Damned and Fancy

by John Brosnan

Genres: Humor & Satire; Science Fiction; Space Opera

Synopsis

Travis Thompson had been a hard-hitting investigative journalist. Now he wore blue tights and a bright red codpiece, and rode a horse around a world which resembled a second-rate medieval movie set. Jack the demon told him he'd been transported here by magic, but Travis knew it couldn't be real. Right? But whatever the truth, he had to find his way home. He hadn't even cancelled the milk. Mind you, the cross-dressing princess was very beautiful, and Travis supposed you could get used to goats' testicle stew if it was your basic diet for long enough...

Release date: December 21, 2012

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 256

Sample

The demon farted, producing a flash of fire from under his tail and a sulphurous smell.

‘Phew,’ said Travis, waving his hand in front of his face. ‘Did you have to?’

The demon, with a flutter of his leathery, black wings, resumed his perch on top of Whiplash’s head. ‘Sorry, but I couldn’t help it. Shouldn’t have had that second helping of goats’ testicle stew.’

‘Don’t remind me.’

They were on a hill overlooking a grubby walled town. The mandatory castle stood in the centre of the town. It, too, appeared grubby, and the banners hanging limply from its spires looked as if they could do with a good wash. ‘Doesn’t look promising,’ said Travis. ‘Do you know what it’s called?’

‘Nope,’ said the demon, whose name was Jack. ‘I’m not a goddamned flying A to Z guide book.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter. These places are all the same.’ He dug his heels into Whiplash’s sides. The horse snorted angrily. Travis dug his heels in again, harder. He wished he had spurs. Reluctantly, the horse started down the hill. Travis winced with each bump of the saddle. He’d been riding the stupid horse for several months now, but his bottom still hadn’t become toughened to the continual mistreatment.

It was hot, and Travis was sweating profusely which made his coarsely-woven underwear even more itchy and uncomfortable than usual. He glanced up at the sun. He had estimated its diameter at one mile but it sure was a hot little bastard of a star.

They approached the town gate which was ‘guarded’ by two bored-looking soldiers wearing ragged uniforms and rusty helmets and breast-plates. Both men appeared to be in their early forties, were unshaven and had pot bellies protruding from beneath their breast-plates. They were armed with pikes and swords. Travis patted the Colt .45 automatic in the holster on his right hip, reassuring himself that it was still there, as he neared the two men. They regarded him and his demon with open suspicion. He brought Whiplash to a halt in front of them. ‘Hello, lads,’ he greeted them. ‘Nice town you’ve got here.’

‘It’s not a town, it’s a city,’ said one of the guards, huffily.

‘A city?’ sneered Jack. ‘You could have fooled me. So what’s this city of yours called.’

‘It’s called Vallium,’ said the other guard, glaring at Jack.

‘Vallium?’ repeated Travis, and laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked guard number one.

‘Nothing really,’ Travis said quickly. ‘Vallium eh? Nice name.’

‘What’s your business here?’ asked guard number two.

‘I don’t know yet,’ Travis told him. ‘I’m looking for work.’

‘You’ll be lucky to find any work in Vallium,’ said number two. ‘We’re in a depression.’

‘What kind of work do you do?’

‘He’s an aromatherapist,’ said the demon.

‘A what?’ chorused one and two.

‘Just Jack’s rather sad idea of a joke. Actually I’m a sort of … how can I put this … a trouble-shooter.’

Two men regarded him with blank faces.

‘Er … I help people out with their problems. For money.’

‘Can you cure piles?’ asked number two, hopefully.

Travis shook his head. ‘Sorry, no. I don’t mean problems like that.’

‘So what sort of problems do you mean?’ asked number one.

Travis said slowly, ‘Well, say this town was suffering from a plague of thieves and cut-throats. I’d offer the authorities, for a price, my services and then er, remove the problem.’

‘With my help,’ muttered Jack.

‘Oh yes, with Jack’s help.’

‘Crime rate is real low in Vallium,’ said number two. ‘King’s a strict bastard. But we do have a plague of rats. You do rats?’

