Chapter 3

The rain had subsided. She was sitting on the stone wall of the bridge that went across a coursing river, with cover of a garden umbrella for the drizzle that sill persevered after the downpour abated, brushing her magnificent curls.

She was clad in slinky (sorceress) robes with a satin shine, true to a trollop’s fashion, immodestly flaunting her female wares. As she brushed that luxury product worked hair, she was gazing out into the road, and could make out in the distance, through the easily pierced thin mist a figure coming, make that two figures she could see, one behind the other, the blindfolded sarabaites slowly questing towards Ninidom, bound for her bridge.

‘Overruled,’ said Gamalio, now within earshot of the promiscuous sorceress.

‘Reinstated,’ said Centen.

‘Overruled.’

‘Reinstated.’

They had been arguing, if it came to it, which one of them would have to pay the fee for the crossing.

‘Darlings,’ said the loose sorceress, when they were just upon the bridge ‘what is all this overruling and reinstating, are you contesting for the enactment of a new law?’

‘Who are you?’ said Centen.

‘Why I’m the owner of a fine bridge it seems you’re headed over.’

‘Then I know who you are,’ said Centen.’

‘And you did know there’s a fee for crossing?’ said the sorceress

‘As men of the cloth we’re exempt from such fees,’ said Centen.

‘Sugarmuffin, no one’s exempt from my fee.’

‘Except me,’ said Centen.

‘And me,’ said Gamallio.

‘Darlings, it’s not just free crossing y’know.’

‘As monks, we’re subject to saying no,’ said Centen.

‘That’s not how it works when you get to my bridge, unless you’ve got some good bartering trick, do you have any sort of good bartering game, my dear?’

‘Yes, it’s to tell you this: show God some fear,’ said Gamallio.

‘Fear God? I’m not some sort of good girl, that’s like asking a drunkard to acquire a preference for water.’

‘It’s better than playing at being the world’s daughter,’ said Gamallio.

‘Pumpkin, you might try my patience if you go down that line of conversation, and as I’m a powerful spellcaster, I’m well capable of putting an end to talk I don’t like.’

‘We don’t want a fight, dear wench,’ said Centen.

 ‘But it sounds like you won’t have any sort of good bartering game,’ she said.

‘Why do you do this, you know this is no way for a woman to live, why don’t you put your sorcerial abilities to good practise somewhere, helping people,’ said Gamallio.

‘Darling I am bored and unfulfilled helping people, the return spits on the investment and is unrewarding; so I have whole heartedly chosen to seek my pleasure’s occupation without any thought for shame or limit to depravity I am willing to go to in licentious employment.’

‘Truly woman, you are wicked,’ said Gamallio.

‘Maybe so, but I have a question for you: why do you wear those blindfolds?’

Centen explained their vow to her.

‘Well, my dears, it’s pretty silly of you to go about without a guide in that case, didn’t you think it was quite an impracticable vow before you took it?’ she said.

‘We did it to practice holiness the better. As for a guide, we don’t have one, but were forced to leave our abode lest we starve to death,’ said Centen.

‘My poor plumcakes, do you starve? Then you must come to my love nest and I will feed you on my honey and milk, my loves.’

‘Lady, in no wise are we going with you,’ said Centen.

‘I have decided a deal for you, as you have made so clear you are holy men of the cloth I will allow you to cross without payment if you take off your blindfolds and gaze at me. If you refuse you will have to make payment, but you may keep your blindfolds on while doing so.’

‘You will only let us cross if we break our vow or commit more heinous sin? Yes, indeed, you are a wicked, wicked, woman,’ said Gamallio.

‘It’s a very generous offer, I wouldn’t offer such a good deal to anyone else.’

‘You wish to wrong us either way, I beg for the sake of righteousness you let us pass continue you over without chastity wrecked nor our vow broken,’ said Gamallio.

‘For the sake of righteousness? But like I’ve explained, I’m a bad girl.’

