Tales of a Nuisance Man: The Duke Grandfather Saga, #1

By James Maxstadt

Never shoot an ogre in the face. . .

that's only one of the painful lessons I learned over the course of my career.

My name is Duke. Duke Grandfather. And for years, I was the best at what I did.

From the moment I first saw the barbarian and what he did to the goblin, my course was set. I loved my life and the freedom I had to sleep late and drink ale whenever I wanted. Then that dwarf changed everything. . .

Well, change was overdue anyway, and—as a bonus—it led me to the attention of Lilly. And she changed my life even more than the dwarf had.

Orcs in love, elder beings, and rogue witches' brooms. I've seen it all.

I've even had to kill a friend.

Pull up a chair. Buy me an ale or three and, in return, I'll tell you all about it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Maxstadt
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215626429

James Maxstadt

James is the author of more than fifteen fantasy novels. He loves writing books with quirky characters that are full of action, humor, and a lot of adventure. A fan of fantasy since he was young, James thinks a good story that can take a person away from their everyday life is something worth reading. He’s found over the last several years that writing such stories can be just as rewarding. When he does have his head in this world, he can usually be found relaxing at home with his beautiful wife Barb, doing some home renovation or woodworking project, or signing books at comic conventions and Renaissance Faires. Follow him on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/DukeGrandfather

Book preview

THE BEGINNING

THE HOME OF A HERO. A champion in our midst. A savior among us.

Yes, the young man thought as he approached the house. Those all had nice rings to them. Maybe one could be the title? Or maybe the opening line, which was always hard for him to work out.

He opened the door and called out.

Granddad? Grandmother? It’s me.

Come in, dear, an elderly female voice answered. He’s been waiting for you.

The young man entered and removed his cloak, which he hung on a hook near the door. He stopped in the kitchen to kiss his grandmother on the cheek and then continued to the sitting room, where an old man sat contemplating a fire burning merrily in the hearth.

Hello, Granddad, the young man said. I’m here.

So you are, the old man replied. Do you have it?

In answer, the young man held up his tablet and stylus, before taking a seat in a nearby chair. He poised his stylus over the tablet, looked at his grandfather eagerly, and said, Ready.

Not so fast, the old man said. Telling tales is thirsty work. You want the first story; I want an ale. Even trade.

The young man smiled, but his grandmother shouted from the kitchen. No ale! The healer says it’s bad for him.

Ha, the old man said. What do they know?

But he lowered his voice and leaned toward his grandson before continuing. You go get it, boy. She won’t say no to you.

He winked and the young man had to laugh. This was nothing new. His grandfather had always loved his ale, and it had been a running joke between the two of them for as long as the young man could remember.

Be right back, he muttered, playing into the conspiracy.

A few minutes later he handed his grandfather a mug of ale and settled back into his chair. Ready.

After a long sip and a satisfied sigh, the old man studied the young.

I’m happy to tell my stories, but what are you going to do with them?

I’m thinking of making a book. Something everyone can read.

Huh. A book, huh? Never been in a book before. But... if I’m being honest. You should really be writing one about your grandmother. She did more than I ever did.

The young man smiled. Way ahead of you, Granddad. But one thing at a time. Now... He raised his tablet meaningfully.

Very well, then. The old man took another sip of his ale, leaned back in his chair, and gathered his thoughts. It all began so many years ago, and with a misunderstanding to boot.

.

NUISANCE MAN

SOMETIMES A SHOT IN the face is all it takes to get an ogre’s attention. The problem is, once you have his attention, you have to figure out what to do with it. I broke that cardinal rule on my latest job. Getting cocky I guess, but having an Ultimate Weapon will do that to you.

And now, here I am running. It’s embarrassing really, running from an ogre. Ogres aren’t dangerous. Well, that’s a lie. Really, ogres are extremely dangerous. What I should have said is that for me, ogres usually aren’t dangerous. Usually, I can call up the type of little metal ball I want, aim carefully, and blam! Dead ogre. But when you forget to change the ammunition type from your last job, which was a simple extermination of a bugbear, you have to take the consequences.

