Love, Life and The Old Stench of Luck

By Mark Barkley

Sabienn Feel and his brothers venture to the Deerland Protectorate of Luck in the Outer Territories. He seeks a read on a possession of an elusive person by the name of ‘Impatient Ben’.
Luck is under the control of the powerful and ambitious Lord Ramm. A thirty-year Treaty is to be signed by him which may tie his country to either Hayddland or Deerland as the new Protectorate. Sabienn’s Father, the Grand Inquisitor Profound Murrlock Hyde, who still seeks Sabienn’s death, desperately wants the signature to go to Hayddland.
But why does Lord Ramm wish to seek out Sabienn? His talents as a reader haven’t gone unnoticed and there is great political gain in using Sabienn as a bargaining chip. Sabienn just didn’t count on, as part of Lord Ramm’s plan, watching two of his brothers die before his eyes.

Love, Life and The Old Stench of Luck is the sixth of twelve books in the Sabienn Feel Adventures.

Interview with the Author

Q - What inspired you to write The Sabienn Feel Adventures?

A – I’ve always loved the idea of the epic journey. I’m acquainted with the book Journey to the West but was more familiar with the TV series in the 80’s based on the book called Monkey. The idea of four souls travelling across a wide expanse of geography to complete a quest appealed to me. So I planned a series of twelve books to go from one place in the south of this space colony that they live on twice removed from Earth, to end up in the north, meeting danger at every turn.

Q – Why does your main character Sabienn Feel grow wings?

A - Good question. I wanted something very drastic to occur to these people physically. Something that would be difficult to hide and offer an immediate prejudice. The idea of growing wings constantly came up for me. There’s a Pearl Jam song I found inspiring that says, “And sometimes is seen a strange spot in the sky. A human being that was given to fly”. And in my mind’s eye, I could see this figure. Almost like the Led Zeppelin Icarus logo but with bat wings. But they couldn’t fly otherwise they’d hit the sky and the journey would be over in no time. I made them only able to swim because being submerged in water has elements of dealing with the subconscious. To me it satisfies all elements of those prophecy, fantasy, epic adventure type of stories that involve friendship and brotherhood.

Q – That’s six books down. How’s the journey unfolding?

A - The characters are evolving. The more adversity they face the more they grow. There’s significant skin taken off Sabienn Feel in this book. His character is gaining wisdom. It was a pleasure to write this sixth book in the series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Barkley
• Release date: Feb 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005569907

Book preview

Love, Life and The Old Stench of Luck

Book Six: The Sabienn Feel Adventures

By

Mark Barkley

©2022

Cover Design: nimi_art, https://www.fiverr.com/nimi_art

Formatting: Polgarus Studio

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

See more at https://markbarkley.net

Table of Contents

1. Strictly Eggs

2. The Holding Pattern

3. Push-ups

4. A Good Thing

5. Two Hydrogens, One Oxygen

6. Brain’s Dilemma

7. The Evil Ones

8. The White Knight

9. May Luck Be A Lady

10. The Wooden Egg

11. Mustard On The Brief Case

12. The Wooden Bowl

13. A Necessary Detour

14. FHH Twenty Percent

15. At Funeral

16. Orange Zest

17. The Black King

18. Weak!

19. A Convenient Death

20. Bark Run

21. A Question of a Treaty

22. The Steady Hand

1. Strictly Eggs

Competitive eating? called Stork, leaning back on his wings against the wall. With boiled eggs? And I have to swallow how many?

Forty, said the excited Turr man. Sabienn saw he had the long elegant ears like those that belonged to Turrland people and these ears were red with excitement. Hardly a challenge really. Not for a man like you. We’ve watched you. Look, can we get off the street? The man turned to his two Turr friends hovering excitedly beside him then addressed Stork again. Buy us a coffee? We’ll explain everything.

Sabienn Feel pushed his hand through his long dark hair and watched the exchange between the Turrs and his brother. He would normally be suspicious but this event being proposed would get him and his brothers into the celebrated inner area of the Green Zone, this important capital of the Outer Territory Province of Luck. He looked back at his other brothers, Deep and Bray viewing the exchange suspiciously, yet they all followed the group willingly looking for a beverage.

Sending a wrong message? whispered Sabienn to Bray.

In a country where half its people are starving? said Bray, shaking his curly head and rolling his eyes. Not at all.

Speaking of eating, said Deep, bringing his towering figure in close.

I’m with you, brother, said Sabienn, retrieving the final orders of his mentor Grey Cape delivered only a few hours ago by Grey Cape’s dog Giles. While he could, in the diminishing light of their first day in Luck, Sabienn let his eyes glance once more over its contents and read it quickly once again to himself to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

The words bounced off the page as he read. Most of my misgivings have been expressed in the last communication. These here are strange times.

