The Blade

Chapter 24

Ergan Pu was a confused man. Although admittedly, for him, this wasn't a terribly unusual state of affairs. Ergan spent a good part of his life being confused. Take boots, for example. Something as simple as boots were a dilemma, for Ergan. Firstly, which pair to wear? He didn't always have two to choose from, but when he did, a good part of his morning could be spent on the decision. Then, with that sartorial conundrum resolved, there came the issue of figuring out which boot went on which foot. He'd worked really hard on this, and despite the occasional misadventure with a hand, and on one unforgettable occasion, his head, these days he generally managed to get it right, most of the time. Except for the occasions when he got it left. But even then, after having negotiated this minefield of possibilities, he still regularly found that he'd forgotten to put his socks and/or trousers on, prior to putting on his boots, and therefore had to go through the whole process all over again.

Suffice it to say, higher order thinking was not Ergan's forte.

Which is not to say that he didn't have a forte. As it turned out, his forte was being a henchman. It was almost as if he was born for the role. Strong, good with a sword, just barely smart enough to take instructions, but far too dumb to question them, he was practically perfect for the job. The fact that he liked hurting people was just cream on top.

So, excellent henchman material, but as the Agency's director was rapidly discovering, almost useless as a source of information. The director drained the dregs of his cold coffee, and contemplated the man seated on the other side of the table. Even dressed in orange coveralls, rather than the black leather gear they'd found him in, he looked somehow wrong. The director couldn't explain it, but like a cricket-bat at a baseball match, or lasagna in a Chinese restaurant, Ergan Pu somehow just didn't quite fit. Plus, pretty much everything he said sounded like a load of rubbish.

"So, let me get this straight. You're telling me you came here on a rock?"

"That's right, yer honour."

"A flying rock?"

Ergan blinked. "Well, a non-flyin' one wouldn't be much good. Them buggers can't walk very fast."

"You mean this rock of yours has legs?"

Ergan began to wonder if this was one of those very rare occasions when he was the smartest person in the conversation. "Erm. That's right, yer honour. Makes for a pretty rough landin', without legs. Don't rocs have legs here, then?"

The director leaned forward, and fixed Ergan with his best steely glare, which after thirty years in the agency, was very steely indeed. "No, Mr Pu, they don't. Nor do they have wings, and in general, they don't go in for flying. Rocks around here tend to not do much of anything. So how about you shut up about this mythical flying rock of yours, and tell me about the giant bird, instead?"

Ergan opened his mouth. He closed it again. He scratched his head, wincing as he touched the bruise left by his encounter with the Blade. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know what the hell was going on, and he didn't know who any of these strangely dressed, bizarrely ignorant people were, but one thing he did know was that he never wanted to be anywhere near that bloody kid or that bloody sword ever again, for as long as he lived. He turned pleading eyes on the director. "Please, orificer. I'll tell ya whatever yer want, but I dunno what yer mean. How can I tell ya about the roc if'n I has to shut up about it?"

The director's glare intensified. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Um, sir?" The tentative interjection came from the agent operating the camera recording the interview.

"What?" snapped the director, his glare now reaching hitherto unprecedented levels of steeliness

The agent quailed. "Uh, it's just that I play Dungeons and...er, I used to play Dungeons and Dragons, sir. Years and years ago. When I was a kid. Or, at least a friend of mine did, anyway..."