Tag: book1

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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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before the morning rush. The Warr family is well liked in Wid. They’re proper, hard working people, looking after Farmer Bell’s goats and chickens.

Whereas LankyLa is another small time member of the mob, earning a commission on the money he collects from protection rackets.

“TrickyWarr’s not going to cope well with that news,” adds Mrs Bell, “nor will Angel.”

Angel works at the tavern, which is how they met.

“Angel’s gone too. Nobody knows where she’s gone.”

TrickyWarr is MickeyWarr’s fifteen year old sister. She’s still at school, and is struggling to make sense of life in 2450AD. Particularly, the way that society functions in Worringfolk. Or fails to function! Some of her ancestors moved out when they had the chance. North towards the Lake District, to what is now Wolfland. Or west towards Eryri, in Meirionnydd.

They had heard that Lancaster was a prosperous place with a mix of farming, and industry, and ship building. Some people chose Meirionnydd, because it has plenty of farm work. It’s an agricultural oasis with vineyards, olives, and all manner of produce.

They make good wine in Meirionnydd, and even champagne. And naturally everybody speaks Welsh.

For a Scouser escaping Worringfolk, Wolfland is considered the easier option. That’s if they can find a way out! Whichever way they go, all the other territories have stable governments.

TrickyWarr was supposed to be keeping a secret, but felt that now was the best time to explain. Angel had wanted to elope with MickeyWarr. They weren’t intending to do it just yet. They had wanted to go north and look for work. Apparently!

Sitting at the breakfast table on Monday morning, supposedly getting ready for school, TrickyWarr is visibly restless and merely pushing her food about the plate.

“Mum …”

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TubbyLa is one of many small time crooks who works with the Runcorn Mafia. The RunMaf have an uneasy relationship with the WidMaf, although they share control of the former Queensway Bridge.

After The Decimation the road and rail bridges fell into disrepair, and eventually collapsed into the water. Nothing can get past them on the river, and to start with, nothing could cross over the river either.

It was another 200 years before the bosses of the RunMaf and the WidMaf came to an agreement to establish a new crossing. With no civil engineers, no major projects had ever been undertaken in Worringfolk. So in a truly elementary fashion a system of wooden platforms was designed.

Pathways were built over the top of the derelict road bridge, and the mafias collect tolls from everything that crosses. Pedestrians, livestock, horses, wagons, and stagecoaches.

Until now MickeyWarr had been living in Wid, and had been working as a farmhand.

TubbyLa stares at him.

“You’re a pirate now! You’re on your way to Boot to meet BlackCloud and BlackDog, your new workmates. I’ll slacken one of those leg irons in a minute, so you can walk better, you’ve got 20 kilometres to cover today.”

Stunned, MickeyWarr goes pale and stares towards the ceiling. He’s not focussing on anything in particular. “It can’t be true! I don’t believe this is happening to me!”

He moves his feet a little, the leg irons are true enough!

—o—

“They’ve taken Mickey,” says LankyLa.

“Taken the mickey?”

“No! They’ve taken MickeyWarr, press ganged! We’ll be lucky if we ever see him again.”

On a Monday morning Mrs Bell opens up her farm shop nice and early. Normally, LankyLa and MickeyWarr are among the first customers of the day, picking up bread and eggs

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Chapter 5

Missing

Being stabbed awkwardly in the soft, sensitive part of your lower eyelid, by a jagged shred of dried hay, is not a welcome experience. Especially when you’re asleep!

Forcefully brushing it away from his left eye, with the sort of push normally reserved for a wasp buzzing about his face, MickeyWarr slowly opens his right eye. Half opens it, squinting in the half light of the barn, trying to make out what’s going on.

No wasp!

With his left cheek still firmly on the floor he opens his left eye a little, and tries to focus.

A few broken rays of sunlight have found their way through the gaps in the uneven, dilapidated wooden walls. This hard floor is unmistakeably dry earth, and the inadequate layer of hay was certainly not conducive to a good night’s sleep.

Even with global warming it’s still a typical, chilly Sunday morning in late October, and MickeyWarr is not dressed for rough sleeping! He’s dressed for a Saturday night out at the tavern. A smell of unfamiliar manure hangs in the air. It’s not goat dung. He knows that smell, but this one is heavier, clinging to the lining of his nose and throat, like a drowning man who’s clinging onto a rope and refusing to let go.

Raising the left side of his head off the floor a little, he looks about.

“Angel! Angel, where are you?”

“She’s not ‘ere mate,” says a raspy, gruff voice to his right.

“What?”

“She’s gone, you’ll not be seein’ ‘er again.”

Except for the docks, where the pirates are in control, the local militias run everything in Worringfolk. ThunderCloud won’t have his hands soiled by doing the dirty work, so he leaves it to the pirates in Boot, and to the local mobs inland, to handle all day to day business.

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