SlenderWolf

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villages look forward to having their favourite newspaper first thing Saturday morning.

If the Garrison has electricity, and the schools don’t, then it’s probably going to mean that the PrintWorks won’t be getting any electricity until much later this evening, if at all.

The call goes out for NutJob. Don’t go home after school, come straight to work. Faraday needs more help now!

After school on Fridays, NutJob usually heads home to have something to eat before starting his part time job at 18:00. Likewise KristalClear. She’s heard the news too, and instead of waiting until 18:00 to start work, she’ll be leaving the classroom the moment it turns 16:00, and she’ll be going directly to the Garrison. The cavalry will be riding south imminently.

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About two hours ago the lieutenant at the outpost in Ormskirk put out a call for urgent assistance. She sent a carrier pigeon to Garrison HQ in Lancaster, and sent a messenger on horseback to the neighbouring outpost in Skelmersdale. In turn, Skelmersdale has no doubt sent riders to alert Wigan and Preston, and reinforcements will be on their way.

“Ah! No electricity!” says Mr Rafone, “something must be kicking off!”

The classroom is bright enough on a Friday afternoon, without electric light, and Mr Rafone’s Civics class continues as normal. Perhaps one or two of the science teachers might be upset, but if they’re currently using electricity, then the school’s own back up systems should be enough to cope with the load.

At the far end of St George’s Quay, there’s frantic activity at the Garrison and the lights are on! They have electricity! That’s not normal on a Friday afternoon! The Garrison gets their quota of one hour of electricity early each morning, and then it’s one hour for the clinics. After that the schools have one hour in the morning, and another hour at the end of the day.

In emergencies the Garrison always has preferential treatment. There are special procedures in place for that. It didn’t happen very often, but five or six times a year the Wolfies in Lancaster were accustomed to additional restrictions on electricity.

But what’s Faraday going to do now?

On a Friday afternoon, as soon as school ends, businesses like the PrintWorks have their quota of electricity. Faraday always prints and distributes The Lancastrian on a Friday.

The riders, the stagecoaches and the ferrymen are always ready. The weekly routine is timed specifically to have the newspaper ready by mid evening so that it can be transported by sea on the same day, to places like Ulverston and Preston. From these three main distribution points it goes overland to reach the smaller inland towns. That ensures that it’s available on newsstands every Saturday morning. It’s the main source of news in Wolfland, and the people of the smaller towns and

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official schedule. NurseCathy is effectively on call 24 hours per day, 7 days per week. Officially, Peter is the Premises Manager, but he does anything and everything whenever he’s asked, and AuntSylvie lives and breathes caregiver. It’s been her vocation ever since her younger brother died.

—o—

            Friday, mid afternoon, before school is over, Peter knocks on AuntSylvie’s office door while NurseCathy is in their apartment checking her medic’s bag. All three of them meet up in the Grand Corridor

“What’s happening now?” asks AuntSylvie.

“The Garrison’s busy! Something’s up. I don’t know exactly what! The chief medical officer sent a messenger over, and I need to get round there right now.”

“I hope it’s not serious?”

“I won’t know until I get there. Probably contingency planning again. But you never know! If I can’t get back tonight I’ll send another messenger to update you.”

Word has gone round that there’s been an incursion down south. Which means that a well established routine interferes with the usual course of events on an otherwise ordinary Friday.

Periodically, Mr Potato Head instructs his lackies to send raiding parties across the border. Partly to keep his own militias on their toes, and partly to remind Wolfland that Worringfolk is not as weak as they might like to think. There’s always a risk that the latest incursion might be the big one. There has always been a constant and recurrent threat to annex more farmland, seize crops and commandeer livestock.

It’s unlikely that this is a full scale invasion though, just another expedition to steal food. The Wor are not in the habit of risking fatalities on their side, they don’t want to lose any of the few military grade horses that they have, and they need to conserve ammunition.

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“She’s sweet isn’t she? She’s joining Mel and I for tea later. Mel calls her ClaireVoyant, they’re both into horoscopes big time.”

“A thirteen year old clairvoyant? And a seventy three year old one? I bet you feel out of place?”

“Not at all! It’s fascinating. Did I tell you how the fire signs can often be misinterpreted? The thing that lots of people get wrong about astrology is …”

“Sorry Colonel, not right now, we should do this when I have a bit more time.”

“Yes, of course. Do join us for tea if you can … when the older students get back this afternoon. Mel will be on her best behaviour, I promise.”

“Should I tell Sylvie that you averted another incursion into the girls’ room?”

“You are to follow the protocols. I’m sure you’ll do the right thing!”

—o—

            “The Colonel’s fine. He’s invited me to join him and Miss Gibson for tea this afternoon. Claire Telham too. Apparently Claire is now called ClaireVoyant and they all love discussing horoscopes!”

“Do they now?” says AuntSylvie, “can I come?”

“You’re the boss. Nobody’s going to stop you!”

“And today’s Friday, so there’s no pressure! 16:30 in the conservatory?”