The city that you find yourself in is divided into two. The inner city and the outer. I don’t have any special pass for you. You must try and seek access within the walls.

To find your subject, a man known as ‘Impatient Ben’, you will need an airship, the terminal of which is only accessible from the inner city. As stated previously, you seek a bottle of sleeping pills, hopefully still sealed, for a read. The gentleman resides in a town within the hills district called Tall Trees. Much I’ve already stated. I’ll leave it to your judgement. It’s considered a good lead to find the missing stone we seek.

As previously stated, this involvement with Luck comes at an important time for the Grand Inquisitor Profound, your Father who, in latest dispatches, has become even more committed to killing you. The thirty year lease is due and the Treaty is to be reviewed. Hayddland desperately wants to take this territory from Deerland. Should Luck fall to Hayddland, get out before the army arrives.

The world has the serenity of an unpinned grenade. Good luck and stay safe.

Sabienn retrieved from his pocket a salt sachet and broke it open to sprinkle white crystal on the paper. He then scrunched the note into a ball and popped it into his mouth, enjoying the taste as it eased itself down on its journey to his stomach.

The area that Sabienn and his brothers moved through had enough retail on display to give a feeling of safety. But he’d felt this way before just before entrapment. Eyes up, Bray, said Sabienn. Trust no-one.

I’m on it, responded Bray, keeping his eyes moving around.

The Turr men led them all to a table of an outside café where an attendant duly waited upon them. The Turr man who appeared to be the leader, turned to Stork and offered a pathetic smile. You’re paying. You order, he said.

What? called Stork undiplomatically. I’ve only known you a minute and the hands already into my pocket.

Seven coffees, offered Sabienn to the attendant pleasantly. The orders were taken and the Turr man bent in to confide with Stork.

My name is Idiz, said the Turr man. I challenge for the pig. He stated this in a manner that he believed would explain everything. Sabienn shared a bemused look with his brothers.

We all have our pursuits, said Bray. Sabienn offered a look to his brother to bring the sarcasm back in on a rein.

You offer access for my brother to enter the inner city? said Sabienn indicating Stork. Does that extend to all of us?

Of course, said Idiz, dusting down the cloak on his short thin frame. A good man needs a team. You’re signed in and signed out. The coffee arrived which he accepted graciously. Forgive me. You don’t seem to be aware of what we’re doing.

I see the skeleton, said Stork, dusting his shoe as he sat. If you could just fill in the guts.

To be honest, we’ve only arrived, said Sabienn to the Turr men. We’re fresh off the airship this afternoon.

This should explain it, Idiz, said one of the other Turr men to his friend. He indicated a poster in the window of the café; an inviting orange and blue poster advertising an event to be held within the walls called The Contest of Rare Manhood and Strength. It boasted a heroic portrait of a Turr man with great ears and a well-styled haircut naked but for swimming trunks. He held a pose of an idealized masculine physique standing with rippling biceps and triceps, outstanding legs and a well-formed six-pack for his belly. Casually Sabienn moved his seat in closer to the poster so he could get a better look. It was a cheerful advertisement promising excitement and gifts for the willing who achieve success.

Reading the same poster, Bray sparked up, Seems like it’s just men. Weightlifting. Fighting. Pulling a cart with your teeth. Running. Jumping. Push-ups. And Eating.

There’s individual and relay, said Idiz helpfully. My friends and I are a team. But my brother. Huh. My poor brother couldn’t get through the first gate. Measles. Who’d have thought he’d come down now? It’s left us short. My brother was opening mouth. He went number one. Then there’s me. Then there’s Kenzoo. Then Lefty. Idiz indicated his friends in turn.

It’s simple, chimed in Kenzoo. We’re eggs. Strictly eggs. No ribs. Four teams contest for the eggs. One gets the money but two and three get a live pig to take home.

You’ve worked the odds? said Sabienn. You’re not here to win?

We haven’t agreed yet, said Stork, still suspicious of their intent.

What else are you doing tonight? said Kenzoo. You’re going to sit in your hotel room instead of being in an arena under the gaze of President Ramm? You’re travellers. I’m sensing adventure in you.

Yeah. But food, said Bray indicating Stork. Food is sacred to this man. He doesn’t shovel it. He savours.

Not what we saw, said Idiz, indicating his friends. We were walking up the street studying everyone. We saw him eat. It was two bread-rolls one after the other. Beautiful technique. It was both disgusting and inspirational.

It’s an egg, said Lefty, moving in on the right. Just hold your nose and bounce on your toes. Let it slide then pick up the next.

"One thing is important," said Idiz.

He needs to look like us, said Kenzoo. You need to wear fake ears.

