posted 01-07-11 10:01 AM EDT (US)
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Here resumes the tale relinquished uponthis scroll.
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The trio sailed on down the River of Time. They could tell they were coming closer again to the time from which they had started, for the air began to smell fouler with the fumes of industry. They had shipped the oars as the current was ideal; Terikel was snoring noisily in the bottom of the boat, EoJ was once again fishing for clock trout (he was yet to catch any) and Edorix was idly watching the river go past. It was a rather odd river, he had to admit. It had no trouble whatsoever flowing uphill or through the air, and looking back they could see things they certainly had never passed. Edorix could see a Renaissance painter, oblivious of the medieval joust going on right beside him, which itself was taking place just paces from a pitched battle between an army of the Byzantine Empire and a raiding band of Vikings. The Byzantines were losing, but Mark Antony and Octavian didn’t bother to break off their conversation to help as they strode past the bustling building site of the Great Sphinx. It was a little dizzying, so Edorix kept his eyes on the water instead. As they progressed, he noticed that the river was not only widening but deepening and the gentle current still did not slow, despite the fact that he had remarked no tributaries of any sort. Suddenly they dropped off the air-cushion they had been sailing on and landed with a splash on a lower plane of the river.
Terikel sat up with a menacing creak like an old door, and a very wet Edorix climbed back into the boat. To prevent himself from laughing at them, EoJ announced where he deemed them to have arrived.
“Gentlemen, welcome to London!”
“Gentlemen?” asked Edorix.
“London?” exclaimed Terikel. “Where the hell is that?”
“Alright, gentleman and Viking. And yes, London, or Londinium as you knew it. Look, you can see the Tower from here.”
Edorix looked. He could certainly seea tower from here, and thus acknowledged sarcastically that EoJ was indeed correct, it was the Tower of London, and they were therefore in London, well done. EoJ looked slightly confused.
“Pray ignore him,” said Terikel. “The youth is irritated for he hath fallen in the river. Look.” Terikel pushed him off the boat again. When he returned, he was indeed even more irritated than before, judging from the string of Ancient British swear words and large volumes of filthy river-water pouring from his mouth. “There, thou seest?” chuckled the Old One good-naturedly.
EoJ brightened up. Terikel laughed harder when Edorix reached for his sword to find his scabbard empty, and held it up for him. He snatched it back. He had run out of Ancient British swear words so he abruptly switched to Old English. Unfortunately, this was rather similar to Old Norse, and it was Terikel’s turn to look hurt. Then his eyes flashed angry and things might have got out of hand between the two barbarians if EoJ had not distracted them by capsizing the boat. This time they all fell in, agreed that the matter was settled, righted it and climbed back on board. Once the river-water had drained from their ears, they were able to make out the sound of laughter coming from the bank.
Edorix was the first to notice, having the youngest and least hairy ears. He shot an angry look towards the bank, and then realized why the man was laughing and had to smile himself. Three men, dressed in the most ridiculous outfits, fighting in a canoe. Terikel was less readily acceptant of the dishonour. He stood up.
“Ahoy there, wight with the ugly laugh! Bring thy foolish self out here to ourselves and we shall see how jovial thou canst laugh with a sword in thine giblets!”
“Excusez-moi monsieur, voudrez-vous repetez dans une langue moins barbare?” called the man. “Je ne comprends exactement rien ce que vous dites.”
“He’s speaking French,” muttered Edorix.
“What is French?” retorted Terikel. “Is that yet another silly tongue spoken by men dreaming of past glory?”
“Mostly.”
“Dost thou speak it?”
“No,” Edorix replied quickly. “Doth EoJ?”
EoJ shook his head. “Precious little.”
Whether this was true or not, Edorix couldn’t tell.
“Fine, I do speak French,” Edorix decided. Then to the man on the bank he replied (in French): “Please ignorele vieux, he is Norwegian and a little senile.”
“Ah, je comprends. These Germaniques, like the English, they are all the same.”
