius Blue he had specialist equipment.

He pulled what looked like  a small hand catapult from within his pocket and from inside his tuxedo jacket he pulled a thick coil of very slender rope and attached it to a small grapple like head and then taking careful aim he fired it upwards.

It struck the cliff wall about a third of the way up and seemed to clamp to it with a bright spark then it bore into the rock face. Lance tugged on the rope, it felt secure. Given the length of the rope and the height of the balcony he was going to have to climb up, retract the rope and repeat the process at least two more times to reach his destination. But when he did he would be in the Keep and he would see what could be done about those doors. He was also very keen to find the Ambassador.
He began to climb feeling suddenly invigorated. He felt like an agent again.



“Its a fucking maze,” Norc grumbled peering down the narrow servants staircase to the left and down an equally dark and narrow passageway to the right, or there was the third possibility of the equally gloomy and dim way straight ahead.

They were in the myriad of passageways that Petty had used to gain entrance to the Keep in the hope of finding him and Figg. Instead they were in danger of just getting lost.

“Wi wull ne'er find them doon here,” Ringo agreed, “they cud be oanywhere in here.”

“And I've not killed a McBanks for fucking ages,” Norc added morosely, “lets go back into the main Keep, we can do more good there. Or at least more fucking killing.”

Ringo peered down the option of routes, “Yir right,” he agreed, “lets double back.”

Doubling back however did not prove as easy as they thought as it soon became clear that one dimly lit passageway full of must, dust and cobwebs looked pretty much like every other and they wandered seemingly fruitlessly for some time before finally they began to hear the muffled sound of voices and along side it a regular booming thud. They made towards it.


The particular dark and dank passageway they were in led into a series of rooms that became increasingly less dark and dank as they progressed and moved into the more inhabited parts of the Keep, the whole time the sound of voices grew, it was a lot of voices and a lot of activity and above all else the repeating thud.

Soon they could see light spilling into the room ahead and silhouetted in the far doorway was a figure with a long tall head and their back to them.

Norc grinned, whipped out her axe sneaked carefully half crouched across the room until she was behind the figure, the sound of voices now loud and clear and coming from somewhere below her.

Quietly she stood to her full height and tapped the McBanks on the shoulder. He spun round in shock only to be even more shocked when his neck meet Norc's axe coming the other way and his tall head fell with a thud to the floor now as shocked as it was possible for a head to be, though at least for the final time, followed a few seconds later by his very surprised body which had only just realised there was no one doing the driving.

Ringo hurried up to her side, “We cud have questioned him tae see if he had seen Petty or Gingerlocks?” he grumbled.

Norc snatched up the long head with its down turned mouth which had a look of someone both completely taken aback and affronted and whose blood slowly dripped in congealing globules from the stump and held it up before Ringo,  “You should have fucking said! Maybe if your quick enough he still has something to say.”

Ringo peered out of the doorway, there was a corridor without, one side of which was a stone balcony and it was from beyond this that the muddle of voices was coming and the regular booming sound.

He peered over the edge with great caution as Norc followed.

“Wur back jist above the Main Hall,” he whispered, “huv a keek.”

Norc edged her eyes up to the top of the balcony and looked over the edge. Below them the McBanks were piling all the furniture they could against the main doors of the hall, which shook and reverberated to the battering of the ram beyond. But the doors were holding.
McBanks packed the Hall with Offo on his throne among them.

Suddenly Offo let out a great cry and began shouting orders to those about him in a frenzy and those about him in response began hunting all around the throne as if in search of something.

“Wunner whit thats aw aboot?” Ringo commented as Offo grew visibly in rage and began yelling, “Find it! It must be here sumwhur. A years free jelly tae the McBanks that finds it!”

“What the fuck are they looking for?” Ringo wondered aloud as the McBanks below went into a free jelly prize hunt frenzy.

“Nae idea,” Ringo said with a shake of his head as below them Offo rose from his throne amid the chaos and gathering a dozen or so of his men made to leave the Hall, still seemingly searching as they went, “ah wunner where thur going?”

“Lets follow the fucker and find out then,” Norc suggested with a grin.

So they did.



“So,” Figg said to Amarie as they left her quarters, “if you got the McBanks in you must be able to get us out.”