I haven’t agreed, said Stork more definitely.

With earnest eyes Sabienn studied the poster once again. There’s an event here for push-ups, he said. Deep, that’s more up your alley.

Want to win us a pig? added Bray with humour to their tall muscular brother.

I’m game, called Deep with a smile. I’m feeling rusty. I could use a stretch.

Sabienn turned to Idiz and spoke, Bring us an extra pair of ears and enter our brother in the push-ups. Then I think you’ve got a deal.

What? Stork looked bemused that his position had been overridden. But now that Deep had volunteered, he had no choice but fall into line.

Lead on, said Sabienn to Idiz.

The group were in fine spirits as they finished their beverages and were quick to move off from their table but for a dragging Stork. Sabienn followed a rapidly moving Idiz, who noticed a pharmacy up the street and donned his hood to access. Seeing this, Sabienn and his brothers followed suit. When they got to the door Sabienn could see this store was packed with people but predominantly men. And they were all going to the same aisle.

An attendant moved close to and addressed Idiz without any interest. Sir, Ears?

Yes, said Idiz.

I’m required to ask a question, continued the attendant. Any humans amongst you?

No, replied Idiz, with mock indignation.

Thank you, said the attendant, moving away with all the satisfaction of having ticked a box.

Sabienn could see the aisle full of Turr men all pulling down boxes displaying cosmetic Turr ears. To him it seemed the larger more elaborate ears were more valued. And there were men trying on ears that they had purchased looking like mountain animals with sturdy antler outcrops admiring themselves in a nearby mirror.

These men are here for the event? whispered Sabienn to Idiz.

Yes, sir, said Idiz in reply. And win a woman. Why don’t you wait outside?

Slyly Sabienn pushed a wad of prime bills across to Idiz. Get us some antlers, said Sabienn. Make us look like we’re in a contest.

Sabienn led his brothers out the door of the store and gathered them in for a huddle on the footpath.

Impressions? asked Sabienn.

Not good, said Stork. It’s all muscle and brawn. It’s not me.

I’m art and logic, said Bray plainly. I’m out of the race.

Only man who looks like he fits is Deep, said Stork.

I don’t fit, said Deep plainly. I just want the exercise.

Even if we get in the gate, they’ll keep us in a pen and push us back out, said Bray.

Yeah, what’s the point? said Stork.

Like the man said, said Sabienn. What else are we doing tonight?

In due course, Idiz and his friends joined them again and Stork and Deep got to try on the ears that were bought. They found a secluded alcove of a doorway to preen and place them into better position and saw their reflection back in the door glass. Sabienn watched both men wiggling their heads admiring their new appendages.

It’s worth the ticket of entry to watch this pair, said Bray to Sabienn.

Within half an hour the men found themselves at the entertainer’s entrance to what appeared to Sabienn to be a small stadium. It wasn’t a stadium as he knew back in Hayddland or anything he’d seen in Deerland, fit for football or racket-ball. And it certainly wasn’t as huge as Salt Stadium where he went to see The Great Leader a few months ago.

The outside of this arena had a feel of being ancient. Stone brick walls rose to a height of four storeys and formed a circle or oval in shape at the base. It would probably hold about ten thousand at a stretch. His first impression was of a stone auditorium for outdoor theatre.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this place, said Sabienn to his brothers as they moved quickly along the street towards it.

You most certainly have, said Bray definitely. Think of the fruit markets outside Salt. Imagine the top layers ripped off. They’re still meeting places for the natives. Left in ruins to show the humans won.

There was a sudden recognition in Sabienn as he remembered the fruit and food markets that he had inhabited back in Salt, in the motherland of Hayddland. He had glimpses of his old life back at the Academy, almost as if they were memories from another planet. His old mentor Captain Randd, the Captain’s daughter Tesser and their faithful native servant Cheerful had accompanied him on many visits. The circular market area was a place of commerce, activity and bustling joy where he had bought many oranges, olives and dates for Tesser, who was as he remembered her then, an excited and inquisitive seven year-old.

We had one up at Coriander, continued Bray. The tops were ripped off by a wrecking ball. Thousands of years ago.

We had something the same down in Cumin, said Deep, looking at the destination with new eyes." Sabienn listened to each man recount their respective Academies where they had attended only months previously.

Seems like a lifetime ago, said Sabienn. Salt. Coriander. Cumin. Why is this stadium intact?

Before he could receive an answer, the party found one of the registration desks at the gate. Excitedly Idiz fronted up to an equally enthusiastic fat Turr man with a moustache and a ramrod straight back sitting in his chair.

Welcome, said the man at the desk politely. And what feat of incredible manhood may I enter you, sir?