The question that kept running through my mind as I ran down the alley; heavy footsteps pounding right behind me, was why?  Why this particular job? Usually, if someone hires me, it’s because they have a serious problem. Take the bugbear for instance. They’re usually not that big a nuisance. They hang out, eat garbage, and spoil food if they get near it. But in this case, one of them thought it had it made. It moved in on an old lady and flat out refused to leave. Its mistake was that the old lady had some money put aside. She was a nasty, old bat, with no friends or family, but she had enough money to hire me. I walked in, made sure I had the right ammunition, and blammo, just like that, no more bugbear.

This ogre, though. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was minding his own business, doing his thing. So why...?

Guess I should start at the beginning.

My name is Duke Grandfather. Yes, really. I don’t know where it comes from either. I have no idea how the name got passed down, but it did. Somewhere in my past was some joker who thought it’d be a good idea to hang the surname Grandfather on the clan. Duke, well, that’s because my mother had visions of grandeur for me when I was born. I loved Mom, but she wasn’t the brightest. She never could understand that you had to be born into royalty to be royalty. Instead, she kept telling me that I could be whatever I wanted to be. I guess that included becoming a Duke.

I grew up in one of the rougher parts of our fair city, which is the capital of the kingdom, if I do say so myself. From where I grew up, you could look way up the hill and see the castle, all agleam in the morning light. Or afternoon, or whenever you happened to glance up. The fact was most of us hardly noticed it. It was just there, like the moon or the sun, and equally as accessible. Folk like us didn’t get royal invites to the Princess’s birthday party. We just muddled along.

I’ve killed a lot of pests and cleaned up a lot of messes in his Majesty’s Royal Kingdom, and thus far, it seems to have escaped his notice. Imagine that.

See, Capital City, as it’s called, is actually a pretty interesting place. The King has called for it to be an open city, meaning that any and all are welcome here, no matter what race, species or creed. Technically, anyone can come live, set up shop, procreate and enjoy the benefits of living in an enlightened society.

The reality is different. Capital City is still a human city and shows every sign of staying that way. The dwarves, orcs, kobolds, rat people, slime men and everyone else have their own towns and cities. Of course, the bleeding hearts all say that those places aren’t as grand as our city, so of course they all want to come here. I’ve got news for them. Walk down the street in any one of those places and see how long your desire for equality will last. About as long as it takes your body to hit the dirt.

But I digress. As always happens, this sudden influx of outsiders brought along the bad element along with the good. Sure, there was Daddy Dwarf and his family, setting up a blacksmith shop and plying their trade. But there were also the loan sharks and their muscle, the beggars and the conmen. You name it, it started showing up.

It wasn’t long before people, normal people I mean, started getting a little loud about this. Before too long, it got loud enough to be heard all the way up on the hill. As if that wasn’t strange enough, word came back from the hill too. Officially, His Majesty wasn’t going to do anything about the influx of others coming to our fair city. He believed in his vision of an open community. However, it didn’t mean that his subjects were going to be left to fend for themselves in this new world. No, indeed. That’s when the Nuisance Men came about.

I was still pretty young when I saw my first one. He was a big fellow, bearded, with a whopping big sword. You know, barbarian type. The sword was so big he wore it hanging down his back in a scabbard, rather than from his belt. He wasn’t wearing any armor, but he had so many muscles it looked like arrows would bounce off him. He was shirtless, practically pantless, and smiling at every woman who looked at him. There were lots of those. Men too, but he didn’t seem to notice that.

I was one of the ones doing the staring. What was a monster like this doing walking through our streets?  He should have been out hunting down hill-giants, or slaying manticores with his teeth or something. Instead, he headed for a goblin that was in an intense conversation with a young man. The man saw the barbarian coming over the goblin’s shoulder, and got all pale and started to shake.

He needn’t have worried. Friend barbarian walked up behind the goblin and poked him on the shoulder. I winced. There are pokes, and then there are pokes. This one looked like it was designed to leave the goblin’s arm hanging off by a thread.

The goblin squeaked, but turned around with a nasty grin on his face.

What the hell? it shouted. Its voice was tinny and scratchy. It was one of those voices that would give you a headache listening to a few words.

Rumblesnatch Grubfinger? the barbarian asked. His voice was as different from the goblins as night is from day. It was deep and rich, rumbling up from his massive chest. I’m pretty sure a few ladies actually swooned.