“Yes,” Amarie nodded, “and all considered I think that's a very good idea. This is no place for a young girl in a bustle and a boy in a kilt.”

“Hey!” Petty interjected indignantly, “A'm nae boy, um a man,” and he puffed out his chest, which still did not make him look impressive it just made him short of breath afterwards when he finally had to deflate it.

“Either way, it is time for us to leave,” she lifted her hands and began drawing her long elegant fingers in patterns between each other and a dark mass began to form between them.

“Haud on a meenit,” Petty cried, “whur exactly will this thing take us?”

“Outside the Keep.”

“The um noo goaning,” Petty said stubbornly, “A huv tae get back tae Paw and free him,” he held up the key tot he scuttle chamber, “cun yi transport us thur instead.”

“It's too dangerous, if there are any McBanks there you could walk out the other side into a hail of crossbow bolts,” Amarie said firmly.

“Thun A'm no goaning oanwhur,” Petty said folding his arm across his chest, “A mud a promise tae ma Paw.”

“Maybe we can get to them another way, from outside,” Figg suggested.

“A'm noo stoppin yi frae going,” Petty said, “A'll go meaself if A huv tae,” and with that and with his head held high he walked by them and out into the long corridor which led back towards the Main Hall and beyond the Scuttle Chamber.

“Petty!” Figg cried, “Don't be an idiot,” she considered this, “more than before I mean. You can't go alone.”

“Watch me,” Petty called back trying to sound strong and brave but feeling wretched and alone.

“Come back here you stubborn idiotic Scotshobbbit!” Figg called but Petty kept on walking, “Fine!” she said finally and stalked after him, “lets rescue your Paw, but then we are leaving.”

“Fine,” Petty said as non-committally as he could manage but his heart was singing and he was fighting a smile breaking out on is normally crabbit exterior.

“Both of you come back here,” Amarie called after them but they ignored her, “ she sighed in annoyance at the waywardness of youth and followed after them, her longer stride meaning she easily caught up with them.

They were half way down the corridor when they heard the sound of Offo's voice raised in desperation, “It hus tae be sumwhere between here and the Ambassadors chamber, it hus tae be! Sae find it!”

“Aw bugger!” Petty exclaimed, “that's Offo. He must have discovered he's missing a scuttle. Whit di wi dae? Cun yi hide us again in yir shadow?” he asked Amarie.

“I need natural shadows to work with,” Amarie said shaking her head, “if I make one here it will not look natural, even Offo would notice it, a shadow with nothing casting it.”

They looked back the way they had come, the end of the corridor was now to distant, they could not make it before Offo and his men could spot them.

“In here!” Figg cried running back down the corridor to where there was a single narrow door. She tugged at the handle but it was closed tight and seemingly not often opened as it jammed against the wood. Petty pushed her aside which got a protest from Figg and a dark look, shortly thereafter followed by a satisfied snort as the door flew open and immediately the handle of a mop fell out and hit Petty squarely between the eyes.

It was a small cleaning cupboard, accompanying the mop was a bucket, and shelves all round with a variety of items from bottles of stinking fluids to musty old rags. What there was not was much room. Especially when bustles had to be taken into account.

“Keep yer eyes oan the groond!” Offo's voice called in orders ever closer, “its here sumwhur!”

“Quick!” Figg cried and they all squeezed into the closet and Amarie pulled the door tightly closed behind them as they fought for room and were engulfed in darkness as Offo and his men swept into the corridor and towards them.




Lance drew out his line one last time and reattached it to the grapple, clinging onto the iron rod he had driven into the otherwise smooth outer rock, and fired. The grapple swung in a loop over the balcony above clinked into the stone and then dragged back until it found a secure surface to embed itself into. Lance tugged on the line, it felt firm and then with great care he began his final part of the ascent.

It took him several more minutes to scale his cautious way upwards until he was just below the edge of the balcony.

He braced his feet against the slippery cliff face ready to give himself some push outwards allowing him to grab the balconies edge and pull him himself up and over. But suddenly he froze in place. He could hear voices from within the Ambassadors room, raised voices.

“It must be here!” one wailed, “wi cum here in search o' Gingerlocks,” the speaker spat the name out with considerable venom, “went back tae the Hall, an' naewhur else sae it must be here, its noo oanywhere in-between.”

“Wu've searched and searched these rooms Offo,” a second voice said, “its noo here.”

