Old Firm 13 – Epilogue
It was quite warm and cosy in Lord Wragg’s study. The oversized leather chesterfield and armchairs gleamed in the firelight, casting ambient shadows on the bookshelf-covered walls. Wragg and Windar lounged in their chairs dressed in comfortable clothing and dressing gowns. It was evening after dinner, after all. Time for a little relaxation, away from the trials of the day, which had been remarkable, after all.
Wragg sipped his single-malt Scotch appreciatively. He appreciated many things. He had appreciated the sight of several naked women hanging on crosses. He had appreciated that this appreciation did not appreciatively diminish when he himself had been hung on a cross alongside them, in a state that allowed them to also appreciate him. He could appreciate all that. He further appreciated greatly that he and Windar were alive to enjoy this rather nice bit of Scotch and a decent fire.
“You know,” said Lord Wragg, “I think everything actually turned out alright.”
“I’m just glad to be alive, m’lord,” said Windar, lapsing back into his role as the Butler.
“Oh, don’t be so glum,” said Wragg. “At least this time they can’t say the Butler did it.”
“Did what?” asked Windar. “Which brings me to the question in my mind – what the hell was all that about?”
“When?” asked Wragg mildly.
“Today! Yesterday! The last few weeks,” said Windar. “I mean we almost got killed. Barb, Messaline, Erin and Eulalia almost got killed.”
“Eulalia did get killed,” said Wragg. “Fortunately someone saved her.”
“And lost his pants doing it,” said Windar sardonically.
“We all must make sacrifices,” said Wragg. Windar rolled his eyes.
“But it was all about some strange bid by a mad squirrel to take over the Elven kingdom from Barb?”
“If you say it like that,” said Wragg, “it sounds a little stupid. Let’s not forget that the Old Firm were involved. That was the big problem. Plucky gel, Eulalia, figuring out how to get rid of them.”
“And the mad squirrel?”
“Who knows,” said Wragg. “He’s dead now, and the Old Firm are gone. The Elven kingdom, or queendom is safe.”
“Well, maybe,” said Windar. “Last I checked, there were a few Elves that wanted to get to know a few of Messaline’s amazons, and I don’t think they were talking about playing checkers.”
“Where’s Bob, by the way?” asked Wragg. “Shouldn’t he be joining us for a drink? Or has he gone charging off to Russia in search of Alice again?”
“He might join us,” said Windar hesitantly, “only he had an, er, appointment…”
“Appointment?” asked Wragg. “This is a castle, an ancient Abbey, replete with traditions. One of those traditions is drinks at 9:00 in the evening, and we have never been a doctor’s office or other sort of place that requires appointments.”
“…with a young amazon. She is of the heterosexual persuasion you see, only without any sort of requisite experience, and Messaline’s captain had suggested that perhaps Sir Robert might see his way clear to assisting the young lady by…”
“Good Lord!” said Wragg. “You mean, he’s…”
“Rather fortunate,” said Windar. “Anyway, what about Barb? What does it all mean that she’s the Queen of the Elves?”
“Oh, who can say with Elves?” said Wragg. “They want her as their queen, they can figure it out, and Barb can decide if she can live with it. So far all it’s got her is trouble. I mean, right now, I’ve got her, Messaline and Erin all chained to handy pillars in my dungeons.”
“Why?” asked Windar wearily.
“Messaline’s idea,” said Wragg. “Just a bit of sport. Anyway, she broke a wineglass.”
“Messaline?”
“No, Barb – do try to keep up, Windar, old chap – and that called for appropriate punishment, and I knew Erin wouldn’t let me, if she had her way, so I had to chain her up too, and then Messaline insisted that she had to join them. They’ve been hanging down there for an hour or so now.”
“They won’t be happy,” said Windar. “Barb will be livid.”
“Yes,” said Wragg. “I expect so, especially since they’re all hanging there sans chemise, so to speak.” He grinned. “That part was rather fun. One of the perks of being lord of the manor.”
