2 - The Old Firm
Barb must have lost consciousness. She dreamt of pain, searing pain in her back, red weals from a whip scoring her shoulders down to the soft curve of her bottom. She felt pain in her wrists and feet. Agonizing and throbbing pain, accompanied by the grinding of metal on bone. In her dream she was panicking, overwhelmed by the pain that washed through her, sending her over the edge into madness and then…
The pain receded, borne away on the undulating, rolling waves. She was sailing, floating gracefully, as if she was free. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t see her body. She almost panicked again, but the feeling was so soothing. She felt safe.
The waves stopped and she was half awake. Arms were holding her, lifting her down. Erin, she thought. Erin rescued me from the cross.
“You were right to bring her here,” said a female voice, “are you pursued?”
“Phlebas and Jollyrei,” said Erin’s voice, and there seemed to be a shudder. The names meant nothing to Barb, but she remembered the deceptively friendly manner of the two men who had crucified her. They were scary. No. They were terror.
“I left them in the other time,” said Erin. “They won’t be able to follow.”
“We will see,” said the other voice. “They don’t just give up. We must find out who sent them, and end their contract. Otherwise they will just keep coming.”
“Unless they die,” said Erin with steel in her voice.
“They don’t die,” said the other woman. “Bring her in. We need to tend to her quickly.”
* * *
“What are we doing here?” asked Phlebas.
“We are resting, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei, “conserving our energy for the resumption of the hunt.”
The two were in a cellar of a ruined fortress – it was damp, and contained considerable evidence of collapsed pillars and arch stones, but one corner of the underground works had remained with most of the floor above it serving as a ceiling. The sky could be seen to the north, where the building itself was all but gone, and the only thing remaining was a staircase leading up. Inexplicably, considering the Romanesque surroundings, both were wearing gray silk Saville Row suits.
“Fuck,” said Phlebas, sitting down heavily on a stone. Jollyrei was reclining on a fallen pillar that served as a divan. He gave Phlebas an amused glance.
“Fuck,” he said, “or fornicate. A clever choice of expletive, considering our current lodgings. Did you know, Mr. Phlebas, that these undercrofts with their arches and pillars were, at one time, referred to as “fornications”. It is said that certain ladies would sell sexual favours from these archways.”
“These ones right here?” asked Phlebas.
“Well,” said Jollyrei, “perhaps not these very ones, but certainly ones like them.”
“Can’t see them doing much trade here, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“Astute as always, Mr. Plhebas,” said Jollyrei.
“So, really, why are we here?”asked Phlebas.
“Because your nose lost the scent of our quarry, Ms. Barbara Moore, and that elf on a horse that rescued her,” said Jollyrei.
“Went to the elvish places, didn’t they?” said Phlebas. “Can’t smell them there, Mr. Jollyrei.”
“Quite so, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “I am aware of these little details. And that is all they are – details. No doubt, our Ms. Moore, with her well known penchant for finding trouble, will reappear presently. We are, after all, the personification of trouble, are we not, Mr. Phlebas.”
“Famous for it, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “Too bad about the crucifying job though. I liked that one.”
“We all have to branch out, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei, “move with the times.”
“Is that why we’re dressed like this?” asked Phlebas.
“We are dressed like this,” said Jollyrei, “because we are men of consequence, men with whom people must reckon, and because I was tired of not having on a decent pair of trousers with pockets.”
“That’s a good point, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “Look what I have in my pockets.”
He fished around in the breast pocket of his jacket as Jollyrei sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position. Phlebas hand emerged from the jacket holding a set of three matched stilettos.
“Very nice indeed,” said Jollyrei. “And what do you propose to do with those elegant little toad stickers?”
“Practice,” said Phlebas. There was a blur and the daggers shot across the room and into an old wooden beam in a precise equilateral triangle.
“Don’t like elves rescuing our commissions,” said Phlebas.
“No,” said Jollyrei, “the Lady Erin will need to be taught a lesson in courtesy, as well as the binding nature of the commercial agreement.”
“How did she know we were crucifying Barb anyway, Mr. Jollyrei,” asked Phlebas.
“Now we hit the interesting question, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “Someone has been a bit loose with information. Mind you, the announcement of the crucifixion was public, but someone must have leaked the identity to Erin – someone who knows how to find Erin.”
