The Triple Alliance

* * *

“Hallo!”

“I’ve already told you I’m not interested, and I’m going to be late as it is. Now bugger off.”
These seemingly clear directions didn’t have the desired effect.

“I have very good prices! 10 dnai for good quality timepiece! Will last long time!”
Based on past experience she doubted this very much, and the shrivelled wreck in front of her was starting to annoy with his excessive use of exclamation marks.

“Listen. I’ve already told you I’m in a hurry. I’m not interested in your fake watches. See this?”, at which point she brandished a scroll from within the recesses of her cloak and waved it in front of the cowering hallo facing her. “If you don’t leave me alone and go harass somebody else before I count to 7, you’ll be in my next story. Believe me. It won’t be a pleasant experience.”

The hallo retreated a few steps before deciding that he had bitten off a bit too much. Limping away, he spied what appeared to be easier prey in the shape of an old
granny carrying a couple of grocery bags.
Owling smiled to herself. It was amazing how much respect a piece of parchment could command. Glancing down at her watch, she frowned. Surely more time had passed since…. Damn. It had stopped again. Wishing that she could for once afford a real watch, Owling hastily made her way around the corner in time to witness the town hall’s clock strike 9. Great. Fendsley was going to be insufferable.

Her curses were drowned out by the sound the Order of Godmother’s resident undercover bodyguard getting to grips with her assailant, who was being made to regret his chosen lifestyle and stereotypical views. Owling spared the pitiful wreck a glance as he hit the wall and crumpled beside her, before making her way down the street.

Moments later she was lying on the floor. Looking behind her, she saw the culprit sprinting away, complete with her money bag. So much for the subtle approach. As the perpetrator turned the corner, she began to give chase, unbelieving at her luck, with the day so young too. As she turned the same corner her assailant had an instant before, a confusing sight greeted her.

The pickpocket had mistakenly decided that today was his lucky day, and gone for what was known in the business as a Double Negative-Kingpin Blitz. Considered almost a holy manoeuvre, it involved a forceful takedown of one mark, and then a second, similarly forceful takedown moments later in the same vicinity as the first. The risks involved were obvious; with no ‘kingpin’, or base nearby, and two sets of hostiles hot on your heels, it took a very brave and experienced pickpocket to complete such a legendary move. Unfortunately for this young learner, it was not his lucky day, and he was not experienced. Just foolish. Sighting an old lady wiping what looked like tomato juice from her blouse, his eyes lit up and glorious visions filled his mind. Blood rushed to his head in excitement.

Seconds later, blood was rushing from his nose as the old lady unleashed a fearsome blow with one of her grocery bags. A second swinging left bag followed, with a roundhouse kick finishing off a punishing combination. He hit the ground hard, landing on something a stray dog had kindly left behind earlier. Bleeding, dazed and smelling not too nicely, the pickpocket managed to get to his feet, only to be knocked straight back down again. Glancing up, he trembled at the sight of the old woman, who he could have sworn moments before was looking ripe for the taking, poised over his body ready to deliver a crippling blow. Cries of “NO!” rang about his ears before everything went dark.

*

She was late.
The ceremony was due to have started by now, but because she was late, it had been suspended indefinitely.
As Arch-Scribe Fendsley paced about his office, he couldn’t help but smile. She was never going to live this one down. Owling was well known for her punctuality in the order, but then come to think of it so were all the woman. He recalled the time when he and Owling were due to attend an Order Assembly, and they had called a carriage so as to arrive in style.

“It’s due at half-past.”

“Half-past!? Are you being serious? You know what Cribley’s are like- they don’t know the meaning of ‘On-time’. It’s well known you have to book at least 2 hours in advance of the time you actually want.”

Fendsley hated it when she used that all-knowing tone. “I’ve never had any problems with them,” he said dismissively. “And besides, its fashionable to be late.”
Owling had been ready to explode at this point, and so to appease her he had offered a simple solution- to walk.

“Have you not seen the weather outside?” she had responded incredulously. “And if you honestly think that I’m going to walk through the streets of Hadabag in high heels, you’ve got another thought on the way.” Fendsley had grinned at this. Her hatred of clichés led to her using ridiculously sounding phrases. It was kind of cute though, and the best bit was that she didn’t realise that she did it, leading to great amusement amongst her colleagues.

“What’s so funny?” Owling had demanded.

“Nothing,” came the innocent reply. “Anyway, stop being so pathetic- just wear your normal shoes and change when you get there.”

“Suppose,” came the rankled response. “Still, we wouldn’t be in this debacle if you had any common sense. You didn’t pay for the carriage did you?”

“Of course not. Now if your highness would like to hurry up, we might make it on time. And that, after all, is why we are walking.”
By the time they had left, it was going to have to be a brisk walk if they were to avoid arriving late, and Owling realised this.

“Come on, keep up.”

“Alright! Jeez, it’s almost like we’ve got Njorf Himself on our tails,” Fendsley grumbled. “What now?” came the complaint, as Owling paused.

“If we go through the alleyway just over there, it should take us out over the other side of Market Gardens,” came the relieved response. Fendsley, on the other hand, was not so convinced.

“Are you sure about that? I’ve never heard of that shortcut before.”

“Geena told me about it the other day. And since we’re here…”

“What do you mean ’since we’re here’? That’s like saying ’since I inherited my grandfather’s castle, I may as well put his torture chamber to use’. I mean, you do come up with the most wacko ideas sometimes.”

