Satire

Perhaps you are beginning to see the picture...

‘LORD?’ SAID THE unknown voice.

     Everything was still the deepest black.

     It laughed warmly. ‘Fear not, Elemer,’ it said soothingly. ‘Sometimes it takes awhile to come round.’

     Elemer could not speak, but he thought, What knows my name?

     It laughed again, and Elemer perceived the faintest sensation on his shoulder.

     ‘Of course I know your name, my lord. Though it is time for it to be changed.’

     All that was too much for Elemer to comprehend. He knew his name, he knew vaguely who he was, and he knew, somehow, that his head was covered by a large helmet, and nothing more. But he weakly reached up to his face and his fingers brushed the smooth, soft surface that could only be skin. Though things were starting to come back to him now, at an increasing pace, and he knew his skin was not that nice.

     Suddenly, he noticed the cold, unbarred air rushing into his mouth as he gasped like someone who had been drowning. Everything was slowly coming into focus. The room was dimly lit by a few torches attached to the walls. He was seated on some cushions on the hard floor. He looked up at the speaker, who was smiling kindly.

     ‘There we go,’ he said in that same soothing voice.

     He was quite tall, and dressed in an expensive looking robe �" intricately gilded, deep red silk, that reached perfectly to the floor. They were not normal clothes. His silver-blonde hair was long and lush, flowing freely down his back and front, and his face was the kindest Elemer had ever seen.

     ‘Where am I?’ muttered Elemer.

     ‘But you are home, my lord,’ said the man, as if Elemer should have known.

     Elemer looked around the small room. It didn’t look like home. Home was brilliant, white structures, the hubbub of super-productivity which he watched from metaphorically afar, and where he would be able to, even now, set eyes upon the reassuring image of Bel-Gra. This was a centuries-old storeroom of some sort, all grey and clammy. It didn’t even have a window, let alone a north-facing one. I’ve been kidnapped.

     All he could manage to say was, ‘Not home.’

     The beautiful man guffawed. ‘Indeed. But I wonder: how is it that you know not where you are?’ He was not expecting an answer. ‘To have the helmet and be unaware of what it is. It is most strange, considering one cannot operate the device while it is registered to another person.’

     ‘I think it belongs to a dead man,’ said Elemer.

     ‘Indeed?’

     ‘Well, I found it near a dead man.’

     ‘How intriguing, my lord,’ said the fancy man. ‘At any rate, I suppose I have a few things to educate you on.’

     ‘That would be good.’

     ‘Firstly, my name is Helper, and I am most pleased to meet you, my lord.’

     ‘Hopefully the feeling will be mutual,’ said Elemer.

     Helper laughed. ‘I suspect it will be. For what other reason am I here than to make convenient the lives of Farloch’s residents?’ It was another rhetorical question.

     ‘Farloch?’ In all his travels, Elemer had never heard of that place.

     ‘You really are most ignorant, aren’t you, my lord.’

     ‘I am.’

     ‘It is the name of this world,’ said Helper. ‘This magical world, which so many have come to call their home. Forgive me for earlier,’ he added, ‘but my program indicates you have been here before.’

     ‘I’m sure I haven’t,’ said Elemer, before realization dawned upon him. ‘World? Did you say world?’

     ‘That is correct, my lord.’

     ‘You don’t mean city? Or realm? Or even,’ he gulped, ‘c�"�" continent?’

     ‘No, my lord.’

     ‘Then... I mean, I suppose... I haven’t been kidnapped?’

     ‘No, my lord.’

     Elemer felt the surge of relief. ‘How,’ he said, ‘is this possible?’

     ‘By the technology of your fair city, in fact,’ said Helper.

     ‘Of Terracoche?’ Elemer said proudly. He still considered himself a crucial part of the city �" after all, it was practically all they went on about, equality and that. ‘So this,’ he said, his brain working furiously, ‘isn’t real?’

     ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ said Helper. ‘If you would just follow me, my lord.’

     He beckoned from the threshold of the bricked archway and then disappeared up the stairs. The sound of creaking wood and hinges rang out in the room, and his shadow was splayed down and into the cellar as the white light poured in, before receding into the faint noise of the bustle outside. Bewildered, Elemer sat for a moment in the red and purple cushions, looking at his palms as if they would provide some kind of insight. Then he quickly stood and hurried after him.