‘No. Rats aren’t my scene. I do dragons, though.’

The two guards exchanged a glance. Then number one said to Travis, ‘Well, it just so happens we do have a dragon problem these days. A serious one.’

Travis grinned broadly. ‘I’ve come at just the right time, then!’

They looked him up and down. ‘No offence, squire, but you don’t look much of a dragon-fighter,’ said number one. ‘And that pig-sticker hanging from your belt wouldn’t be of any use against our dragon. He’s the size of a barn. He can fry a man at fifty yards. We’ve had all sorts of so-called dragon-slayers turning up here to deal with him. Full of dragon-fighting references as long as your arm until it’s burnt off.’

‘Ah, but I have hidden talents,’ said Travis.

‘You a sorcerer?’ asked number one, breaking the pattern of their routine.

‘If only. No, I’m not a sorcerer. Now may I enter?’

They both shook their heads.

‘Why not?’

‘You could by a spy,’ said number one. ‘Be more than our jobs’ worth if we let you in and you turned out to be a spy. The King would stick our heads on the castle battlements.’

‘Aye,’ agreed number two, ‘and we’d lose our pensions, too.’

‘I’m not a spy,’ said Travis.

‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you? Can you prove it?’

Travis sighed and asked, ‘Who would I be spying for? Is Vallium at war with anyone?’

‘Well, no,’ admitted number two.

‘So how could I possibly be a spy?’

They didn’t answer. Jack said, ‘The key to the city is in your money pouch, Travis.’

‘Oh,’ said Travis as he realized what the demon meant. He loosened the draw string and reached into his pouch. Five coins jingled at its bottom. He took out two half sovereigns and tossed one each to the two guards. He was left with a mere two sovereigns and one quarter-sovereign. Things were getting desperate. Goats’ testicle stew loomed ominously in his future.

After biting the coins, the two guards saluted him. ‘Welcome to Vallium, squire,’ said number one. ‘Enjoy your stay, sir,’ said number two.

‘Thank you. Could either of you direct me to a good inn? A good cheap inn?’

‘To be sure, sir,’ said number two. ‘Just follow the main road to the town square. There’s an inn right by the gibbet. Can’t miss it. Has a sign saying “The Inn” on the front of it.’

‘Is it cheap?’

Number two shrugged. ‘It’s run by my uncle, and if you tell him I sent you he’ll be sure to give you a discount.’

‘And you are …?’ asked Travis.

‘Claude.’

‘Well, thank you, Claude, I’ll certainly do that.’ He kicked Whiplash in the ribs and, with a snort of annoyance, the horse moved through the gate.

Vallium, on closer inspection, lived up to its name. The architecture, and the people in the streets, looked dull. Jack, echoing Travis’s thoughts, said, ‘Dullsville is right.’

‘Doesn’t look too prosperous either.’

‘The money will be in the castle, as usual,’ muttered Jack.

They arrived in the town square and found the inn – right by the gibbet which was, mercifully, unoccupied. Travis dismounted and led Whiplash to the large stable attached to the side of the inn. A burly, balding man, wearing a dirty apron, was tossing hay with a pitchfork into an empty stall. ‘Hello! Know where I can find the inn-keeper?’ Travis asked.

The man stopped working, leaned on the pitchfork and looked Travis up and down, spat onto the straw and followed with a copious amount of mucus from his nose. Then he said, wiping his nose, ‘Right here. Bulric’s the name.’

Hoping that the spitting and nose-blowing routine wasn’t part of some obligatory greeting ritual, Travis said, ‘A profound pleasure to meet you, Bulric. I’m Travis. Your nephew, Claude, recommended your establishment. I need a room for a couple of nights, and stable space and feed for my horse.’

Bulric spat again on the straw-covered floor. ‘Don’t allow demons in the inn. It’ll have to stay out here with the horse.’

‘Racist bastard,’ muttered Jack.

‘What yer say?’ said Bulric, glaring at Jack.

‘Nothing,’ said Travis quickly. ‘The stable will be fine for him. How much for the two nights?’

‘Yer be requiring food?’