“Not us then, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “We can’t find her. Just said that a moment ago.”
“That,” said Jollyrei drily, “and the fact that we would hardly call Erin ourselves to ruin following through on our own contract.”
* * *
Barb woke up in a haze. The pain was only a dull ache now in her wrists and her legs. Her back tingled, as if itchy. That’s good, isn’t it, she thought. If there’s an itch, that means things are healing. She opened her eyes.
She was in a bedroom. Not a Roman bedroom. An English or Scottish country bedroom. Wood beams on the ceiling. Whitewashed walls. A chest against the wall. The bed had a metal bedstead with brass balls on the four corner posts. She was lying naked under a quilt – the quilt had small rabbits and chickens in alternating squares. The whole scene was completely ridiculous, considering she had just ridden through the night on an elvish horse, away from the site of her own crucifixion by the Romans.
Why had she been crucified? She couldn’t remember doing anything wrong. She had been a slavegirl. Somehow she knew she was not a slavegirl anymore.
“Ah, awake are we?” said a Scottish voice. A slim, small, but well toned young woman with dark hair and inquiring eyes was regarding her from the doorway. The woman was dressed in a short plaid skirt and sweater, barefoot. “You gave me a bit of a fright,” said the woman. “Haven’t had to deal with a crucifixion in a while.”
“In a while?” croaked Barb, and realized her throat was very dry.
“Yeah,” said the Scottish woman. “They haven’t happened around these parts in about 2000 years, well, not the Roman ones. I’m Eulalia, and you’re Barb.”
“I know who I am,” said Barb.
“No you don’t,” said Eulalia. “None of us do. We know you’re Barb Moore, and we know that in that timeline you were a slave. Who you actually are is something else. Erin thinks you’re a Queen or a princess or something. Anyway, you have to be someone if the Firm is after you.”
“The Firm?” asked Barb. None of this meant anything. If she wasn’t a slave, who was she? Even so, she somehow knew she was Barb Moore. It didn’t sound like the name of a princess.
“Phlebas and Jollyrei,” said Eulalia. “I’ve never met them, but we know about them. Here,” she handed Barb a glass half full of water, “you’re probably a bit dry.” She smiled.
Barb smiled back and gratefully sipped at the cool liquid, feeling it soothe her throat.
“They’re nasty,” said Erin, coming into the room.
“Who are they,” asked Barb, “and why do they want me?”
“Bogiemen, monsters, if you like,” said Eulalia. “Knowing who you are would help us find out why they’re after you, and why it’s important.”
“It’s important to me,” said Barb, “staying alive.”
“I expect so,” said Eulalia, “but it might also be important to us to keep you that way.”
“I will always come for you,” said Erin.
“So who would know something,” asked Barb.
“Whoever tipped off Erin to come rescue you,” said Eulalia, “and I have some idea who that might be.”
“Who?” asked Barb.
“Wragg and Windar,” said Erin. “You can’t go to them,” she added to Eulalia. “They’re about as dodgy as they come. They were the ones that flogged Barb to begin with.”
Yes,” said Eulalia, “which is odd, but they did tip you off for some reason. There aren’t that many people around who know where to find the elves, and even fewer that would think that Erin would be interested in stopping one Roman crucifixion.”
“I still say they’re dodgy,” said Erin. “Be careful that they don’t betray you to those other two.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” said Eulalia.
* * *
“One day,” said Windar, “you’ll push your luck too far.”
Windar and Wragg were in their shop, which doubled as a whipping emporium for patrician ladies who felt they wanted or deserved punishment. W and W did not quite understand why they wanted it, and indeed the upper class female clients didn’t want the judicial treatment of bone and lead-tipped whips used for criminals, but the softer leather whips that left red marks, but didn’t threaten overall health. Anyway, by day, the shop and the two proprietors scourged prisoners and those destined for the cross, and on Tuesday and Thursday evenings they “entertained” a more upper class clientele.
Windar’s arm swept out and gave the long leather whip a good flick with his wrist. The leather connected smartly with the pale bare skin of a blonde woman, bound to a polished whipping post. She gave a soft gasp.