“You never managed that by yourself,” said Windar.
“Well, no,” said Wragg. “I did have help. Messaline had them pretty much voluntarily undressed already. Amazing how she gets them all out of their kit. Then, once Barb and Erin were chained to the pillar, she made me chain her up as well.”
“You’re rather enjoying this,” said Windar, “aren’t you?”
“I did enjoy certain aspects,” said Wragg. “And after all that tension today, a little amusement seemed the thing.”
“For them or for you?” asked Windar.
“Do them a world of good,” said Wragg. “A bit of the whip is bracing for the skin.”
“And Eulalia?”
“Off again,” said Wragg, “she does her own thing.”
“She won’t be happy she missed out on a whipping, you know,” said Windar.
“I didn’t tell her to leave,” said Wragg. “She’ll be off back to her cottage and trained mice or whatever she has going these days.”
“Trained mice?” asked Wndar skeptically.
“Slip of the tongue,” said Wragg, “which is, come to think of it, what I’d rather be doing to someone else. Since there's nobody female here, I’ll head down to the dungeons. You coming?”
“I suppose so…” Windar began. There was a the sound of the bell at the front door. “Who could that be at this time of night? Expecting anyone?”
“Not that I know of, but it might be anyone, given how today has gone. You’re the Butler. Go check it out, there’s a good fellow,” said Wragg.
Windar disappeared down the stairs toward the front hall. Wragg sauntered along behind him.
He heard the front door creak open and Windar’s shocked, “Dear God!” It sounded serious so he picked up his pace, and a fireplace poker, and slid down the bannister in what he hoped was an impressively swashbuckling fashion. Not easy to accomplish, he thought, as he crumpled into a plaid flannel heap at the bottom of the stairs, the poker skittering across the marble floors, past Windar and into position for Mr. Jollyrei to pick it up.
“Careless, careless,” said Jollyrei. “You could…”
“…do someone serious injury,” finished Mr. Phlebas.
"Well observed, Mr. Phlebas," said Jollyrei. He eyed the poker appreciatively.
“Where the hell,” said Wragg, looking frantically around for another weapon, and trying to disentangle himself from his dressing gown, “did you spring from.”
“We took the long way around,” said Jollyrei.
“Again,” said Phlebas.
“You see,” said Jollyrei, idly fingering the pointed tip of the poker, “no matter where in time one is sent, if you wait long enough, you get to wherever…”
“…or whenever…” said Phlebas.
“Indeed,” said Jollyrei, “whenever you wish to be. And we decided that we wished to be…”
“Here,” said Phlebas.
“And now,” said Jollyrei.
“Now, what?” asked Windar hesitantly.
“Now what?” asked Jollyrei. “Oh, I see! You are wondering what happens next.”
“It had occurred to me,” said Windar.
“Carnage and mayhem, presumably,” said Wragg. “Well, get it over with. I’m done with it. Do your worst.” He tried to look tragically heroic, which is hard in a plaid dressing gown.
“I think you have misinterpreted,” said Jollyrei, handing the poker to Windar. “We are not here in the capacity of…”
“…professionals,” finished Phlebas. He said it to rhyme with “cutthroat unstoppable killers”.
“You see,” continued Jollyrei, “Mr. Phlebas and I have had several millennia to reflect on our past and future careers, and we feel that we have perhaps not been at our complete peak performance of late. We failed miserably at stopping life from starting on this planet, for example.”
“Good thing too,” said Phlebas, “or we’d have had nothing to wear.” Wragg looked more closely at the Old Firm. They did seem a bit bedraggled, not dressed in their usual dapper suits, but now in what appeared to be animal skins roughly sewn together to resemble something that might have been a suit, if the person making it had been a tailor.
“We are not at our best,” finished Jollyrei. “Perhaps a little burned out, even. Which brings us to you.”