“Yes. Oh … and the Colonel also mentioned a minor altercation between the boys and Diane Mitchell.”

“Minor? Write it in the log. I’ll make sure to read it before we meet for tea. Is Peter back yet? I want to discuss weekend activities with him.”

Peter and Cathy Sinclair have lived in the Noble Coliseum for almost as long as AuntSylvie. They know everybody and everybody knows them, and whilst they notionally have a normal working week, they put in far more hours than the

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along really well. He says that she reminds him of his wife. Whether or not the resemblance includes neurological disorders has never been discussed!

AuntSylvie and NurseCathy run The Noble Coliseum, a multi purpose institution. Alongside many worthy community initiatives it provides a home for some of Lancaster’s elderly and orphans. At one time it was the great house of a wealthy businessman, one of the Penrith Nobles, until it was bequeathed to the Chamber.

The whole complex is about the size of a large primary school. One with a grand hall which is put to good use every Saturday night as a music and dance venue. “OpenMike Night” is a major fixture in Lancaster’s social calendar.

“Oh, hello Cathy!” says the Colonel, “I heard that Mel was giving you some trouble at breakfast this morning. Sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Not me personally,” says NurseCathy, “just a bit of fireworks in general from what I hear. She calmed down as soon as the kids were out of the building. Are you OK? Did you get some breakfast?”

“I’m perfectly fine! I was busy chatting with Claire and Di. They’re having some trouble with the teenage boys again, the ones they call ShortFuse and MegaBite.”

“Seriously? They weren’t in the girls’ room again were they?”

“No, nothing like that. I don’t think that’ll ever happen again, not after my lecture to them about gentlemanly conduct. They were taking the mickey out of Di’s new haircut. It was more abuse than she deserved, too rude for my liking!”

“I hope she’ll be OK,” says NurseCathy, “she decided short hair would be better, because she’s started learning karate. RoughDi they call her. Rough diamond! And although she’s a beginner she can really hold her own in the dojo.”

“I’m glad you warned me! My self defence skills are a little rusty!”

“What about Claire?”

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Chapter 6

Incursion

“She was complaining about children in the dining room again!” says NurseCathy.

“What time was that?” asks AuntSylvie, “Were any of the kids in the dining room?”

“At around 08:15 they were walking along the corridor. Peter was taking the primary kids to school. Everything was perfectly normal, no excessive noise, it was all running like clockwork. The kids all finished breakfast on time. ShortFuse and MegaBite were the last to leave just before 08:00. By the time the retirees started filtering in they had the room all to themselves. She was just having one of those days!”

“So there was no actual incursion into the dining room then? What did the Colonel do?”

“That’s the problem! He wasn’t there.”

“Is he unwell?” asks AuntSylvie, “if he dies before Miss Gibson does we’ll have to develop some new interventions. Or everybody’s going to suffer!”

In the absence of medication, treating a little old lady with dementia is something that NurseCathy has been working very hard at. AuntSylvie willingly provides all the support she can, though there’s nothing better than having the Colonel on hand to help with some cognitive stimulation and his settling influence.

Miss Gibson rarely flares up, and when she does the Colonel can nip it in the bud in an instant. He’s an interesting character, a Manxman who retired long before the amalgamation of the services, and he steadfastly refuses to adopt the modern rank of Captain. Fortunately he’s still in full possession of his faculties, and he’s a perfect gentleman. And although it’s antiquated, he’s perfectly entitled to use the rank of Colonel.

He’s fond of Miss Gibson, even though she can be a handful at times. She went a bit dotty a few years ago. Now, aged 73 she’s two years younger than the Colonel, and they get

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“They don’t! There used to be car factories in Speke, and Halewood, and Ellesmere Port. By the time motor cars became obsolete, most of those jobs had already gone. Nothing took their place.”

CandiCrush sums it up by saying, “the charming people left, and the rogues took over. If you couldn’t afford to leave, you got sucked into the system. There’s a small enclave in Chester that we’re trying to bring on side. They’re not a fully fledged part of Worringfolk, but they’re not Cedyrn either! They don’t speak Welsh and so they have little option but to cooperate with the Wor.”

—o—

            “Hello mate! SpudGunn’s the name. Used to be a potato farmer before I got clobbered. What about you?”

“MickeyWarr. Until yesterday I worked on a goat farm. Today, I’m supposed to be eloping with my girlfriend Angel!”

“Honey trapped eh? Same thing happened to me. Her name was Amber, she worked in a tavern, vanished the night I ended up in a barn!”

“Seriously?” says MickeyWarr.

As it dawns on him what’s going on he puts his head in his hands. He pauses, and then abruptly raises his head, “how do we get out of here?”

“We don’t!”

“You don’t want to leave?”

“I thought about leaving, it’s just that … “

“Who’s the head of the escape committee?”

“What?”

“There are others who want to escape, right?”

“Yes, of course, but …”

“Then there’s an escape committee, right? Who’s the head?”

“I don’t think you understan…”

“OK, I’m now the head of the escape committee. Who else can we count on?”