The goblin looked up, way up, at the man mountain, and then, not too wisely, said, Yeah, who wants to know?

That was it for the conversation. The barbarian didn’t say another word. He whipped that enormous sword out of the scabbard, brought it up over his head and down, slicing the poor goblin nearly in two, all in one smooth motion. Chop. Over.

There were the usual screams and cries of dismay, but the barbarian didn’t let it concern him in the least. He simply wiped his sword off on the grungy clothes of what was left of the goblin, re-sheathed it, and waited. In a remarkably short time, considering who they were, the City Watch arrived. I saw this all, because unlike some less stalwart folks, I stayed where I was, sitting on a barrel, in a front row seat. This was going to be good.

I was expecting a real battle royale, with the barbarian against the Watch. At first, he’d toss around the couple who showed up, and then more would be summoned, and more. Finally, they’d take him down by sheer numbers. There would be blood, and bruises and possibly broken bones. But unless that barbarian was really stupid, there wouldn’t be any more deaths. Kill a watchman, and they called out the necromancers. Those guys were scary. According to the stories, they killed you slowly and painfully, and then they got really creative. If you were lucky, you might get to go to your final reward in a century or two. If you weren’t, well, they supposedly had ways to make sure you went somewhere else. Creepy people.

Instead of the battle though, the Watch came up to the barbarian like they were old friends. They chatted for a moment and he pointed at the remains of the goblin. One of the watchmen wrote out a missive and handed it to an errand boy, which populate the city like fleas, and sent him on his way. Then they all shook hands and parted. The barbarian heading off to the taverns, the Watch back to whatever they were doing before the incident.

Pretty soon, a rat man came by, towing a cart. He threw the corpse in the cart, smeared the blood with a filthy old cloth, and went on his way. I really didn’t want to think he had just collected his dinner, but the thought wouldn’t stay away.

Anyway, that was the first time I saw a Nuisance Man. I was hooked, and convinced that I found my calling. You know, now that I relate this out loud, I really sound like a nut job. I mean, I watched some poor creature get cut in two, and here I was thinking I was divinely inspired. It wasn’t quite like that.

I knew who that goblin was. Rumblesnatch was far from an upstanding citizen. He had barely enough brains to pick on the smaller and weaker, and to disappear fast and completely when he needed to. I unfortunately had a run in or two with him myself. That guy he was talking to? His name was Jonny Weatherstrop and he was getting married in a couple of days. Rumblesnatch was threatening to tell his betrothed that he had proof that Johnny was diddling a local barmaid. He wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. Rumblesnatch had proof. He was shaking him down when the barbarian showed up.

No, I didn’t lose any sleep over Rumblesnatch’s death. Watching him get his made me wish that I had the means to stand up for me and mine. Seeing the Nuisance Man, and knowing that they existed, gave me that purpose.

Or something like that anyway. Maybe I was a nut job.

I guess I should explain about the Nuisance Men. They grew out of this need to control some of the less savory elements that entered our city when the King opened the borders. If someone had a complaint, they filed it with the Watch. The Watch then investigated it. I use that term loosely. The Watch aren’t exactly known as paragons of equal rights. Most of the time, they filed the claim and put it on the Board simply on the word of the person who complained. They were supposed to actually investigate the claim first, and only if it had true merit put it on the Board, but that’s not how it always worked out.

Once on the Board, any registered Nuisance Man could bid on it. For instance, in the case of our friend Rumblesnatch, the barbarian probably got in touch with the person filing the complaint and told him or her that he would handle it for something like 5 gold rubles, paid in advance. They always get the money up front. No one argues that point, and to my knowledge there are no cases of a Nuisance Man not living up to his contract, unless he died trying. The party who filed the complaint agrees to the fee, the money changes hands and the nuisance goes away. The Watch then verifies that the target was indeed the same one they had on their Board and dutifully removes it.

Clean up we spoke about. Gross.

It’s a slick system. It allows a new business opportunity for certain martial minded individuals, it gives the downtrodden a means of retaliation and relief, and most importantly, it keeps the King’s hands clean and his dream of an open society alive.