“What about me?” asked Wragg. Apparently a heroic death was not imminent after all.
“We need a place to stay,” said Phlebas simply.
“Somewhere to recuperate, relax and recharge,” said Jollyrei. “We would be able to pay, of course, or perform helpful duties in return for your hospitality. I’m sure we could come to a mutually agreeable arrangement.”
“Can you provide entertainments?” asked Wragg, taking a bit of a chance.
“We are professionals,” said Jollyrei, “not jesters.”
"Could be professional jesters, Mr. Jollyrei," said Phlebas.
"But we are not," said Jollyrei. "We are, or were, at least, professionals who provided discrete and unpleasant services."
“What sort of entertainments?” asked Phlebas.
“Oh very well,” said Jollyrei. “You have piqued the interest of Mr. Phlebas. Please show us what you had in mind.”
“If your lordship and these two gentlemen would care to go,” said Windar, “I believe there might be something of interest in the dungeons.”
“Dungeons, Mr. Jollyrei!” said Phebas.
“Sounds like our sort of thing, after all,” said Jollyrei.
“Follow me,” said Wragg. There didn't seem to be an alternative.
The foursome went through a large oak door at the end of the hall which opened onto a rough stone staircase. It was mostly dark, but there was a hint of torchlight from below which grew brighter. At the bottom was Apostate and his easel and paints, and today’s subject was three naked women chained to a large stone support pillar. They clearly heard the approach down the stairs because Barb let out a yell.
“It’s about time someone came to check on us! Get us down, before…” she saw Jollyrei and Phlebas, “…shit!”
“Language, dear lady,” said Wragg. “And in front of company.”
“This looks somewhat promising, don’t you think, Mr. Phlebas?” said Jollyrei.
“Very relaxing, I would think, Mr. Jollyrei,” said Phlebas.
“Exactly…,” said Jollyrei.
“…what did you have in mind?” finished Phlebas.
“Well,” said Wragg, “it’s been a while since the Abbey engaged any real professional inquisitors, torturers, or dungeon keepers. We could try an arrangement of that sort, if that would meet your needs for, er, recuperation.”
“You can’t be serious!” yelled Barb. “After all they did to us this afternoon, and now…”
“So you would like us, in short, to look after your dungeons, and potentially…” said Jollyrei
“…whip these ladies?” finshed Phlebas.
Messaline began to laugh. Erin looked uncomfortable, but shrugged her shoulders.
“That is more or less it, in a nutshell,” said Wragg. “In return you can have room and board, and I’ll get you some new suits.”
“Savile Row?” asked Phlebas.
“Of course,” said Wragg.
“And it goes without saying that you don’t kill people without checking first,” said Windar.
“Thought never crossed my mind,” said Phlebas uneasily.
“I think you will find that we will stick to the letter of our contract,” said Jollyrei. “We have our professional pride, after all.”
“Well then gentlemen,” said Wragg…
“Monsters! “ yelled Barb as the warm firelight from the torches highlighted warm female curves and skin that beckoned like a painter’s canvas.
“…the whips are over there along that wall,” Wragg said. “You may start immediately.” He got another scotch from the sideboard and poured for Windar, Jollyrei, Phlebas and Apostate as well, and then settled down into a waiting armchair to see what would happen.
“I think this will suit us eminently,” said Jollyrei, “don’t you think, Mr. Phlebas?”
Phlebas put down his Scotch and picked up a supple leather whip. He looked at Barb.
“Quite, Mr. Jollyrei,” he said.
“Welcome aboard,” said Wragg.
“Shit!” said Barb.
And so the dungeons of Cruxton Abbey rang with the sounds of leather on skin, the sights of the attractively stretched female form twisting against stone, and the shrieks and cries of people having the time of their lives.
“Nice to have the old place sort of back to normal, eh, Windar?” said Wragg.
“Yes, m’lord,” said Windar.
The End.