     Up the stone stairs.

     Carefully through the open door.

     And back in time.

     The first things he noticed were the clothes. Everyone was dressed either in robes from the ragged sort to the wonderfully decorated, leather of the finest or poorest quality, or chain and plate armour �" not like Terracoche’s guardians’, just your plain old bits of bronze and iron. Not only that but, glinting all around, weapons of all sorts �" swords, daggers, axes, maces and staves �" dangling from the adventurers’ belts or slung over their backs. The strange folk walked or ran along in all directions, away into all the alleys and buildings, or were duelling one another in the cobblestone streets, and so the clang of metal upon metal and weird, colourful sparks filled the air.

     The town seemed to be primarily structured of timber �" something Elemer had not seen since he moved to the realm of Bel-Gra, a place of stone and metal, and where wood stayed on trees. Outside each building identically shaped signs were hung above the entrance from chains attached to a short, protruding pole: “Shag’s potions. Buffin’ you since year 1.” “The Sneaky Runt. Reduced queues at a steal!” “Jobes’ Tavern. How ‘Bout You Just Come In and Never Leave.”

     ‘Jobes?’ said Elemer.

     He realised suddenly that Helper was nowhere to be seen. At a loss, he headed for the place that seemed the most sensible.

     The repulsive but comforting musty smell entered his nostrils as soon as he opened the door. Jobes’ Tavern was good for business. Cheerful patrons sat at the oak tables, singing and shouting with mugs in hand, splashing beer around the room. Elemer knew this kind of place. More drink found the sticky floor, or at least a beard, than a mouth �" or the sink after its container had been left half-full. At least it was familiar. And it had the Charm. Couldn’t beat the charm of a good tavern: Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, hundreds of colourful bottles stowed on the wall behind the barman who was probably standing on his bed, and, here and there, people clubbing each other with their wooden flagons.

     The handsome, red-robed man looked decidedly out of place, seated at a secluded table in the corner, waving eagerly.

     ‘Over here, my lord!’ called Helper.

     Elemer made his way through the maze of drunkenness.

     ‘Nice of you to show up,’ he said, pulling a chair from under the table and seating himself. ‘Guess you know where I’m bound.’

     Helper shrugged. ‘Besides the fact that I can see some of the simpler happenings of Farloch before me like strange prophecies, most in your position go first to the tavern.’

     Elemer nodded solemnly, cradled over his beer, which neither he nor Helper knew how he attained. ‘It makes sense.’

     ‘It appears you come already with a certain skillset,’ said Helper.

     Elemer shrugged. ‘Life on the road, y’know.’

     ‘Indeed, my lord. Almost a second nature.’

     Elemer savoured his mouthful, letting the cool amber trickle down his throat at small intervals. When it was all gone, he said, ‘A little more than that,’ and burped satisfactorily.

     Helper laughed. ‘Indeed, my lord! Was it not for your rare physique, I would recommend to you the life of a Sneak. But I digress for you are a perfect Bat.’

     ‘You’ve lost me there,’ said Elemer, paying more attention to his drink.

     ‘Allow me to explain, my lord,’ said Helper, and then continued before Elemer could say anything. ‘The world of Farloch works a little differently to yours �" well, perhaps more than a little. You see, people in this world can’t just up and do something that another can.’

     ‘That doesn’t sound that different.’

     ‘But it is, my lord. In your world it is more a matter of how well you can do something that another can. A scientist may try to play football, and fail terribly, but he can still play. And it is so with everything �" everyone has the ability to perform any task they wish. Now I’m not saying you can’t do both science and football in Farloch �" although I wouldn’t recommend you delve into the science of this place �" but there are some things, that no matter how hard you try, you simply will not be able to do, and it all depends on Class.’

     ‘Are we talking about those funny sparks outside?’

     ‘That is closer to the point, my lord.’

     ‘I think I am beginning to understand,’ said Elemer, less interested in his beer now. ‘We’re talking like �" like �" like, abilities?’

     ‘Like I said, my lord, things don’t work here in the same way they do in your world.’