After witnessing the removal of Rumblesnatch, I needed to find out what was going on. I followed the barbarian as he made his way to the nearest tavern, The Witches Kettle. That was a surprise. You can tell a lot about the type of clientele that a tavern draws in our city by the name. If it has something to do with magic, like The Witches Kettle, then it most likely caters to the type of patron who has a leaning in that direction. Others, like the Executioner’s Axe, cater to the more robust, weapon swinging type individual. You would think a barbarian, known for being particularly adverse to magic, would choose a different place, but maybe he was incredibly thirsty.

I followed him in and saw why he came here right away. When you hear the word witch you tend to think of a hunch back old crone with an evil eye. They’re not all that way. Even witches have to start somewhere, which means that some of them are still pretty young. Some are pretty pretty, too. Our barbarian friend walked in, strode up to one and picked her up in an enormous hug, ending in a serious kiss hot enough to set the place alight. For her part, she squealed when he came through the door and was most definitely a willing participant.

Honestly, I didn’t know what to do at that point. I hoped to buy him an ale or two and find out more about what he just did. Remember, at this point, I had no idea that the Nuisance Men even existed. Now that he was tied up, I wasn’t sure what my next move should be.

While I was pondering this, a bony hand sneaked over and pinched me soundly on the right buttock. I let out a squawk and spun around, upsetting a nearby table in the process. Things happened quickly after that. The old crone who pinched me laughed, showing me her toothless maw and winking one jaundiced eye at me in a come-hither manner. While my brain was trying to process this horrible situation, I was suddenly yanked around to the table I jostled.

The witch there wasn’t as friendly. She stared angrily at me and moved her fingers in some weird way that didn’t even look possible. I moved toward her, under something else’s power. My feet weren’t moving, but I kept on sliding closer anyway.

When I was right in front of her, she looked me up and down, as I did the same to her. This was a large girl. I don’t mean fat, but...large. Like if our barbarian friend was female and a witch, this would be her big sister. I’m not positive, and they say this isn’t even possible, but I’m fairly certain that she had some non-human blood in her. Maybe troll.

She leaned down and sort of sniffed at me. I stood there, withering under her gaze, and feeling the eyes of everyone else in the room on me.

You spilled my drink, she growled.

I looked down quickly to see a huge mug lying on its side on the table. Beneath it was a small puddle of spilled wine. It looked like she was down to the last swallow when I inadvertently stumbled into her table.

Well, yes, I replied, meekly. I see that. But, in my defense, I was startled, and it looks like you were almost done, and....

She glowered at me. This woman was a professional glowerer too. Her eyebrows came down over her eyes, which flared up. I’m not exaggerating that. Her eyes actually flared as if fires were lit in them. It was a minor spell, I’m sure, but at the time, it was amazingly effective. I opened my mouth to say something else, something that would again demonstrate my innocence.

All that came out though was, Ummmm...can I buy you one to replace that?

With that, she straightened up, the fires died down in her eyes, and she sat down.

That would be delightful, she said.

I nodded and signaled to the tavern girl, who promptly brought over another huge flagon of wine and relieved me of 6 silver ingols.

So far, my quest to find out more about my life’s calling was not going well.

It perked up shortly, however. Avoiding the slowly sneaking hand of the ancient witch who startled me in the first place, I made my way deeper into the tavern. Smiles, of the mocking sort, surrounded me as I moved through the crowd, and I avoided a few imitators seeking a quick pinch of my tender bottom. Finally, I was able to get close to the barbarian, who was now seated at a table, with his paramour firmly planted on his lap.

Hi!  I was hoping you could tell me what happened back there with Grumblesnatch and why the Watch didn’t arrest you and how I could do that too!

I was mortified. This was not what I envisioned. I was going to approach him smoothly, offer to buy him a mug or two of ale and discuss what I saw as a burgeoning professional. Find out what his thoughts were, maybe offer up a criticism or two, and glean my wanted information that way. Instead, I acted like a star struck young girl seeing her first smooth-talking minstrel. Very suave.

You could have heard a hair pin drop in the place as everyone, including the barbarian and the witch on his lap, stared at me. Not only did I speak in a high-pitched, fast paced falsetto, but I did it at top volume too. I could feel my cheeks burning, which only increased when the barbarian opened his mouth and let out a hearty guffaw, the witch on his lap tittered evilly, and a general merriment at my expense broke out all over.

