Category: Serialised

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privacy. They step outside into the Market Square, each holding a small cupcake in their hand, and they find an empty bench where they can sit together peacefully.

KristalClear’s day is getting better. She’s now in a philosophical mood as she surveys all the businesses and thinks about the employment opportunities surrounding the square.

Looking back towards Chadwicks, then further down Market Street she can just make out the Wolfland Bank sign above the door. That’s where Mr Wood works. In the same area, though beyond the pedestrian zone and out of sight, is The Lancastrian where NutJob works.

“If you didn’t work at The Lancastrian what would you actually choose to do?”

“I’d make aeroplanes,” says NutJob, “if I could!”

“No. Not grand schemes. I mean regular employment. What sort of job would you really like?”

“Dunno really! I wonder why my dad has a job in a bank? Or why yours chose to run a shop?”

“How do you get somebody to do something?” asks KristalClear.

“How do you get anybody to do anything?” replies NutJob.

“It’s the same question really,” says KristalClear, “ how do you get somebody to do something? I’m asking you, because this is the chat that I have with maman from time to time. She’s a teacher at Willowdene Primary.”

“How does she get on with that? Persuading kids?”

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. That’s her philosophy. But there’s more to it than that. What happens if you never lead a horse to water?”

With no hesitation NutJob says, “you end up with an angry horse!”

“Or it will find some water another way. If it can’t get it here, it’ll go elsewhere, it will run away if necessary, it can’t live without water.”

“So it’s carrot and stick?” asks NutJob, “except the horse is the one with the stick, telling you to stick it when she’s mistreated?”

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as long as he ate them all inside the shop. Nothing was allowed to be taken away.

“How many cakes was he able to eat?” asks NutJob.

“I’m not a boy! I might be able to eat three, perhaps four?”

“Ten? More than ten? The answer doesn’t matter,” says NutJob, “the point is and then what? How rich do you need to be? Once you have enough money, then what? HopAlong has probably done the maths. Does he need to work, does he need any more money?”

“I don’t know,” says KristalClear.

It’s not often that NutJob leads a conversation with KristalClear. She’s incredibly bright and she does well at school, although this time NutJob seems to know something that she doesn’t.

She looks puzzled and thoughtful at the same time.

She looks as if she’s about to speak again, but doesn’t actually know what to say. She’s blinking, her mouth is closed, her cheek muscles seem a little tense as she begins to clench her teeth. And then releases the tension by looking down. NutJob thinks she looks pensive and beautiful at the same time.

She looks up, with a poignant half smile which says something like say something nice to me.

He smiles at her, and with a crisp nod of the head asks, “do you want a cake? Let’s go to Chadwicks! I’ll buy you one … one mind … I can’t afford lots!”

—o—

            At the south east corner of the Market Square, Chadwicks is the last shop which still has a frontage onto the square. It’s a traditional, old fashioned greengrocer and general store, with a tiny tea shop in one corner. It’s not trying to compete with the cafés, and it doesn’t have the same frontage rights, but is does have four tables in one corner. It’s popular with local workers and there’s always somebody sitting in the small confined space.

KristalClear and NutJob would rather have just a little more

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“I have no idea,” says KristalClear, “I’m sixteen. It’s going to be a long time before I have to retire.”

—o—

“How much is enough,” asks NutJob, “and then what?”

“What are you talking about?” asks KristalClear, “you’re the second person today talking to me in riddles.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I was talking about HopAlong, about farming, about business. Your dad’s a businessman isn’t he? He runs a shop?”

“Yeah? So?”

“My dad works in a bank. It’s his job to help businesses with loans, and he’s always asking about the end game. He likes to tell me the story of Thomas Mann.”

“What does it mean end game? Who’s Thomas Mann?”

“How will HopAlong know when he has enough money to retire? How will your dad know? My dad goes on about this all the time. The end game. Retirement. I’ve heard this story a dozen times!”

“Mine never talks to me about money, or retirement,” says KristalClear, “he just tells me I always have to put something aside for a rainy day, save something out of my weekly wages!”

NutJob emphasises the question again, “so how much is enough, and then what? It’s a story about greed.”

“I thought we were all just trying to survive,” says KristalClear, “to have enough money to be able to cope, that’s all.”

NutJob tells the story of the ten year old boy in the cake shop. As told by somebody called Thomas Mann from the 1930s.

It’s a story about a grandfather who takes a little boy to a luxury cake shop for a special treat on his tenth birthday. He was told that he can have a small cake or two, but that he must eat the cakes while he’s still inside the café. In fact, he could have more than two. He could have as many cakes as he liked,

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her work experience week at Lancastrian Lines. In shipbroking she’s accustomed to repeat business. Ships’ Pursers always want “the same thing as last time”. Food, water, firewood, detergent and so on. Whereas at Lancastrian Lines, an order processing clerk has to work with ever changing manifests. Copper, lumber, oats, sugar, oranges, sheep, and even llamas!