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“They did,” says CandiCrush, “and then it all disintegrated. Apparently, some senior police officers and some military officers went rogue. They spotted the opportunity to seize more power and to claim bigger salaries. Nobody stopped them, because they had guns!

Lower ranking police officers went on strike, but that got them nowhere. Many of the ordinary rank and file simply jumped ship. When they moved out, it just left a bigger concentration of tedious people and rogues.”

“What about the ordinary people?” asks NutJob.

“If you had the money, and the willpower, you moved out too. When sea levels rose, Lool was flooding regularly. And large parts of Ev and Manch ended up underwater. If your home had been destroyed you had no choice but to try and build a new home somewhere else. And although you could choose to stay in Worringfolk, the floods were the trigger that encouraged many people to move away completely.”

“And piracy?” asks KristalClear, “why do people become pirates?”

“Easy life! Apparently! The idea of a get rich quick scheme. Some rogue naval officers had commandeered ships and made rash promises to their followers. Once ordinary people had been coerced, they found it impossible to escape the system,” says CandiCrush, “that’s when the BlackCircle and the other Circles emerged.”

“Inland, the militias grew in much the same way,” says BarmyWaffle, “promising a decent standard of living to their followers. Then they started raiding parts of Wolfland and Meirionydd. And that’s why we maintain a Garrison.”

“But there must still be some ordinary people?” asks NutJob, “people who keep the economy going?”

“There are, although they’re basically subsistence farmers. Nowadays the WorSovereign is worthless. If you can grow your own food, or you can farm livestock, even if it’s just a few chickens, then you can survive.”

“Don’t they have manufacturing industries?”

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“Systems of government,” says BarmyWaffle, “if you can call the Wor Council a government!”

“Officially, ThunderCloud is the leader of the Wor Council,” notes CandiCrush, quickly adding, “though he behaves more like a Roman Emperor who controls everything. The Wor Council simply rubber stamps everything he says.”

BarmyWaffle continues, “they have no police force, no civil defence service, just pirates and militias. It’s as if the Roman Empire evolved clumsily, missed out some of the steps, and promptly transformed into the Italian Mafia.”

“And that’s why we have a Garrison,” says CandiCrush, “self defence! If we weren’t able to defend ourselves they’d take everything we own. Meirionydd has the same problem. They have a border with Worringfolk too. And they have a garrison. In Welsh theirs is called a Byddin. The Manx have a Sidooryn, and the Irish call theirs the Láigen.”

“Surely Worringfolk has a police force,” says KristalClear, “didn’t everything evolve from the England and Wales system before The Decimation?”

“That’s a tough one!” says CandiCrush, “Barmy is older than me, so he might know more, but basically the history is a bit of fact and a bit of guesswork. For hundreds of years we’ve relied on defectors, and prisoners of war, to help us piece together a picture of what’s happening inside Worringfolk.”

Earnestly, BarmyWaffle says, “this is all a generalisation you understand, the communities along the River Mersey had some charming people and some tedious people. The ones who originally came from Mannin and Leinster went back home. The charming ones in the remaining population basically upped sticks and moved out. In all directions. Many of them came north to what is now Wolfland. When the vineyards first started to appear in Meirionydd many people chose to go there. That left an imbalance in Worringfolk, with lots of tedious people remaining.”

“But they still had a police force, and law and order, didn’t they?” asks KristalClear, “and a Garrison or whatever it was called back then?”

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She doesn’t know what to say next. Nor does VickyWarr, she has no appetite either.

As well as the burden of losing her son, VickyWarr now has to contend with consoling her daughter, and coping with no news from her husband. He’s been gone these past 24 hours trying to navigate the murky world of the Worringfolk lowlifes.

Who else can RickyWarr get help from? There is no police force, no civil defence service, just pirates and local mafias. They’re the only people with connections and power.

The only lead that RickyWarr has is LankyLa and can he be trusted? He works with the mob. According to LankyLa, MickeyWarr was press ganged. According to TrickyWarr he might have eloped with Angel. Or could there be another explanation? A dozen other explanations probably!

“Why would Mickey leave home without discussing it in advance?” asks TrickyWarr.

“Mum … why is Worringfolk in such a mess?”

—o—

After TedTalker explains that the thief was a rat, and not an interloper, CandiCrush and BarmyWaffle feel much more at ease. That rules out their worst nightmare.

CandiCrush looks at KristalClear and asks, “pure luck, or intuition?”

“A little bit of both really. I think Tolstoy can claim an ‘assist’ on this one! He was the first one to mention foxes, and he’s the one who cornered the fox. Without that, we’d all still be scratching our heads! When we have a chance, I’ll fill you in on all the details.”

It was another week before they had that chance. Another Wednesday afternoon, at the Innovation lab.

Finally BarmyWaffle and NutJob are able to have a proper meeting. Although the chat is less about innovation and is more about the Garrison, and law and order in general. KristalClear and CandiCrush are delving into the reasons why pirates even exist in the first place.

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