‘Allow us to pass, vile fornicator!’ cried Gamallio

‘Calm down, my love, don’t stress yourself shouting, here let me soothe you with a massage,’ said the sorceress, and laid her hands on Gamallio, a tender spell dispensing from her finger tips as she did so.

Gamallio caught unaware by the charm of her magic felt passion stir and a powerful desire to see this woman, the magic was indicating that she was even more beautiful than Helena de Gorgessica, and his heart was suddenly in sore want. However, a man of strong faith, he quickly banished this magic with a powerful prayer, diverting himself away from the opportunity of sin.

‘Off me wicked sorceress!’ cried Gamallio, resisting.

‘Unhand a holy man, you harlot,’ said Centen, and he turned to pull the sorceress of Gamallio, however in his blind state, he caught hold of the old monk instead, and, pulling him away from the sorceress, he knocked him into the nearby wall of the bridge, causing Gamallio to stumble, and the monk, with the wall not being very high, fell off the bridge.

Centen, who at this point had been leading Gamallio with the rope connecting them not in his hand but also tied around his waist, for he had tired of holding the rope behind him, was tugged over the bridge with him and they landed in the river with a loud splash, being taken downstream.

‘Sugarmuffins!’ cried the sorceress, leaning against the wall and looking out to them being washed downstream. She had time for one last spell to try and win her sin: Gamallio being swept away by the current felt a powerful sorcerial message attack him. It indicated that if he were to break his vow and look at the sorceress she would be able to save him from drowning in the river. Overcome by his dire situation, his faith lapsed and he yanked his blindfold down. He didn’t see her at once, too taken by the current, but he had kept his head above water and the sorcery indicated which way for him to turn and he did so, seeing the sorceress.

He had broken his vow.

She then asked, via her magical message, if he wanted her to save him, but suddenly feeling powerful guilt for this betrayal of an oath, even amidst life and death situation, he refused her and begged God to forgive him, and re-covered his eyes, letting the current take him along with his brother in the faith.

They were carried some way down from the bridge, fortunately not drowning, especially lucky with the situation of them being tied together, but being intercepted by some rocks near the river bank they managed to clamber hold of and, through fortune get themselves near upon the river bank.

And through a saving fortune, there was a fisherman nearby them who rushed to their aid, helping them get to land.

‘Heavens, are you two OK?’ he said as the two monks recovered.

‘I think I am,’ said Centen, getting to his feet, the fisherman helping Gamallio up.

‘I am too,’ said Gamallio.

‘A wet adventure eh? How’d you end up in the river?’ said the fisherman

‘We were putting up resistance at trollop bridge,’ said Centen, and explained to the fisherman what had happened, their vow, and their desperate situation to get to Ninidom to avoid starvation. Unfortunately the fisherman, providing his name in their conversation, Erwoll, had no food to give them, having eaten the last of it some time ago, but told them he had a car (quite rare in the wastelands), was headed to Ninidom himself and could take them, and in fact he was just about to leave, because nothing had been biting all day.

‘You have a car, you are a blessed man indeed, and we are most blessed to have come across you, thank you sir!’ said Centen.

So Erwoll packed his tackle away and they got into his car, however it looked less than certainly reliable, a much scratched, dinked, and bashed junkyard hatchback the fisherman said he’d fixed up a few years ago, ‘yep, she’s never let me down, has old Urtha, as sound as a wise man’s tongue, yep you’re in safe journey now.’

The car started up with a none too confidence inspiring splutter evolving into the eventual whir of the engine chugging away, ‘yep safe journey now, my friends,’ said Erwoll, pulling onto the road, on course for Ninidom.

The journey was going smooth enough, they were headed on the road straight on from the bridge where they needed to make a left turn from the phone box, however smooth journey made to rough fortune, as, not unexpectedly (but much to Erwoll’ surprise by his faith in it), the junkyard car broke down. They had got to the phone box where they needed to turn left.