"We eat, said Idiz, throwing his shoulders back gallantly, as if he were recounting an activity of war-like skill. We are eggs. Strictly eggs."

Ah! said the desk man, searching through the list in front of him. Your name?

I am Idiz Ferraz of the village Od, said Idiz, introducing his entourage. This is Kenzoo Ferraz my brother. This is a man we refer to as Lefty. But no more committed right-handed man would you ever find. Casually Lefty proffered his credentials for the desk man’s perusal.

Ah! said the desk man, receiving the men as if they were family.

With great flare, Idiz grabbed Stork and brought him forward to the desk. And this is my good brother Dooz. No finer servant of the President is there anywhere on the planet, he said, slapping Stork’s back.

Feeling the need to respond, Stork smiled with effort. I’m just glad to be here, he said, trying to wrap his lips around the required Turr accent and tongue.

Is this man slurring? said the desk man with genuine concern, listening to Stork really mince the language.

I sense President Ramm is near, said Stork with mock enterprise. I walk dizzy with the thought of being in his presence.

That’s my brother, said Idiz, whacking Stork lovingly across the shoulder. Also, a friend. Idiz brought Deep forward to the desk. He challenges for push-ups. Any cancellations?

For a pursuit so dangerous, there’s always a space, said the desk man cheerfully.

Dangerous? called Sabienn with sudden concern.

The champion doesn’t like to lose, said the desk man. And he’s a man of knives.

I’d just like the exercise, said Deep innocently.

May I be honest? said the desk man helpfully to Deep. You’re a strong and strapping nebulan. I am required to ask questions, like Are you a human? To which I tick the box, No. But then I’m required to ask, Will you participate to the best of your ability? To which I then tick the box, Yes. But the man you’re up against is not a forgiving man. If you seek success, there may be peril.

Sabienn and Deep looked at each other before Deep replied, Winning’s not everything.

Survival’s nice too, said Sabienn.

Though you didn’t hear it from me, said the desk man. He then turned to Idiz, And will you participate to the best of your ability?

For me, it’s been a journey, sir, said Idiz kindly to the desk man. My two brothers and I have dreamt of this moment. Long when we were kids playing at the sewer outlet. We’d practise swallowing. Imaginary eggs. Forty at a time. It was always eggs.

Well, sir, know you have arrived, said the desk man. This is the stadium of dreams. I salute you.

The rest of the registration went smoothly and identifying numbers were passed across. Sabienn slyly proffered a rolled prime note across to the desk man for his troubles and it was accepted with suppressed glee.

The men entered the tunnel leading through to an open area within which was lit by blinding floodlight. The passage was impeded by fit and muscular yet polite guards acting as event marshals.

Two guards held a hand up to Sabienn and Bray, the only two not displaying fake or real Turr ears. Humans, one said amicably. No further. This way. They were pointed in the direction of the stone bleachers of the arena now filling up with spectators.

Quickly and without much fanfare, Sabienn slapped Stork and Deep on the shoulder and whispered, Good luck. Bray did the same and they watched their brothers be led away with the Turr egg-eaters, all numbered up and official for battle.

It wasn’t difficult to feel the excitement. The filling of the seats with nebulans and humans created a buzz which was contagious. Sabienn took a few shivers up his spine as he made his way to a seat on the edge of the aisle. Bray took his seat next to him and they let their eyes wander with wonder and tactical curiosity. The lighting left no shadowy areas of crafty concealment. And the athletes, for want of a better word, were guided to little pens within the centre of the stadium.

There, pointed Bray. In a guest box overlooking the arena giving the best view was a party of dignitaries. In the centre chair was a short human man dressed in a similar charcoal uniform that Sabienn associated with The Great Leader back in Hayddland. He was small, middle-aged and balding with a hair comb-over but exuded confidence enough to kill someone who may point that out. President Ramm, I’ll wager, continued Bray. Oh, wait, he added nervously. We’ve been clocked.

What? said Sabienn, looking glaringly up to the guests’ box.

Eyes forward, called Bray. Man on the left of baldy? Just pointed this way. Man on the right. He’s trying not to look here.

Sabienn knew enough about Bray’s eyes to know he could trust them implicitly. He slyly looked up at the men mentioned and saw both had there hoods up. He could see their faces but no other features.

What do we do? asked Bray breathlessly.

Not much we can do, said Sabienn. Cheerfully Sabienn offered a brief hand wave enough to be registered by the surreptitious glances. We have no quarrel with him.

Yet, added Bray, still uneasy.

Keep an eye out for movement, said Sabienn. Otherwise, we enjoy the show.

Turning to the arena, Sabienn could see the sturdy structure of this native auditorium juxtaposed with modern floodlights. He wondered what sort of strange rituals were once performed here long ago. And indeed if they were his own ancestors.