“It must be!” the voice that was presumably Offo cried, “unless!” he paused tinged with suspicion, “sumwan has stolen it!”

“But thur's oanly been us wi yi  the whole time,” the second voice pointed out.

“Thun search each other!” Offo ordered, “Noo!”

Below the balcony Lance clung on wondering what on earth was going on and what Gingerlocks had to do with it all.

Eventually after a seeming futile searching of one another he heard the slam of a door and it went quiet.

With great care he swung himself out from the cliff, grabbed the balcony edge and pulled himself upwards, discarding his line.

The room beyond was in darkness. A large raven fluttered down from somewhere on the peaked roof above and landed on a perch on the balcony and eyeballed him.



“He must huv cum this way,” Ringo said to Norc as they entered the long corridor towards the Ambassadors rooms.

“Well there's no fucking sign of him,” Norc responded as she proceeded, axe in hand and at the ready.

“Wull they must be doon this way sumwhere, thurs naewhur else tae go.”

“Good, I'm getting bored with this sneaking about shit,” Norc grunted, “time to sever some heads.”

“Yi jist did thut!” Ringo pointed out.

“Ok, more fucking heads, happy?”

“Thurs at least a dozen aw thum,” Ringo pointed out as they crept by the cupboard door at the halls midpoint, “wi cunnae fight thum, no yet, wur investigating, finding oot whit thur up tae.”

“Then can we fucking kill them?”

“Aye, but oanly then.”

“It cunnae simply vanish!” Offo's raised voice came echoing down the corridor towards them,

“Bugger, he's cummin' back!”

“Here we go!” Norc cried her eyes glinting.

Ringo spun about looking for safety and spotted the cupboard door and sprang towards it and seizing the handle yanked it open he turned to Norc, “quick in here,” and grabbing her by the arm and against her swearing protests pulled her without looking into the cupboard. It was a lot more crowded than expected.

“Busy in here,” a Scots voice said.

“Meow,” said someone else.

“Did sumwan bring a cat?”

“Shhhh! Offo's coming,” Ringo hissed at whoever was in here with them, but presuming on the basis they were hiding in a cupboard that they were not McBanks.

“We know,” Figg hissed back in the cramped dark, “why do you think we are hiding in a bloody  cupboard.”



Lance approached the door and put is ear to it, he could hear Offo still ranting over whatever he had lost, but more distantly now. Carefully he edged the door open, just enough to peer out of.

There was Offo flanked and followed by his men disappearing down a long well lit hallway. Their progress was slow because Offo had the men searching the floor whilst he raved about the impossibilities of having lost the thing he had in fact seemingly lost.

Lance waited patiently for the group to make its painstaking way to the corridors length where they disappeared round a corner before he fully opened the door and emerged. He straightened his tux for the look of the thing and out of habit and walked calmly in pursuit of Offo. A calm that lasted about a minute before, just as he was passing it, a cupboard door flew open and a pile of people fell out one on top of each other. All except Ambassador Amarie, who instead poised as ever elegantly stepped over the pile of squirming, oddly familiar and annoyed bodies and amidst swearing from Norc and smiled at him.

Lance gawked back in shock, realised this was not a very secret agent expression and reassembled his features into something less green.

“What bally well happened to you?” he asked her trying to regain some ground on the situation, “and where is the scuttle?”

“Long story, “ Amarie replied.

“Offo's goat the scuttle,” Petty put in struggling to his feet and patting down his kilt to expose less of him, “well wan o' them.”

“One of them?” Lance said confused.

“Like I said long story.”

“Hey! Yir the wan that bought Figg!” Petty exclaimed in realisation, “so yir the wan that wanted the scuttle stolen.”

“We weren't stealing it,” Lance insisted, “ we were going to put it back.”

“Aye, thuts whit she said,” Petty nodded at Figg who frowned at being referred to as she, “an' it disnae sound any mair likely comin' oot yir mooth than it did oot hers.”

“Hey!” Figg protested, “its the truth. And I have a name you know.”

“Aye, Trouble,” Petty muttered.

“Don't you two start fighting again,” Amarie interjected, “or we will never get out of this place.”

“A' didnae want oot,” Petty said, “A want tae rescue ma Paw an' git that ither scuttle aff aw Offo sumhow.”