“I don’t know,” said Wragg. “It just didn’t seem right, you know, leaving her to the gentle ministrations of Jollyrei and Phlebas.”
Windar looked at the woman hanging from the post, and selected a shorter, multi-thonged whip. He showed it to Wragg, who nodded. Windar brought the whip hard against the woman's bottom. She shrieked in what sounded like pain, but might also have been pleasure.
“Why not?” Windar asked. “I mean, you know I don’t like crucifixion any more than the next guy, less in fact, but why…”
“I liked her,” said Wragg. “I saw someone there I recognized, and I couldn’t just leave her there.”
“I noticed that didn’t stop you scourging her with the number 4 bone-tipped,” said Windar. He gave the pale back of the woman against the post another couple of hard lashes, bringing out red welts, but no blood. You could be sure of exactly the right amount of pressure from W and W. That was professionalism.
The woman was gasping, breathing hard, which made her pretty breasts rise and fall. Her legs were trembling which made her bottom move enticingly.
“Purely business,” said Wragg. “Something didn’t feel right. Anyway, I couldn’t just stop with that centurion watching. We do have a reputation to uphold. You missed a spot,” he added pointing to one of the woman’s shoulder blades.
The lash snaked out and connected perfectly with the shoulder and striped down her back. She jerked and spasmed and then hung limply for a few seconds. Windar looked at Wragg and raised an eyebrow.
“Very nice,” said Wragg.
“You had the hots for one of the Romans’ victims,” said Windar, “so you called Erin.”
“I was right though, yeah?” said Wragg. “Erin wouldn’t have come if she wasn’t important.”
“Erin?” asked the woman. “The Elf Girl Warrior?”
Wragg and Windar looked at each other. Then they went and cut down the blonde woman.
“What do you know of Erin, Domna Messalios,” Windar asked the upper class lady, offering her a goblet of wine.
“She is an elvish warrior woman,” said Messalios, “which I know because I am an Amazon.”
“Great,” said Windar.
“Please call me Messaline,” said Messaline. “I think we will be, how shall we call it? Involved together? Who was this rescued woman?”
“Barb,” said Windar. “Her name was Barb, or Barbaria – so called because she was a barbarian slave girl. Suddenly, the Elf Warrior is charging down Romans, and those two, to get her away.”
“Yes,” said Wragg. “Very impressive, I thought. Anyway, I can’t see how that could come back onto us. After all…”
There was a knock at the door.
“Are you expecting someone?” asked Windar.
“No,” said Wragg. “There’s nobody but Messalios, er, Messaline booked in.”
Windar went to the door, but didn’t open it. “We’re closed,” he said. “Please come back tomorrow.”
“It’s urgent,” said a female voice. “Erin sent me.”
“Damn,” said Windar, and opened the door. His hand darted out and grabbed a small soft arm. There was a muted shriek of surprise, but at the same time soft, because the person grabbed wanted to stay quiet. He pulled the arm and the person attached to it into the shop, quickly shutting the door, and pushing the visitor against it to get a better look.
“Oh, you,” he said. He let go of Eulalia.
“Nice to see you too,” said Eulalia. “How long has it been?”
“A couple of centuries,” said Windar, “or it will be, anyway. We moved the wrong way.”
“How did you know?” Wragg asked Eulalia.
“You’re the only one who knows to call Erin,” said Eulalia. “and why. Who is this,” she asked looking at Messaline.
“Messaline. Apparently she’s an Amazon. And you’re wrong,” said Wragg. “I don’t know why. I had a feeling. I didn’t know what to do about it, so I let Erin know.”
“So you have no idea who Barb is?” asked Eulalia.
“Nope,” said Wragg. “I’d like to,” he added, Windar rolled his eyes, “but normally I don’t react like that to girls I think are attractive.”
“Yes you do,” said Windar.
“Okay,” said Wragg, “but I don’t think they’re important enough to call Erin about.”
“Well, you were right,” said Eulalia. “Erin is sworn to protect Barb.”
“She does a very strange job of it,” said Windar.
“Barb isn’t easy to protect. She isn’t an Elf. She’s human, and she’s disoriented, and she doesn’t know why she’s being thrown around in time. She only remembers she was a slave.”
“And she’s got the Firm on her trail,” said Wragg. “That’s enough reason to call Erin in my books.”