A voice came booming through the arena, Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Bray pointed to where the voice came from. A small Turr man with receding hair in an expensive cloak stood before a microphone up in the stands. Please take your seats so formalities may begin. Tonight marks the fifth Contest of Rare Manhood and Strength for this year. For travellers far and wide, we welcome you.

As usual, we welcome our Most Magnificent Patron of this event. The Most Exulted of Leaders, His Highest Excellency, President Sydluss Ramm. Sabienn watched as short and baldy stepped forward to the balustrade to accept the rapturous cheer, from the mainly Turr crowd.

Unusual, whispered Bray to the side. Considering he’s Haydd.

How does that work? offered Sabienn, feeling stunned.

Not sure, said Bray. He’s no friend of The Great Leader.

The announcer ploughed on in lofty praise. Our Esteemed and Mighty Chief of Guards, Leelann Poss. The tall man to the left of Ramm let his hood fall back to reveal a muscular neck and shining bald head. Sabienn looked at him to see he was of similar age to Ramm but had the air that he could severely do some damage to someone he was at a variance with. His announcement produced minimal cheer in the audience which seemed to please this man no end. He was unsmiling and his eyes looked forward towards the announcer with dark intent, as if his name had been mispronounced.

Unaffected by any evil energy, the announcer continued, His Most Eminent and Erudite Servant of the Realm, The Grand Builder, Dice Bordd. The short man on Ramm’s right let his hood fall down to show a man who enjoyed the privileges and excesses of a good life. Sabienn could see he was pasty faced and displaying a paunch.

He’s got your name, said Bray.

Sabienn indeed noted that the name he himself would sign to anything to that he didn’t want to put his real name to, was Cutting Bordd. It was his fake name of choice.

Could be a brother, offered Sabienn lightly.

Welcome one and all, continued the announcer. Once again before us stand the pinnacle of Turr manhood. Here to pit themselves against each other in gallant contest. And just that it is clear, as stated at the registration desk, any human found mingling with the nebulans on the field will be taken out the back and shot.

Aghast Sabienn looked towards Bray who’d just turned pale. I don’t remember that bit, said Bray.

It does seem like an important detail, said Sabienn now looking down on to the field feverishly for where their brothers may be standing. He saw Stork now on the field in deep discussion with Idiz who was shrugging his shoulders. Sabienn could see that for a man aware of the consequences, Stork seemed remarkably composed. He almost lifted his hands to adjust his ears but realized this may be what people were looking for.

We need to get them out, said Bray impatiently.

We need to sit tight, said Sabienn. And we’ve got company.

As they sat, Sabienn saw a young human man of medium height with thick short hair and wearing a good black cloak walk up the stairs adjacent to where they sat. He was trying not to look at them, but his glances were obvious even for Sabienn. At the last moment almost as an afterthought, the young man stopped walking and hooded up. He faced the arena standing in the stairway as if he were another interested punter taking in the spectacle.

Stork and Deep are on their own for the moment, said Sabienn. His head was swivelling around taking in everything within the auditorium. He felt trapped like a rat in the trap, so he pushed himself to his feet with explosive energy.

With a few short steps he stood next to their black cloaked guard. Excuse me, asked Sabienn politely of the stranger. Can you settle something? My brother wants a roll with cheese, and I think he’s dreaming. What’s good here? He spoke in his best most coherent Turr.

Look, I may be sent to shadow you, said the cloaked stranger. But there’s no need to be insulting. How’d you know I was with you? Sabienn was stunned to hear the stranger reply in his own Haydd tongue.

Sabienn replied casually, Does the expression stands out like dog’s balls mean anything?

That obvious? said the stranger. Give me a twenty prime. Any self-respecting lout who comes to see Turr men rip their ears off in mortal combat, they eat the Squealer. We’re talking a roll. We’re talking chilli. Sauce and mustard. We’re talking twelve kinds of cheese. We’re talking pork like a pig died and went to heaven. Only to return to your nostrils like an angel fart.

Sabienn listened to the man’s unstable demeanour and passed across a twenty. What an outrageous performance, said Sabienn.

Three rolls? asked the stranger. I’ll join you.

We’ve eaten, said Bray plainly, now standing next to Sabienn’s shoulder. What makes you think we want to eat with you?

What makes you think you want to live? said the stranger, offering a sly glance up at the President’s box. Yes. Eyes straight please. I’m with him. Sabienn viewed the stranger with interest. His gaze darted around the stadium with jittery eyes as if he were on some kind of substance. Seriously, I’m starving.

Go, said Sabienn, politely patting the stranger’s shoulder. Get yourself one. Just bring us back a drink. Surprise us. Sabienn proffered across two more twenty prime notes.

