Trade in the Old for the New

By Richard Temple

Completely unaware that he was being watched, Lord Fear continued to give Skarkill his orders.

  “I need Scaramonger in one piece, Skarkill!” Fear commanded. “Do you understand? One piece, not one hundred pieces; one whole piece!”

  “But of course I understand, your Fearship… er, Lordship,” Skarkill assured his master. “I just have to find him and persuade him to come and see you, or, if he’s unwilling, clap my irons on him and bring him to you the hard way!”

  “Hmm,” Fear considered. “Maybe you do have a brain after all, Skarkill. I…”

Lord Fear’s senses had just picked up on the spy’s presence in the room.

  “Hang on!” he exclaimed. “There is someone spying on me!”

  “Is it the nasty little kidsey, Lordness?” Lissard asked.

  “No, Lissard, this is not the dratted little dungeoneer using a spyglass,” Lord Fear replied. “This spy is right here in the room with us! Dismissed, Skarkill.”

Skarkill bowed, as the communication was terminated. Lord Fear walked slowly around the room, looking for the intruder. Suddenly, from a very dark corner, a shadowy figure leapt out of the blackness, his face still shrouded in shadows, his black robes fluttering out behind him he ran at an incredible pace. He was so fast that, before Lord Fear could even summon up a fireball, the mysterious figure had vanished.

  “Find whoever or whatever that was!” Lord Fear bellowed at the top of his voice, but it was no good. The goblins and miremen searched Marblehead high and low, but the spy had completely vanished.

Outside Marblehead, in the marshy lands of the Great Mire, a sinister figure moved with haste towards the tower of Linghorm, the stronghold of the sorceress Maldame. The figure approached the main gate, and was immediately challenged by Maldame’s guards.

  “Halt!” challenged the master-at-arms. “Who goes there?”

The figure stopped dead in its tracks. It took a match out from the folds of its robe and lit a self-rolled cigarette it had in its mouth. In the flickering flame, the guards saw a man’s face for a few moments. He was in his early thirties, and his face was weather-beaten. His hair was jet black with flecks of grey. His eyes also appeared to be black in colour, and his mouth looked like a dagger slash across his face. The guards also noticed that, while his cloths were not those of a nobleman or a member of the gentry, his hands were perfectly manicured. The match died suddenly, and the man again became nothing more then a dark outline, with a small orange glow where his mouth was. The figure finally spoke in a soft, gravelly voice.

  “I am the spy of Queen Maldame,” it said. “I am Shadow Voice!”

The guards looked at each other, and then nodded to Shadow Voice. He swiftly moved through the open gate, into the courtyard, and then into the tower. Soon he was in Maldame’s private quarters.

  “Ah, so my eyes and ears in the Dungeon return from Marblehead,” Maldame noted approvingly. “And what news do you bring to our royal person, my spy?”

Shadow Voice blew some smoke from his cigarette into the air above him.

  “I bring you information about a scheme by Lord Fear to increase his small but important foothold in the merchant guild of this realm,” rasped the spy. “He intends to use the combine spell that he used on the red dragon Bhal-Shebah to amalgamate the personalities of Honesty Bartram and Julius Scaramonger into one. In doing so, Fear hopes to create a trader loyal only to him; one who cannot be bribed.”

  “I see,” Maldame replied gravely. “This cannot be permitted to take place! Such a situation would be unacceptable to our royal person. As things stand now, I can obtain information either from you, my loyal Shadow Voice, or from that greedy peddler Bartram in exchange for gold. A trader loyal only to Fear would cut off one of my ways to outmanoeuvre him, and yet I must not be seen to be taking direct action against Fear, for my forces are not yet strong enough to repel an all-out attack from Marblehead.”

  “If I may make a suggestion, my queen?” Shadow Voice ventured.

  “What is it, Shadow Voice?” Maldame obliged him.

Shadow Voice breathed out another cloud of cigarette smoke, and spoke in a low, sinister tone.

  “Why not hire some local ruffians to eliminate the problem?” suggested the devious spy. “If they kill one or both of the traders, Fear’s plot will be wrecked, and we can always continue to get information from the next shifty trader he hires.”

  “An excellent suggestion, my faithful informant,” Maldame smiled, as she laughed evilly. “I trust that you know where we can procure such ruffians?”

Shadow Voice pondered this question for a few moments.

  “The Dirty Duck Inn has a less than honest clientele,” Shadow Voice considered. “I’m sure I could hire some suitable help there.”

  “Excellent, Shadow Voice,” Maldame approved. “Then make haste to the inn and carry out our royal wishes.”

  “By your command, Lady Maldame.”

Shadow Voice bowed to Maldame and departed Linghorm quickly. He thought he might be able to find some assassins to recruit at the Dirty Duck, or at least some mercenary vagabond willing to take the job on. Meanwhile, in another part of the Dungeon, a goblin hunting party was on the trail of a former Opposition trader.

Well, Maldame has certainly put a spanner in the works. Just what does the future hold for the two unsuspecting traders? Find out next issue.