And there were no such thing as roadside mechanics in the wasteland; but Erwoll, after half an hour of trying to get the scrapbox of a car going again, said he had a friend who might be able to help, and with no phone between any of them, they checked the phone box, but it had been vandalised and wasn’t in working order.

So they would have to walk at least to the Wyrm & Troubadour Inn up the road from the left turn and see if they could get any help from there. ‘When we get to the inn I’ll buy you guys some grub, I won’t have you starving on my account,’ said Erwoll.’

‘Thankyou sir,’ said Centen.

So, abandoning the car, they proceeded towards the inn on foot, Erwoll guiding the blindfolded monks.

When they got to the inn there was the owner, the chef, and the bartender stood outside from a distance, in a fret. And there were motorbikes parked, about a dozen or so to the left in the car park and dozen or so to the right in the car park. Shouts could be heard coming from the inn.

‘It’s definitely a no entry situation,’ said the owner to them as they stopped by him and his staff.

‘What’s going on,’ said Erwoll.

‘I’m the owner, and we have two motorcycle gangs battling it out inside my inn, I’m sure they’re completely wrecking the place, when the first gang arrived, the notorious Abyssal Roadsharks, everyone else in the inn left, terrified of such vicious thugs; thinking I had the day’s worst luck with one motorcycle gang entering my premises, it went from worst fortune to cursed fortune with a second one arriving, the Torn Leather Pythons; and, of course, where there are two motorcycle gangs in the same building, blood demanding trouble is never far off, soon there was an altercation, and my staff and I were forced to flee lest be caught in the conflict that arose,’ said the owner.

‘We should really get on our bicycles and leave, I think it’s too dangerous to stay,’ said the chef.

‘That’s probably a good idea, well strangers, I’m sorry if you were hoping for drink and food at the inn, but you’re best to keep on moving,’ said the owner.

And so they went on by the motorcycle gang-invaded inn while the owner and his staff made off on their bicycles.

They had been walking a while longer from the inn when they came upon a man walking his dog, a miniature malamute.

‘Howdy, strangers,’ said the dogwalker with a smile to them.

‘Hi there, fella, how do you?’ said Erwoll.

‘I’m as well as a whale that couldn’t wish for deeper water,’ said the dogwalker.

‘You’re certainly a cheery chap, but aren’t you a bit far out going to walk the dog?’ said Erwoll.

‘And aren’t you a bit far out walking yourselves?’

‘My car broke down,’ said Erwoll.

‘Bad luck my man, legs the only back up plan, eh?’

‘Looks so, but it’s getting hungry going all this trekking on the road,’said Erwoll

‘Well I tell you what you’re in luck, there’s a restaurant not far from here, a new place called the Glorious Chub, and it’s reputation for the food is already telling excellent, in fact in my personal experience of the place I would say you can’t be disappointed, best food in the wastelands, quite cheap too, so you’re certainly in luck, yes sirree,’ said the dogwalker.

‘Fantastic, maybe it won’t be such a bad day after all,’ said Erwoll.

The dogwalker gave them directions to the Glorious Chub, it was on the way they were headed, down a side road that wouldn’t be more than a five or ten minute diversion from their course to Ninidom, and only about twenty minutes from where they were.

They got to the Glorious Chub without any incidence on the way there; the restaurant was rustically attractive, impressively clean, and the doors were open, inviting a party of eaters, with signs boasting of its fresh seafood and excellence in quality and hygiene. However there were no customer cars or motorbikes in the carpark (nor customer horses tied up, nor bicycles either) interestingly for a place that apparently had a reputation for good food. The only vehicle was a van that was presumed to be the staff vehicle, having ‘Glorious Chub’ printed across it.

‘Here we are, we can finally get you fellas some food,’ said Erwoll, ‘thankyou, friend, we’re certainly in the mood,’ said Centen, and they entered the Glorious Chub, hoping they’d soon be tucking into some delicious grub.