Oh, you boys are sweet, said the stranger kindly. I’m going to enjoy being your handler.

You can’t be any worse than the others, said Sabienn to the stranger, conferring with Bray.

Just save it for the survey. Two coffees? said the stranger. Having received his instructions, he left and the brothers resumed their seats.

Impressions? asked Sabienn of his brother.

Fascinating, said Bray brightly. Can’t we ever go anywhere people don’t know us?

It was odd for Sabienn sitting there. The moment he suddenly became aware of the thing called the Squealer, he started seeing it in the hands of various audience members. Two rows in front of him, he saw a Turr mother holding one sitting next to her two boys. It was an impressively long roll filled with a steaming and aromatic dead animal and she was pulling it apart into bite size pieces and feeding her boys from above their head; like they were chirping chicks freshly broken from their shells looking up for a morsel. Other eaters were less graceful and he saw a multitude of people with yellow and red wetness going down their hands, arms, faces and cloaks.

Our new best friend? whispered Bray to Sabienn. Can he get Stork and Deep out?

Sabienn kept silent as two Turr men had entered the centre of the arena and were facing the Presidential box. The announcer was dutifully solemn, Ladies and gentlemen. Before you is the contest for the leadership of Solo, an ancient city which has produced patriots by the thousands. This contest is by Presidential decree. He turned to the two men, one tall muscular man dressed in a red shirt and shorts and the other a smaller more slender man, with no obvious strength, dressed in green shirt and shorts. The announcer raised his hand up high and spoke towards them, For those about to die, we salute you.

Once the words were spoken, Sabienn was interested in the reaction from the crowd. There was no cheer. There was no barracking. There was, what Sabienn could only assume, was total apathy. There seemed to be a competition among the spectators as to how disinterested they could be. And if it were a competition between the life and death struggle about to unfold on the field and the overzealous glances some were offering to their long rolls filled with dead pig, it would seem the food would win out.

A whistle blew on the field and the contest began. Sabienn couldn’t keep his eyes off the opening movement of the pair. They looked at each other as they circled around; the tall muscular man in red, the smaller man in green. There was something about the men that would indicate to Sabienn that they were soft and gentle beings. They bore no scars of hardened battle and indeed Sabienn could imagine each of the men would sooner read a book than be reduced to the instincts of animal survival.

The big red man picked up some sand from the arena and threw it into the small green man’s face. It blinded the green man temporarily and the red man lunged forward to strike the green man with fist. It was to be the last act the red man would ever do. The green man countered the advance by swivelling around to be behind the taller red man and placed a choke hold with his forearm across the neck of the bigger man. Both men went to the ground, but the green man hung on and squeezed the air passage to the conclusion. After a minute, the big red man’s body slipped out of the green man’s hold and lay lifeless on the ground.

Sabienn looked to Bray who was equally stunned. It still meant something to both of them to see a man die before their eyes. With little sympathy from a crowd still busy eating.

Looking up to the Presidential box, Sabienn saw Ramm and his two offsiders busy marking papers in front of them and casually pointing now at the green man now standing in the arena. To Sabienn, it seemed like Ramm had been watching a dancing recital and was now marking points down for technique and passion. The two men beside Ramm now had their hands up and gesticulating wildly; probably telling the President how they would have performed the manoeuvres and how better they would have been.

With a final approach to a microphone in front of him, Ramm spoke quietly but his voice rang through the arena. Thank you, Mr Voz, he said without emotion. Your credentials are acceptable.

There was a sadness in the green man’s eyes as he acknowledged the President and walked off the field. From the other side, two men appeared quickly to grab a leg and drag the lifeless frame of the big red man off the arena’s centre stage, leaving the arms to make furrows in the sand behind.

As soon as the arena had been vacated, two more Turr men appeared. This time dressed respectively in blue and yellow shirt and shorts. Before they could commence combat, Sabienn’s friend, the stranger, returned juggling a long wrapped bread roll and two coffees. He found his seat next to Sabienn and after offloading items, he held his hand out to Sabienn, The name’s Jank. Lord Jank. Thanks for this. I’m famished.

Sabienn took the hand in welcome, Are we friends?

I’ll let you know after the Squealer, said Jank. Shake hands now before I open this mess, said Jank to Bray.

What makes you think it’s worth shaking? said Bray.

You’re a little bit aloof, sir, said Jank. You must be the artist. Jank held his hand out expectantly to Bray. Shake it. Come on.

Bray relented and took the hand gingerly which Jank pumped from his side. Who won the last contest? said Jank, turning his eyes back to the arena and unwrapping his roll.

Someone who didn’t want to be there, said Bray blankly.