“Don’t be absurd. Oh, and whilst on the subject of ‘wacko ideas’, who’s the one that came up with idea of having an extermination of the rodent population below the Order’s Citadel because ‘I’ve heard them plotting at night ’. Now come on, let‘s go.”
Fendsley reluctantly followed, but was not going to give in.

“Listen. I know what I’ve heard, and… where on Nepthant are we? This is so not Market Garden.”
The bickering duo were confronted with a sight somewhat different to the one they had been expecting.

“Now you know that shortcut you were so desperate to try out…”
“Shut up. Just shut up,” said Owling through gritted teeth.

“You should see your face, it’s priceless. I can’t wait for tomorrow when…Hey! Wait up!”
Owling had stalked off towards the nearest exit of the courtyard, and Fendsley hurried after her.

“Are you sure this is a wise idea? You know the reputation this place has got. Well, it’s not really a reputation, as that kind of implies it’s an opinion, or not necessarily true. So let me rephrase that. You know this place is an absolute shi…”

“Are you still here?” snapped Owling.

“Alright! No need to get touchy. I was just making the point that a couple of well-dressed people may well be targeted in a place like this.”

“I don’t know what your talking about. I mean, with such a powerfully built man as yourself by my side…”

“Ha-Bloody-Ha. Since when did the Order of Harlequins sign you up.”

“Now who’s the one getting touchy?”

“Humph.”

“Oh sorry I forgot. You know, about what happened with that young boy who’s foot you stood on…”

“He was not a young boy. He had just been initiated into the Order of …”

“Justifications, justifications. Just face the fact that you got beate...”

Fendsley let her words wash over him and carried on walking, seething. The current situation didn’t help either. He knew full well that Owling would never back down about going back. They’d carry on until well and truly lost, and then she’d somehow find a way of pinning the blame on him. It was always the way. Glancing behind him, he saw Owling had stopped talking. He paused to allow her to catch up.

“Calmed down have we?”

Fendsley ignored the jibe. “You do realise we’re lost don‘t you. And what is that?” A ringing noise had filled the air. Owling pulled out what looked like a blue brick from her bag. She put her finger to her lips to hush him and spoke into the contraption in her hand.

“ Hello?… Oh hi Marcus… I know we’re late. It’s just…Don’t interrupt me!… So you should be. Now let me explain. Being the idiot that we all know and love, Fendsley ordered a carriage from Cribley’s…I know. So we decided to walk. I saw an alleyway that Geena had told me was a shortcut so…Precisely. Now I’m following Fendsley who seems to think that he knows where he’s going…Ha! I know what you mean…”
Fendsley turned, having heard enough. Trust her. It was pointless getting annoyed over it though. It was just who she was. A stuck-up, arrog…

“You alright?”

“Yeah. I see you’ve got one of those new sprite thingies.”

“Brilliant aren’t they?”

“Not really. I highly doubt the idea will catch on. Besides, they’re way too expensive.”

“Won’t catch on! It’s ingenious! It will only be a matter of time before everyone has one.”

“And that’s why it will fail. You know how it works right? Purple sprites in each box, psychically transmitting your words to another purple sprite in another box, which puts the words onto our frequency, right?
“Yes.”
“Well purple sprites have just been discovered, and are rare. So therefore everyone can’t have one. Rarity means they will be expensive, and so common people won’t be able to afford one.”

Owling stared at him, desperately seeking an answer. She was saved by an interruption, an interruption which gave the night a more…interesting aspect.

A knock on the door brought Fendsley back to the present. I really must stop doing that, he told himself.

“Come in!”

An extremely nervous looking scribe hesitantly opened the door before poking his head round the corner.

“You rang the bell sir?”

“Ah yes. I was just wondering if there was any update as to the whereabouts of Owling?”

“No sir. We’ve tried her home, as well as her Spriteophone™. No sign.”

“Right, okay. That’ll be all.” Fendsley dismissed the scribe with a wave of his hand.

As the door clicked shut, he couldn’t help but feel slightly worried. Being late was just not what Owling did. And the ceremony couldn’t start until she was here, being a Elder-Scribe. Trust her to ruin things.

*

Leonaro groaned as he came to. Opening his eyes, everything was blurred. Blinking didn’t seem to help either. He shut his eyes and tried to order his thoughts, like he was trained to do. So what had happened?

He had gone on an early morning exercise as a warm-up to his training later on in the day. Just a simple one, the same as every other day. He hadn’t been out for very long before he spied what seemed like a profitable mark. Assessing the situation, he’d decided subtlety wasn’t the right tactic. He picked his moment, then pounced on the unwary victim. What had happened next? Oh yes. He’d rounded the street corner and spotted… the old woman. When word of what happened got out, and it would, he might as well just give up his training straight away. There was no turning back.

A creaking noise caused Leonaro to snap his head around suddenly, an action he sincerely wished he hadn’t done moments later as the sudden pain made him gasp in anguish.

“Relax. It’s only me, your saviour. I tell you, if I hadn’t intervened when I did, I think Beatrice was about to dish out a world of hurt.”

Beatrice. He had got beaten up by a woman called Beatrice. He’d probably have to move cities now.

“ I know what you mean, she delivered a couple of meaty blows with those grocery bags,” came the sarcastic reply. I’ve got to keep some dignity, he told himself.

“Well if they were grocery bags then the blows probably weren’t meaty…” A glare silenced Owling, who looked down sheepishly. No wonder she’d never had any success at being a Humour writer.