‘Very much so. What’s on the menu?’

‘Menu?’ repeated Bulric.

‘I mean, What Are You Serving Today?’ said Travis.

‘Oh. Well, there’s pigeon soup and bread to start, followed by today’s special …’

Travis tensed, waiting for the dreaded words: ‘goats’ testicle stew’. But instead he heard Bulric say, to his relief:

‘… steak and potatoes, and all the ale you can drink.’

‘Marvellous’ cried Travis. ‘Now the matter of payment …’

Bulric scratched his chin, ‘Two sovereigns in all, squire.’

Travis winced, and handed the landlord his two remaining sovereigns. ‘How much would it have been if I hadn’t been sent by your nephew?’

‘One and a half sovereigns.’

‘I don’t understand. That’s less than I paid! What about the discount?’

Bulric spat on the ground again. ‘No discount. If that shite of a nephew of mine thinks he can get in my good books by sending me custom he’ll soon learn it’s a waste of time. I’ll charge the poor bastards extra.’

Travis was about to argue that it wasn’t his fault he’d ignorantly stumbled into a family squabble but realized it would probably be useless. Jack gave him a nasty laugh and rustled his wings.

‘When you’ve got yer horse and yer flying pet rat settled go into the kitchen there …’ He pointed at a side door, ‘… and introduce yerself to the girl, Helen. She’ll take care of yer needs. Hor, hor.’

‘Thanks.’ Travis wondered just what taking care of his needs would entail. He led Whiplash into a stall, and while the horse began munching about in a crudely built manger full of oats he stripped off the saddle, saddle blanket and harness and gave the horse a brisk grooming. Jack hopped down the horse’s neck and onto its back. ‘Damn, I’m hungry,’ he said.

‘I’ll bring you some scraps when I’m through eating. God, steak and potatoes! I can’t wait.’

‘I’d have preferred goats’ testicle stew.’

‘That’s because you’re sick and twisted. Now stay here and behave yourself.’

The demon gave him a mocking bow. ‘Yes, oh Great One. Your word is my command.’

‘Don’t overdo the sarcasm, shorty. You might drown in it,’ Travis told him.

As Travis headed for the kitchen he wished he could get rid of the odious Jack. However, he knew the demon had been assigned to be his adviser and helper in this world, known as Samella, and though he’d been here for many months now he still relied heavily on the bugger’s services and advice. Without Jack, his survival was doubtful. So he was just going to have to put up with the little monster … Shit.

He entered the kitchen, and was hit by the overpowering smell of either cooking food or boiling laundry. He couldn’t tell which. A plumpish girl with red hair sat on a stool by a large metal pot, resting on a glowing grill, giving it a desultory stir with a long wooden spoon. Travis saw that she was quite pretty and couldn’t help admiring the vista of ample breasts that her very low-cut dress revealed. ‘You Helen?’ he asked.

She smiled at him as she rose from the stool. ‘Yessir, I am.’

Pity about the teeth, he thought. ‘Your father said you’d show me to my room and, well, look after me …’

She giggled. ‘Bulric, my father? What a bloody thought!’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed …’

‘Bulric’s not even married: He prefers boys in his bed, does Bulric, not women!’ And she laughed even harder.

He waited patiently, then said, ‘Bulric mentioned hot food – a steak to be exact – and ale.’

She wiped her eyes. ‘Yessir. I’ll take you to your room first and then I’ll bring you dinner.’

She led him up a flight of creaky, straw-strewn wooden stairs, along a passageway and into a large room with a window overlooking the town square. Looking round he saw a big bed, a table, two chairs and a crude structure that he assumed was meant to be a wardrobe. The bed consisted of a big, low box containing a rough hessian mattress from which straw protruded. On the end of the bed lay what appeared to Travis to be a primitive duvet, made of coarse linen and also stuffed with straw. Not for the first time it occurred to him that straw was this world’s major product.

‘I’ll just go and put your steak on the grill, sir. Shouldn’t take long.’ She hurried from the room. If Travis had been capable of laughing hollowly, he would have.