Well your fortune lay with the winner, said Jank, stooping to take a generous bite from his food finally exposed. "Oh, that’s good." He spoke ecstatically with pig rolling round his mouth.

Sabienn looked towards his brother before replying. A fellow named Voz, I think.

Good, said Jank, not elaborating. He’ll keep you in line. Jank turned to the bemused brothers. Do you have any questions?

Only why are we here? asked Bray innocently.

You mean sharing time and space on this tiny rock in the universe? replied Jank pleasantly.

Drill down closer to this seat I’m sitting on, commented Sabienn.

Are you the reader, sir? said Jank politely, before filling his mouth with more torn-off food.

Look, I pride myself on being less than truthful, said Sabienn plainly. This lack of wiggle-room is impressively disturbing.

Why should you be the only comfortable person in this country? said Jank with a full mouth. Coffee’s to your liking? In response, Sabienn saluted his sipped cup. Jank continued, And before you ask. No, I can’t do anything about your friends. If they get caught, they’re on their own.

You’re here to handle us? asked Sabienn.

Keep you in a holding pattern, replied Jank, eyeing off another portion of his Squealer. He proffered it forward to Sabienn. Please, you can’t die till you’ve eaten one, Jank said, as he tore off a portion without his saliva and offered it to Sabienn. Sabienn took it with the generosity it was offered and took a large bite. It was salty, wet and spicy and he’d tasted better.

Casually Jank continued waving his roll around to encompass the arena. This whole world, said Jank. This stadium. Everything here. It’s all here for Lord Ramm.

Lord Ramm or President Ramm? enquired Bray.

Lord, President, Emperor, you choose, said Jank, biting hard as he spoke. You’re here to be placed in a holding pattern. I’m here to see you stay there.

That’s nice, said Sabienn dismissively. But we have things to do.

Make time, said Jank.

Time’s something we don’t have a lot of, said Bray.

I’m not making the rules here, said Jank. He turned to Sabienn. How good a reader are you? When Sabienn returned a nonplussed look, Jank offered his side pocket for Sabienn to place his hands into. My fingers are wet, said Jank. Pull the first thing you find out of that pocket.

Wiping his own fingers, Sabienn reached in and immediately he felt a shiver as if there were darkness in the folds of the man’s cloak. His hands gripped on to something and Sabienn’s brow broke into sweat. He pulled out a business card similar to others he had held before. It was the greeting for business of Sabienn’s Father, Murrlock Hyde. Sabienn pulled it out for Bray to view. He reacted with equal surprise.

Sabienn felt the simple cardboard with the title in small print, The Grand Inquisitor Profound with the Hayddland seal.

Let me know what you think, said Jank expectantly.

It was then Sabienn felt the familiar feelings of a vision descending on him. He had the feeling like a whirlpool at the top of his head and his vision began to star.

Then his mind went blank.

2. The Holding Pattern

When his mind’s eye opened, Sabienn found himself in a very plush and luxurious office. There was a group of four men surrounding a large and impressively carved oak desk in the centre of the room, all neatly accommodated within soft-felted white chairs with ornate backs like thrones. In his ghost-like state, Sabienn kept to the corner of the room where he could survey everything.

Three of the men Sabienn recognized as the men in the Presidential box in the arena. They were still strangers to him but the fourth man in the room needed no introduction. Once again Sabienn could feel the dark aura of the man seeping across the expansive distance of time and space just as the tall bald black cloaked figure was sitting there. It was, of course, his Father Murrlock Hyde, the owner of the card that was held within Sabienn’s fingers and the second most powerful man in Hayddland.

The coffee is to your liking? said Ramm without feeling. He was sitting opposite Murrlock, keeping a sharp and attentive eye on his guest, as would a card player looking for the tells in an opponent.

No, said Murrlock plainly, placing the cup to a table at the side. It’s not to my taste.

It’s Blaze Roast, Murrlock, said Ramm. A cat shits the beans and the coffee is made.

In his vision state, Sabienn looking on was stunned to hear Ramm refer to the GIP as ‘Murrlock’; a familiarity that could well get a lesser placed person executed.

Well it’s an acquired taste, said the paunchy Dice, sipping from his cup with glee. So many aromas to dissect. To demonstrate he sniffed from his cup. There’s a fruit smell I can’t quite put my finger on.

It’s not to my taste either, Murrlock, said Ramm, placing his cup down. "I drown it with milk and sugar. But it is the best."

I see it is not to the taste of your Chief Guard, said Murrlock pleasantly towards Poss who had no cup.

Leelann Poss looked coldly back. I have no need of a stimulant, Wizard, he said without care of offering insult.

Now now, Poss, said Ramm diplomatically. The man’s our guest. I assume he hasn’t come with empty hands.