Right now KristalClear has no idea what’s going on and she wants Conning to explain the whole background to the llama story.

So far, her demi-psychic powers haven’t worked on the human wavelength, but right now a bit of extra insight would definitely help. Especially when people like Conning start talking in riddles.

Determined to remain calm and polite, KristalClear looks directly at Conning, narrows her eyes, and lightly pushes her tongue into her left cheek, then ventures a suggestion.

“Two things,” says KristalClear, “are they alongside St George’s Quay right now, can I go and try talking to them? And, it’s the first time I’ve ever heard of people shipping llamas, what’s that all about?”

“It seems that llama farming isn’t a big business success story,” says Conning. “There’s a farm near Conwy which has been trying to sell their six. They finally found a buyer in Carlisle who wanted ten. And you know HopAlong in Ulverston?”

“Yes, he used to run a stable and a stud,” says KristalClear, “ I went there once when I was about ten, but he stopped doing horses didn’t he?”

“And then he started breeding llamas!” says Conning, “but one of his llamas died in June, and now he’s decided to sell the other three and call it a day. He wants to retire.”

“Do farmers ever retire? Couldn’t he start breeding horses again, he knows the market?”

“Just some chickens and a few goats from what I hear. Don’t all farmers do that in their later years?” asks Conning, “just enough to have a supply of eggs and milk?”

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Chapter 4
In Philosophical Mood

According to Lancastrian Lines, money makes the world go round! That’s their informal strap line. It’s a stark reality too. It might not be written down in their annual report, but it’s widely said by the owners and all the staff. The trouble is that Lancastrian Lines has to move goods around the Irish Sea in order to make the money that makes the world go round, and that risks altercations with the pirates.

Freight Conwy has the same problem, along with all the other cargo companies operating out of Amlwch, St Patricks Town, and Douglas .

Lancastrian Lines is involved in making money, literally. They have the contract to ship copper from Amlwch to Rhuddlan, and then ship freshly minted coins to Wolfland. These are the ships that the pirates most want to intercept. For this reason, coins are moved according to an irregular and unpredictable pattern.

—o—

“Six llamas?” asks KristalClear.

“No, nine llamas,” says Conning, “six llamas left Conwy on Friday and should be here in Lancaster by now. They’re going to Ulverston tomorrow where there are three more to collect, and then they’re all going to Carlisle.”

“Yes, obviously!” says KristalClear sarcastically, “why are you shipping nine llamas to Carlisle?”

“The other one died. That’s why they’re not getting ten!”

Normally, Conning works a few part time hours as an order processing clerk at InfiniDash, her parents’ shipbroking company. They provision all sorts of ships, and claim to offer an infinite range of supplies. They promise to deliver faster than any of their competitors, and as a result they’ve built a good reputation.

With the help of family connections Conning is spending

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Tolstoy had tackled the fox which had been carrying a pack rat in its mouth, before dropping it. That in turn made the pack rat drop the llama bone arrow head which it had been carrying in its mouth!

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A fox can move remarkably fast, but a large German Shepherd Dog, bounding in massive strides, is faster. So fast in fact, that Tolstoy can’t slow down properly to arrest the fox. It’s extremely rare that he gets to do what he was trained for, and in any case his training was to immobilise fully grown humans, not to catch a fox one quarter his size.

Adjusting his stride to make contact with the fox, Tolstoy brings his left front paw down onto the fox’s left shoulder. Both KristalClear and TedTalker are running as fast as they can in the hope that they can save the fox from a mauling. KristalClear is still determined to try to communicate with the fox.

The fox loses its footing, falls to the right, and drops something from its mouth. Tolstoy flies over the top of the fox and continues on for a further three or four metres before managing to turn around in a cloud of dust.

In a most inelegant, unfoxlike manner, the fox scrambles back to its feet and makes a dash for the narrow passage beneath the fence.

Momentarily, Tolstoy’s attention is distracted by something else scurrying away.

Quickly, renewing his focus on the pursuit of the fox, Tolstoy reaches the fence just as the fox’s tail disappears.

« Tedious creatures, foxes, » thinks Tolstoy, « not like proper canines at all! »

            Due to all the flying dust, KristalClear and TedTalker can’t see exactly what’s happening, but they can see enough to realise that the fox has escaped.

Tolstoy is no longer interested in the fleeing fox. Looking to his left, then down at his feet, he looks around and then up again, and to his left once more. He sees the rat disappearing through the mesh in the fence and running off into the scrubland.

KristalClear and TedTalker are pretty sure they saw a rat too, just before it vanished. They reach the spot where all the commotion occurred. They praise and cuddle Tolstoy whilst at the same time inspecting the ground in front of them.

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« Hello Pretty! You’re up early aren’t you? »

« Hello Tolstoy, we’re looking for foxes this morning. If we see one, please keep quiet, I want to see if I can get on the right wavelength. »

Climate change has meant that daily temperatures in Lancaster can be around 30 to 40°C. Although in the early morning it’s generally much cooler, and it can sometimes be as low as 15°C. Today it’s a comfortable 19° with a cloudless sky. The only trace of noise is the abundant birdlife with its excited chirping.

