SlenderWolf

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Chapter 8
As Good as Gold

With the troops and horses gone, there’s really not much else to do. Having started earlier than usual, KristalClear reasons that it’s OK to finish earlier, and to head off to catch up with NutJob. But he might still have to work until 21:00 as usual, and she doesn’t want to make it too obvious that she fancies him. Neither does she want to miss their normal chat on the way home, along the short section of the route where their walk home coincides. So she’s not going home just yet. She decides that she needs to visit the PrintWorks in order to discuss the news with Franklin.

“Hello Kristal! I wasn’t expecting you,” she says, “ I think NutJob’s probably going to be busy for a while yet.”

“No, don’t let him know I’m here, I came to see you! With news from the Garrison.”

Over a cup of tea in the office they end up chatting more about horses than conflict, though KristalClear’s keen to learn more about Franklin’s adventures over the years. She’s seen the Ormskirk incident happen before, and she’s not surprised  hearing Handsome’s version of the story. The novelty is having the news on the same day, and having it almost directly from the horse’s mouth!

Not for the first time during the conversation, KristalClear is looking through the window of the editor’s office towards the print floor. She strokes her neck gently whilst trying to spot NutJob. She can’t see him, and wonders if being here was really such a good idea after all. What if he sees her in the office?

“Have you ever been to Worringfolk?” asks KristalClear.

“When I was a journalist I went to Fflint many times. Fflint’s in Meirionydd, though it’s not far from Chester. I think there’s some informal line of communication into Worringfolk, but it’s all hush hush and even I wasn’t able to find out what’s going on.”

“Have you ever seen the pirates?”

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CandiCrush smiles. If she wasn’t in uniform she would have blown a kiss too. They’re really close friends. But military etiquette prevails.

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In the opposite stable Samson, the Captain’s horse, is happily watching all the commotion. The Captain and his horse only ever leave the Garrison in the case of the most intense conflicts. Commander Crush is leading the cavalry today, and Handsome is used to long, arduous excursions.

KristalClear and Handsome know each other well. There’s a certain telepathic chemistry between them. Handsome seems agitated. KristalClear can tell, and tunes in to the wavelength.

« What’s wrong? »

« Wild goose chase, » says Handsome, « the pigeon tells me that the raiding party is led by BlackDog. »

« So, what does that mean? »

« BlackDog is the second in command. BlackCloud isn’t there. The raiders will be long gone by the time we arrive! A long journey for nothing. An overnight rest, and then another long journey back here tomorrow. »

« That’s a good thing isn’t it? No fighting? »

« All that energy being expended for nothing. And it intrudes into my weekend! I’ll have only one day’s rest instead of two. Have you ever been to the outpost down south? Only one groom, and he can barely cope working his stable alone. I’ll be hot and smelly! The whole cavalry will be hot and smelly! Samson and the Clydesdales are going to get all the attention until we get back here tomorrow. Are you coming over tomorrow? And hose me down? Make me feel human again? »

« You’re not human! »

« You know what I mean! Can you be here? »

« I’m always here on Saturdays! Though I guess there won’t be much to do until you lot get back. Just equipment cleaning! Followed by tons more cleaning when the whole cavalry returns. Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning! It’ll be a long day for me too. »

As CandiCrush leads a party of 36 mounted marines out of the gates, KristalClear blows her a kiss. Or perhaps that was a kiss for Handsome?

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around, but they manage to cope at a subsistence level, running farms and smallholdings. And because there are so few of them, they have enough drinking water, and they’re too focussed on survival to be interested in harming their neighbours.”

“The story is the same with Worringfolk. But different! They’re nothing like the good people of the older Merseyside. Those who were able, moved north towards the Lake District, or west towards Eryri. It’s said that the remaining Worringfolk are descended from Visigoths and sportball hoodlums, and they’re a bit monosyllabic.”

“Their version of English was called Scouse. Even that word was too much of a challenge for some of them, so it’s been shortened to Scow. Lots of words have been shortened. Some of the legendary places of old, like Everton, Liverpool and Manchester have been abbreviated to Ev, Lool and Manch. These places are shadows of their former selves. However, there’s still a harbour at Boot, and the sparse population stretches from there along the Merse as far as Wor and Stock.”

The ElderWolf asks about the system of government in Worringfolk. Franklin continues.

“Unlike Wolfland the Worringfolk don’t have a proper Chamber. They have a Wor Council. More like a War Council if you ask me! And the principal industries in Worringfolk are piracy, forgery and extortion. They have just enough resources to perpetually disrupt trade between the allies of Wolfland, Meirionydd, Mannin and Leinster. The allies regularly debate the value of establishing a land corridor between Wolfland and Meirionydd. But that would take time and money, and manpower. All of which are in short supply. So for now, it’s the Worringfolk who officially control Boot, and periodically ThunderCloud sends out BlackCloud and BlackDog to wreak havoc on their neighbours.”