“We’ll have to find out who she is,” said Eulalia. “I really hoped you’d know something. Now I’ll have to do this the difficult way, and there’s no guarantee it will work.”
“And what’s the difficult way?” asked Windar.
“I won’t say,” said Eulalia. “Then you can’t tell anyone where I’ve gone. Look, I need you to do something for me, keep something for me.”
“Okay,” said Wragg, “what?”
“This,” said Eulalia. She pulled a small wooden box, inlaid with mother of pearl, out of her cloak and handed it to Wragg. Wragg and Windar stared at it, but didn’t open it.
“You know what it is,” Eulalia said.
“Yes,” said Wragg. “Are you sure it’s necessary?”
“I hope not,” said Eulalia, “but if something happens to me, you have to bring it back to me. Erin will know where to find me then. I just hope it’s worth it, and I need the insurance.”
“Of course,” said Wragg.
“Afterwards,” said Eulalia, “whatever the outcome, Barb can’t stay at my cottage. They’ll know where she is. She’ll have to be moved to a new place.”
“I’ve got one,” said Wragg. “I haven’t been there in a while, but it’ll do.”
“Good,” said Eulalia. “I hope this works. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” said Windar. “You’ll bloody well need it.” And she was gone, through the door silently and into the night.
“Well,” said Windar, “this sucks!”
“I dare say,” said Wragg. “Still, the prospect of meeting Barb again is nice.”
“What about our plans to open a chain of Flagellation Emporia to leave our children?” asked Windar.
“Neither of us even has a wife, never mind children,” said Wragg.
“That is a point,” said Windar. “So, where…
“The Abbey,” said Wragg. “I have to stay around here a bit, in case…well, in case,” he said glancing at the small wood and pearl box. “You’ll have to go and get the place ready.”
“Just like old times,” said Windar.
“No,” said Wragg. “New times. I only hope Jollyrei and Phlebas don’t follow us there.”
“I don’t suppose Erin will rescue us too?” said Windar. He was pulling off his apron and leather tunic and putting on what appeared to be a Victorian butler’s suit.
“Perhaps I can help,” said Messaline.
Wragg and Windar stared at the naked blonde woman. She was holding a long sword.
“Perhaps,” said Wragg.
* * *
“Stand up against that wall,” said Jollyrei. “I’ll show you what I can do with them.” He was holding the three stilettos in one hand. So far the small knives had been used to kill 14 robins, two small frogs, a large furry spider, and a deer. Even Jollyrei had to admit the deer was quite a feat, demonstrating Phlebas skill and ruthlessness, considering the stilettos weren’t longer than about 4 inches each.
Not to be outdone, Jollyrei was going for finesse and showmanship now.
Phlebas left off turning the deer over the spit where it was roasting, and went and stood with his back to a rotting wooden wall of the cellar. “Okay,” he said, “go on.”
Jollyrei’s arm flashed and the stilettos buried themselves one next to each ear, and the other above Phlebas’ head.
“There,” said Jollyrei. “And I did that with my eyes closed.”
“So what?” asked Phlebas. “I don’t see what’s so impressive. You didn’t even hit one of my ears.”
“Okay, Mr. Smartie,” said Jollyrei testily. “Why don’t you show us how it’s done.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt anything, Gentlemen,” said a Scottish voice. “But I was wondering whether you might answer a couple of questions.”
Phlebas and Jollyrei turned to look up at the attractive dark haired woman on the crumbling staircase.
“You seem to have us at a distinct disadvantage, Madame,” said Jollyrei. “However, I should note that we are not normally in the information business and many of the people who ask us questions….”
“…end up dead,” said Phlebas.
“I think,” said Eulalia, “that I have something you might want, provided I get the answers I want.”
“This intrigues me,” said Jollyrei, “if only for pure audacity. Please descend and we will discuss it.”
“And then we’ll probably kill you anyway,” said Phlebas.
“Come, come, Mr. Phlebas,” said Jollyrei. “Not before tea. We must get acquainted.”
“Of course, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas. “Where are my manners?”
Eulalia walked down the stairs into the cellar hoping she was doing the right thing. It certainly didn’t seem to be the sensible thing.
to be continued...
Jollyrei is writing again! 