What could I do? I stood there, suffering in shame faced silence while the laughter went on. Finally, the barbarian pushed out a chair next to him with his foot.

Sit, he said, trying not very successfully to stop chortling. Let’s try this again at normal speed.

I sat, fully conscious of my good fortune. Maybe my faux pas was the best ticket after all. It seemed to put his mind at ease and ensure him that I was certainly no threat.

What’s your name, kid?

I told him, and after waiting a few moments for the bout of laughter to die down, he allowed me to ask my questions.

I’m not going to claim that I learned all I know about being a Nuisance Man that day. As a matter of fact, I didn’t learn much, except that they existed and that anyone could become one with the right set of skills, some ambition and a certain flexibility of morals. I could learn the skills, I had the ambition, and the morals were never a problem for me.

The other things I learned that day were how much a barbarian can drink and to never, ever, under any circumstances, try to keep up with him when doing so. It was a good two days before my head stopped beating like nomadic centaur war drums. But, I had my answers.

From there, it’s the standard story. I got to work. Trained, learned, practiced, and repeated. I got a pummeling far more often than I pummeled back in those days. But I stuck with it, and eventually, I started winning a few of those bouts and then more of them. Before too long, I felt I was ready to take on my first job as a Nuisance Man.

I walked into the local chapter of the Watch and asked to see the Nuisance Board. The watchman who greeted me and asked me what the hell I wanted, pointed to it and asked for my registration number. Well, that was news to me. I politely asked him what he was talking about, to which he replied by pointing at the door and staring at me as if I was dimwitted. This was an obviously an invitation to leave.

After leaving the watchhouse, I really had no clear idea where to go. I was stymied. Apparently, I needed to register, somewhere, as a Nuisance Man in order to even look at the Board for a job. But where was I to register? The only thing that I could think to do was hang around and wait for an actual, bona-fide Nuisance Man to come to the watchhouse and ask him.

I stood around for a few hours, trying to stay out of people’s way and be inconspicuous, which was tiring work. You can only loiter on a corner with your hands in your pockets for so long before people start to get suspicious. I received a few offers that made me think I wasn’t the first young man to be noticed standing on a corner, and then decided to move off when I started attracting the attention of the watchmen themselves.

Rather than go home, I decided the best course of action would be to find a tavern from which I could still observe the watchhouse and have an ale or two to pass the time. I looked around at the various signs hanging over the street.

Buckle’s Armory read one, and Stonearms Finest Weaponry another. There was an alchemist shop, Herb’s Herbs and a stable, The Lone Horse. There were several other signs announcing various shops, guilds and services, including, Nuisance Man’s Guild.

I read the sign a few times, just to be sure. Then, heaving a sigh, I headed in. I would need to learn to be much more observant if I was going to make it in this business. Still, I held my head high, prepared to face whatever challenges presented themselves, and marched in.

Inside, there was a counter with a bored looking man behind it. He was of middling years, with a slight paunch, and a balding pate.

Help you? he enquired, barely even glancing at me.

Yes, I replied proudly, I wish to register as a Nuisance Man.

He reached down below the counter and pulled out a large book, which he proceeded to put in front of him, and slowly leaf through the pages until he came to the end of a long list. It looked like all names, with several of them struck through. He slowly lifted a quill and inkwell to the counter, dipped the nib and looked at me.

Name?

Duke Grandfather, I said, expecting the normal look of incredulity or outright laughter.

There came no such response. He wrote my name in the ledger, and added a number next to it. He copied the same number on a scrap of paper, which he slowly searched around to find, and handed it to me.

Do you swear to uphold the sworn duties of a Nuisance Man in the face of any and all challenges to bring glory and fame to the guild of Nuisance Men regardless of personal danger and swear to remain faithful and forthright in all dealings with the citizenry of our great and majestic city who look upon us as succor in their moment of need?

Uh, yes?

Welcome to the guild, he drawled, and then went back to pondering the mysteries of life, which would clearly only be answered by the wooden counter top at which he gazed.

And like that, I was a Nuisance Man.

It was late in the day by now, so I decided to return home for the night and get a fresh start on my new profession bright and early the next day. It was a good plan, or at least it would have been, if I didn’t run into my old friend, Jessup. I hadn’t seen Jessup in a good long while, so it would have been