Indeed I have, said Murrlock plainly. I have nothing to give you but good advice.

Advice I have an abundance, said Ramm smiling. Come, Murrlock. What are you offering?

Nothing, said Murrlock definitely, folding his hands in his lap.

The finer arts of negotiation seem to have missed this man, said Poss to his two friends. We will sign a thirty-year Treaty with Deerland or with Hayddland. This man is making our choice easier.

Poss, please, said Ramm. Both you and Murrlock are tall, bald and muscular men. You’re like two peas in a pod. My two little axe murderers.

Sabienn couldn’t believe his ears as he listened to Ramm mock his Father. This was an open insult. If a member of his Father’s Ten-68 guard had been present in the room, they would have walked up to Ramm and slit his throat; regardless of who he was or the consequence.

Watching his Father’s face, Sabienn was fascinated to see the comment barely register. You’ve always been a challenge, Stench, said Murrlock calmly, stating some nickname best known only to himself. "You are beyond my usual tactics. I, of course, will always have spies to dig up dirt. To find some gem of guilt I could manipulate. But you? The more I dig, the more I find there is nothing you wouldn’t stoop to. If there was a dictionary definition of the most corrupt, most disgustingly vile, morally bereft, manipulative, coarse, low-life scum of the planet, it would be attached to your photo."

Rehearsed though that may be, that certainly sounds like the pot calling, said Ramm without missing a beat. You and I go way back, Murrlock. I always thought our relations were improving. I hated you when I was a kid but I only dislike you intensely now.

Sabienn had a sudden flash of memory. He remembered in one of his visions that Murrlock grew up in the Green Zone as a child. He remembered words that came from Grey Cape himself how the mother of the twins, Grey Cape and Murrlock Hyde and the mother of Orr Benn Kee, The Great Leader, disappeared here in the Green Zone, presumably killed by Turr guards. It left the three boys orphaned when they were about ten.

"You will sign," said Murrlock calmly.

What’s this ‘will’ stuff? asked Poss darkly. Poss got up from his chair and moved around the room in an agitated state. We should re-sign with Deerland just to get rid of this fool.

I’ll speak with the man whose job you want, said Murrlock calmly towards Poss, indicating Ramm.

Poss reacted with a sudden lunge at Murrlock pulling a knife from his cloak but was held back as Ramm raised a hand. Careful, Poss, called Ramm. Kill this man and his airships will be in Luck tomorrow. Regardless of any Treaty.

Just to remove the filth from the chair he sits on, called Poss with gritted teeth, concealing his weapon once more.

You always were the tactical mind, said Murrlock towards Ramm.

Explain to me why we need to sign to you? asked Ramm, without pleasantry.

You already know, said Murrlock blankly. I’d say use your political mind, but you rarely use anything else.

Let me guess, said Ramm, staring intently at Murrlock. You’ll say, the ground is shifting underneath me. That Annlinn Tayek is no Lewis Prime. You’ll say, that Prime was a President who would respect the strong man. Emphasis ‘strong’, emphasis ‘man’. When he died three years ago, his blind eye died with him. Now we have Madam President Tayek. The soft hand of Deerland. She wants to push the helping fingers out into the Realm.

And how will the White Zone react? said Murrlock. To a genuine listening ear?

The White Zone will do as I instruct, said Ramm.

Are you sure? said Murrlock. How many Turrs do you have?

In the White Zone? said Ramm. We’re not going to have this traitor argument again?

Only Orr Benn thinks you’re a traitor, said Murrlock. I just think you’re a louse.

I am the architect of my destiny, said Ramm proudly. "Everything you see here is because I grabbed the fruit. And man, it was just hanging there rich and ripe. I didn’t even have to drag the branch down. Lewis Prime wanted a Green Zone man. There were eight arms and uniform factories here in Luck. All manned by prisoners and refugees. It could have been you, Murrlock. Or Orr Benn. Just think of it. We were all in the war. All Captains and Majors. So don’t go playing this high-minded pristine patriot with me. If it weren’t for your gut-felt hatred of the Turrs, it could have been you sitting here. But he picked little old me. And what’s wrong with the Turrs? They worship me. Ever share a bed with five sharpies? Turr women are so hot. But I suppose that wouldn’t be something that would interest you."

How many Turrs do you have? persisted Murrlock.

Sixteen million in the White Zone, said Ramm. Four million in the Black Zone. Three in the Green. I suppose you’ll be wanting a contribution?

I can’t spare you any, said Dice calmly, I have a Tower to build. The tallest building on the planet. But the higher we go, the more workers are falling to their deaths.

I’ll take two million, said Murrlock, not caring if he was out of line. "We