A Fantasia

Volume the First in the End of All Magick Saga

By

Bruce Durie

Copyright © Bruce Durie 1998, 2001

ISBN 0-9539795-0-4

It was a dark and stormy Knight. In fact, it was an eight-foot tall dark and stormy Knight, and the Knight was standing in front of me, obsidian armour somehow shining in the star-black, Bibble-black fastness of the Watching Hour. I was ambling back to the SamBernardo Catamite Training Agency having delivered a parcel on behalf of Brer Dryberg. The last thing I expected was to bump into a huge, jet-dark warrior, armoured totally in fustian blackness, leaning on a sword, and humming. I confess that my bowels turned to water, more effectively than the last time I had had a Jacana Kurrmah with extra lime-frog pickle. I suppose I must have stood there fully five minutes - or it could have been five seconds. Hard to tell, really.

I was rooted to the very paving stones, mouthing strangled inanities like a cageful of mute eunuchs on dope. The Knight drew himself up to his full height, already the size of a wardrobe, and flexed his arms. There was a creaking that sounded uncomfortably like the gates of hell opening. That broke the spell and I was conscious again of the huge fulgent shape in front of me in the small alley. He appeared to fill it in all directions, and I was just working out whether to try and dodge past him, turn around and bolt, or simply sink down and gibber like a demented panda, when the vast form before me made the sound I least expected.

He cleared his throat.

Actually, it sounded more like hot iron being dragged over an anvil, and I was assuming he had a throat. Somewhere deep within me - round about the position of my last meal, which was halfway up my gorge by that time - I found the words to say, "Err, can I help you?" Pathetic, I know, but it's all I could come up with at the time.

The helmet swung towards me and I looked into the visor, which appeared to contain an infinity of nothing. The motion of the helmet continued onwards and - I hoped, considering I had no idea what might be within - looked straight towards me.

"Sorry?" a deep-dark-resonant- pulsating-mechanical voice said. "Where am I?"

Politeness being the better part of valour, I judged at the time, I thought it wise to answer him. "This is Pally Alley. In the Porter Quarter," I managed.

"Ahhh," said the Dark Thing. "But which city? Hmmm?"

"Well, it's Al Faq'Ahl. Chief city of the Province of Ditton."

"Ahhh. Bang on target for once. Good!"

I had as much clue what was going on as you do, so I thought I'd try to be helpful - always a good idea when you're right in it up to the neck. "Were you looking for someone?" I hazarded.

"Be you Slouch?