“Hopefully by killing some fuckers,” Norc butted in, “enough talk, action!”

“What's going on outside?” Ringo asked Lance his copper instincts needing as much information as possible, “are they close to breaching the keep?”

“No, not even close, they never expected this, the McBanks to be inside their Keep and them outside. Its not the sort of thing a chap does prepare for really when they have a Keep. One rather takes it for granted one would be on the inside when the enemy approaches. And the Chief of the McTyrants is not an imaginative sort of fellow. It will take a long time. Unless we can get those doors open.”

“That'll not be fucking easy,” Norc said, “much as I like a challenge that Main Hall is full of McBanks and they have piled furniture up against the doors to reinforce them.”

“So whit dae wi dae?” Petty asked looking round.

“We need a way to distract Offo, to draw him and most of his men out of that hall, long enough to clear the doors and lift the door bars,” Lance explained.

“And just how the fuck do we do that?” Norc asked.

“I know,” Figg said and they all stared at her.

Petty raised a doubting eyebrow, “How?”

Figg took a deep breath and steeled herself, tensing her muscles, “Sorry,” she said to Petty.

“Fir whit?” Petty asked puzzled.

“For this!” with a sudden movement she reached out a hand, snatched the scuttle from Petty and turned and ran down the corridor before anyone could react.

“What the fuck is she doing?” Norc asked.

“Ma scuttle!” wailed Petty in shock and dismay and gave chase.

“Wait!” Lance cried, “what in bally hell are you doing?”

“I have an idea!” Figg cried back over her shoulder as she ran down the corridor.

“Fuck yeah some action at last!” Norc cried and leapt after Petty and Figg, who had made it to the end of the corridor and disappeared at speed round it.

“Norc! Dinae be sae hotheaded!” Ringo cried after her, “aw who A ma kiddin'!” and he too gave chase.

Lance looked in bewilderment at  Amarie, “What the ruddy hell is going on?”

Amarie shrugged her shoulders at him, “Lets find out.”




Figg hurried along the corridor heading for the stairs that would lead down to just above the main Hall, and the balcony around it.

At the three way junction at corridors end she had gone right, whereas Offo and his men had continued on and down the stairs which led to the level of the Hall.  

By the time Petty made it to the junction,panting, both Offo was out of side and so was Figg. Petty spun on the spot unsure which way Figg had gone. He looked right and left, and then down the stairs and assuming she had gone in pursuit of Offo for some crazed female reason he was not privy too he went that way.

He was just in time therefore as he reached the bend in the broad staircase where it descended the final flight to the Great Hall to see Figg hollering on the balcony above.

“Coeeeee!” Figg cried above the din and in-between the rams battering, “Offo! Coeeeee! Have you missed me?”

Offo stared up his jaw going slack and increasing his face length by half a foot. Finally he reassembled his mouth into something capable of stuttering his indignant disbelieving rage into one single word, “Gingerlocks!”

“Hello again!” Figg called and waved at him, “you are the worlds worst hide and seeker,” she admonished him.

“Gingerlocks!” Offo roared again as if incapable of any other utterance that would fully convey his rage at her constant humiliation of him.

“I think,” Figg said waving the scuttle at him, “you might have dropped this.”

Offo's eyes bulged larger than a frog's that's simultaneously being squeezed and has won the lottery and been told the world most shocking fact. Then they bulged some more  bloodshot and raging as his face filled up with the deep purple of his humiliated fury.

“Get her!” was all he could finally manage to explode pointing a finger up at her, “at all costs, get me Gingerlocks and that scuttle! Jelly for life to whoever brings me her head!” Offo cried as Figg ran from the balcony and the Hall began to empty of McBanks straight for Petty who turned and ran back up the stairs as fast as his flapping kilt would let him, with Offo roaring at the head of a mob behind him, blind with thoughts of vengeance on Gingerlocks.

He darted down the right hand passageway as Figg rounded the corner and took the stairs the only way she could, upwards with a hall's worth of McBanks in blood curling pursuit.

Petty, peering out round the corner watched her go with horror pursued by McBanks and then looked back down the passage he was in and took the key from his pocket. Go after Figg or rescue his Paw? Petty weighed up his options and then made up his mind.

Even at this length I'll have to wait and read it tonight!

This "episode" was like "'Allo,'Allo", great writing, great reading