KristalClear is wearing her customary blue jeans and white T shirt. Wisely, she’s chosen to wear a lightweight, windproof kagoul, and her usual riding boots.

Within the Garrison compound there’s not much grass, mainly hard baked earth, but where there is greenery there’s a hint of early morning dew and the grass is giving off a mild aroma.

Some staff are already at work near the kitchen, although generally it’s quiet. TedTalker, Tolstoy and KristalClear set off for the row of huts which includes the Innovation Lab. Walking along the inside of the perimeter, with a high fence on their left and a sizeable space to their right, it’ll be obvious if anybody, or anything, wants to move between the fence and the huts.

A wood pigeon finishes delivering its regular fanfare, and the only sound now is Tolstoy panting lightly. They walk slowly and silently, listening for traces of any movement.

Equally silent, a fox emerges from beneath one of the huts, looking the opposite way, and then glancing towards the patrol.

Instinctively Tolstoy yaps, and the fox dashes off. The fox is a bit too far away for them to tell if it was definitely at the Innovation Lab, or at one of the other huts. Everything is happening too fast to take it all in.

“Bang goes my chance,” thinks KristalClear. “and I didn’t detect anything on the wavelengths apart from Tolstoy thinking something like wow playtime!”

TedTalker has let Tolstoy off the leash already.

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“Tom is working on bone composites for limbs and risers. We’ve received some interesting llama bone for the first time. It’s not as brittle as the others. Jerry has been shaping and polishing some of that to make new slimline arrow heads like these ones.”

“My personal pet project is the multi dimensional clockwork engine. These small bits here are the graceful cantilever springs, dampening the interference between each individual motor.”

“They don’t look like springs at all,” says CandiCrush, “they look like teaspoon handles!”

“Springs don’t have to be coiled,” replies BarmyWaffle, “think of the leaf springs attached to the axle of a wagon.”

Walker is more concerned with the task in hand, “have Tom and Jerry had things stolen?”

“Yes! Jerry was the first one to notice. Unintentionally he left a batch of six bone arrow heads on the bench one night. The next morning there were just five. It could be a counting error though. The remaining bits of the femur had been locked away, but he couldn’t be sure how much of it had been cut and turned into tips. His work diary says he made six that day, and he’s usually right. It’s a minor thing though, it’s not like he left six swords on his bench and lost a sword!”

TedTalker suggests, “do it again tonight. Deliberately leave six of those on the bench. Tomorrow we’ll check if they’re all still there. I’ll work the early shift tomorrow, so that I can keep an eye on things. Tolstoy might complain, but we’ll get more time off later.”

“Can I join you? What time?” asks KristalClear.

“Early shift starts at 06:00 so you’d have to be here at 05:45 for parade. If your parents are happy with that?”

“I’m sixteen now!” she says indignantly, thinking that sixteen is old enough to be making these decisions.

“But you said parade? You parade at 05:45?”

“Parade is a pre work briefing in the picquet post, that’s all. Not the sort of parade you’re thinking of. There’s no marching or shouting involved!”

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it has a shallow pitched roof which slopes just enough to handle the monsoon rains.

Coated with a light covering of tan creosote, the hut looks exactly the same as the other buildings. All of them have doors and windows fitted with heavy duty, secure wire mesh on the inside.

What’s different about the Innovation Lab is that the secure wire mesh is everywhere, even where it can’t be seen. It runs inside the centre of the double skinned walls, within the double skinned floor, and throughout the double skinned roof. If the building had no wood or glass, then it would look like a giant Faraday cage.

The interior of the lab resembles a weird type of classroom or workshop. One set up for a mix of woodwork and metalwork, though with an occasional ordinary desk. The unmistakeable smell of creosote on the outside gives way internally to a smell of silicon carbide from the angle grinder discs, mingling with a fainter smell of light machine oil.

The store room at the far end looks like a wire prison cell, or a smaller Faraday cage inside the larger Faraday cage. Across the back wall there are metal cabinets with heavy duty locks, and there’s one enormous cast iron safe. It’s neither a sheriff’s office nor a wild west bank, but it would look completely at home in a Western. The only bit that looks obviously scientific is the fume cupboard.

“This place is totally secure,” says BarmyWaffle, “and we operate a clear desk policy. At the end of every working day all the valuables are locked away. My own workbench, like all the others is cleared. The tools are cleaned and put back in the cabinets. My desk is cleared, and the only things left out are small items like my stapler, pencil sharpener, and rubber. I’ve lost four pencil sharpeners this year. No idea why!”

The two technicians pause to watch the visitors. They recognise all of them, though they only know KristalClear as the stable hand. BarmyWaffle introduces them, and then points towards a crossbow on the workbench as he explains more.

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