He sat on the bed, pulled off his boots and massaged his feet. Moving over to the window, he pushed the two heavy shutters and stared out across the square. A crowd seemed to be forming on the opposite side. Then there was a brief knock on the door. It opened. It was the girl again. She gave him a smile and walked over to the bed. He was taken by surprise when she flung herself backwards onto the bed and lay there in a pose of studied abandonment. ‘And what about you, sir? You’re not like Bulric, are you?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You don’t prefer boys in your bed to girls?’ she said, smiling enticingly at him. The teeth definitely spoiled the overall effect, but now he knew for sure what Bulric had meant when he’d said that Helen would take care of all his needs. On the other hand, were her services included in the overall charge or was she an extra? One ought to know these things.

She said, ‘You’re a good-looking fellow, sir, and I’d gladly pleasure you for free but Bulric insists he and I split fifty-fifty, so …’

He sighed. ‘How much?’

‘Half a sovereign.’

‘Oh.’

Mistaking the reason for his hesitancy she slowly pulled her dress up to her waist.

She wasn’t wearing any underwear, which came as no surprise to Travis. Underwear had yet to catch on in a big way in Samella and considering how uncomfortable the available product was, it was perfectly understandable. He gazed at her luxuriant growth of matching red hair and told her, a little wistfully, that he only had a quarter of a sovereign.

She looked thoughtful for a few moments, smiled, and said, ‘Alright, a quarter will do. That’ll keep Bulric satisfied. Just make sure you do the same for me. Now hurry up before that steak starts to burn.’

He hurried out of his clothes, not easy as the clothes weren’t designed to be hurried out of, and joined Helen on the bed. He helped her get her dress up over her head. She smelt ripe but he expected her to. And besides, he guessed he smelt ripe as well.

He soon had any thought of cooking completely out of her mind.

Since arriving in Samella, Travis had quickly discovered he had a distinct advantage over other men here. It was his knowledge of sophisticated sexual techniques – such as foreplay. He felt much like a Frenchman must have done in Australia during the nineteen fifties.

When it was finally over she lay there gasping and said, ‘By the horned gods of Zelpit, no man’s ever done that to me before!’

‘Really?’ he said, with contrived innocence.

‘No, never! And I’ve had more men than I can count!’

Travis thought this was clearly an understatement. If she could have counted past ten he would have been very surprised.

‘You’re not from these parts are you?’ she panted.

‘No, I’m not,’ he said, truthfully.

‘Do all the men in your country pleasure women the same way as you do?’

‘Um, I think so, but it all depends on which part of the country you’re in, and how much they’ve had to drink.’

She guffawed and gave his limp penis a painful tweak. ‘You silly fool!’

‘Ouch,’ he said, pushing her hand away and sitting up. It was then he became aware of the sound of angry voices coming through the open window. ‘What’s going on out there?’ he asked.

She bounded up off the bed and bounced towards the window, her large pink bottom wobbling affectingly. He followed, and leaned on the sill beside her. On the opposite side of the square the crowd of people he’d seen earlier were now surrounding a coach and horses. A man stood on the coach and even from a distance Travis could tell he was dressed in finery. He was gesticulating at the crowd. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked Helen as he ran an appreciative hand over her bottom.

‘Oh, it’s the Chancellor. He’s asking for another delay for Princess Beatrice, but the people aren’t going to sit still for it this time. Beatrice is going to end up dragon fodder for sure.’

‘Who is Princess Beatrice?’

‘The bleeding King’s bleeding daughter. So far she’s ducked her fate whenever her name has been pulled out of the hat.’

‘I’m a stranger here, remember,’ he told her. ‘What are you talking about? And what’s the dragon got to do with it?’

She gave him an impatient look. ‘It’s the usual dragon deal. Garaptor – that’s the dragon – has promised not to destroy the town in return for a virgin maiden being handed into his horrible clutches once a month. Trouble is, we’re running out of virgins. We’re down to our last one. Princess Beatrice …’

‘I see.’

‘The selection was made by lottery,’ continued Helen. ‘And when Beatrice’s name has been picked before, the King and the Chancellor have brib. . .