Before the discussion ends CandiCrush offers her apologies, and heads back to the Garrison.

KristalClear has already saddled up Handsome.

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were now landscapes of detritus where once there had been thriving businesses and commerce.”

“Drinking water became scarce, forcing widespread migration. Inland! Especially to higher ground with sources of clean, fresh water. If you had the energy, the will, and the money you went as far away from London as you could. North Wales, Scotland, the Pennines, and the Lake District. They all saw local populations grow again, quickly returning to the pre Great Famine levels. The new breed of Pennites are a hardy lot, although most people prefer to be within easy reach of the coast and not build new lives on windswept mountains. It’s the fishermen, the shipbuilders, and the merchant navy who really thrive.”

The Chancellor continues the history lesson stressing the importance of commerce and money.

“Farriers, and stables thrive too. And in a few places, like the coast of Meirionydd, the railways still function. Road traffic is limited to horses, carriages, stagecoaches and carts, and although steam trains can operate, there’s no coal. Their range and their cost effectiveness is limited, because they run on timber instead. Steam traction engines haven’t been economic, though static steam power can be useful for some businesses. Farriers now tend to use charcoal instead of coal. Except for those located right next to old mines, where some coal can still be scavenged.”

“Horses and ships are vital in the modern economy.”

As Franklin joins the meeting the Engineer is speaking, “Wolfland isn’t particularly prosperous you know! Just in comparison to our neighbours. In any case it’s an enormous ladder and we’re nothing but one tiny step further up.”

The ElderWolf greets her and says, “Franklin, tell us about the territories around us. Start with the floods and the famine.”

Unsure what’s already been said, Franklin begins.

“Well! When the floods and the famine struck, most of the people across the South East moved. What they left behind were the poor, the weak, and the aged. The Chalkies and the Swampies are their descendants. Not the brightest people

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There is no separate Minister of Defence, so the Justice does that as well. In effect, the Garrison and the Constabulary are the same thing. It’s one government department with one boss.

Marines and constables might look like they’re from different organisations, but in reality it’s a unified system. Crime is relatively low and even though there’s a prison at Kingsway Hall it’s rarely more than half full. And half of those inmates are prisoners of war.

The core Chamber is augmented by four lay members:

• The Captain (head of the Garrison);
• The Chief Constable (head of the Constabulary);
• The Economist (from the business community); and
• The Historian (honorary role held by Franklin).

The emergency session of the Chamber hasn’t started formally, because the Captain and the Professor haven’t arrived yet. Franklin is still en route, so the Provost is about to give a brief history of Wolfland.

Commander Crush arrives.

“Sorry I’m late! The Captain’s a bit preoccupied right now,” says CandiCrush, “so I’m here instead. However, I’ll need to leave soon as I’m leading the cavalry south!”

The Provost begins.

“More than 200 years ago, the exhaustion of fossil fuels changed industry and agriculture dramatically. The Great Famine reduced the population of the world almost by half. Rising sea levels wrought havoc on coasts and low lying areas. Some powerful nations declined, and some smaller places rose in importance dramatically.”

“What was once London became a chaotic place, sparsely populated by the Chalkies and beyond that, the Swampies. The North Sea reclaimed much of East Anglia, Essex and Kent. The posh houses in Kensington and Chelsea were under water. The parts of the City and the West End which hadn’t been flooded

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Chapter 7
Floods and Famine

Franklin, the editor of The Lancastrian, has heard the news too. She knows everyone and she knows everything. And she’s trusted to keep sensitive information to herself, which she does with astonishing integrity. The rumour of an incursion is almost certainly true, so interrupting her normal Friday routine, she makes a beeline to see the ElderWolf at the Chamber.

Franklin is one of the lay members of the government. Her broad knowledge of the people of Wolfland, its history and its relationship with neighbouring territories, makes her an invaluable contributor. When she was a junior reporter she travelled widely, speaks English and Welsh well, and also a fair amount of Irish and Manx.

She’s just the sort of candidate who might be the ideal head of the diplomatic service.

Not that there is a diplomatic service!

No modern territories are big enough to merit having what used to be known as “The Diplomatic Service”. In any case, these days governments don’t have enough money to support a network of embassies across their neighbouring territories. Life in the twenty fifth century is tough, and it might be just about to become tougher.

The ElderWolf leads the government. She was selected by a conclave of luminaries, and in the old days she would have been called a “prime minister”. Periodically the luminaries select all of the ministers in Wolfland’s exceedingly small chamber. Five in total.

• The Chancellor (Minister of Finance);
• The Justice (Minister of Justice);
• The Provost (Minister of Education);
• The Professor (Minister of Health); and
• The Engineer (Minister of the Interior).

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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.

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            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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