Edorix decided against explaining the genetic evidence for how the English were not in fact technically Germanic but indigenous Ancient Britons. They had given the man enough to laugh about already. The only thing that annoyed him more was that this Frenchman, dressed very much like an old-fashionedgendarme, felt he could be so rude about the English, here, in London. Judging by the absence of Big Ben, which Edorix knew was built around the 1830s, and the foul industrial smell on the air, he guessed that it must be around the early 19th century. Britain’s Empire was almost at its height; Napoleon had either just been or was about to be utterly defeated. So how could this Frenchman…
“Sir, if I were you, I would guard my tongue.”
Edorix wasn’t sure that “garder sa langue” meant anything in French, but the man understood.
“Sir, if I were you, I would show more respect.”
“Why?”
“Because I am a gendarme.”
“Not in London,mon ami.”
“Where have you been since the Battle of Waterloo, my strangely-dressed young fool?”
Edorix didn’t reply.
“England is French property, “mon ami.”. And you are under arrest. All of you.”
Edorix pulled a face at him and sat back down in the boat. EoJ looked at him expectantly. Terikel was still trying to work out whatNorvège meant.
“Gentleman and Viking, we are under arrest.”
“Oh, thou foolish youth!” declaimed Terikel theatrically. “What didst thou say?”
“I’m not entirely sure. But that bloke over there – he’s police. Looks like Napoleon has conquered Britain.”
EoJ nearly fell out of the boat again. “What?!”
“That’s what he said.”
EoJ made to shout at the gendarme, who was blowing a whistle and waving his arms upriver, but Edorix pulled him back down.
“Don’t! We’ve already been arrested, youcan make it worse.”
“Young warlords, forgive me,” Terikel interrupted, “but methinks I would be correct in thinking this guardian of the peace is signaling his fellows in boats. We would suggest attempting to get the hell out of here.”
“You’re the brains,” said Edorix.
“Plan?” smiled EoJ.
For once, Terikel was bewildered.
“Plan? We are surewe have come up with enough plans recently. Mine aged brain is pickled. One of ye young folks, with your brains full of energy, think of something!”
They were running out of time. The French police-boat was almost upon them, when there was tremendous explosion, and a large cannonball smashed into its hull. Just moments later, a series of gunshots rang out. Craning his neck, Edorix could see a band of men wearing red jackets and tricorn hats carrying guns (muskets? rifles? he couldn’t tell) forming into rows on the bank. A few seconds later, more shots rang out, then the first line knelt to reload while the second line fired, and then the third. Howls and splashes from the police boat announced that their surprise attack was having the desired affect.
“Strange winged men! Over here!”
The three looked, to see another man waving frantically at them. He ducked as someone on the other bank took a shot at him.
“Fly this way!” he shouted.
The three winged men didn’t need telling twice. Edorix and EoJ jumped out of the boat and flew towards the bank as fast as they could. Terikel took an instant longer to hastily fold up the boat and then followed. A few moments later, they stood together once more on dry land.
Terikel turned to face their rescuer.
“I believe thanks are in order. What is thy name?”
“Sublime_Porte – but everyone calls me Von Steuben.”
“A fitting name,” declared Terikel, “for thou art the most helpful man I have met. Our most heartfelt thanks.”
“Watch out,” said Von Steuben. They all ducked as another bullet whistled past. A friendly gunman nearby ducked out from hiding and returned fire. There was another howl, followed by a splash.
“Thanks, Washington,” said Von Steuben. tkwarrior inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the thanks. To the three angels Von Steuben remarked, “That fellow gets a hard time from the others; they say he never was much good with a gun. But that – that was good shooting. I’d say he’s pretty seriously underrated by his peers.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” said EoJ.
“Okay gents, enough chit-chat, now follow me,” came a familiar voice. Looking up, the four of them saw Pitt standing in a narrow alley. Von Steuben cursed.
“Dammit Hume, just when things were getting interesting!”
“Stick to the plan,” retorted Pitt. “It is a good one – I made it. You get out there, you make a distraction, rescue the angels, and then youdisappear before more gendarmes arrive. Come on!”
Reluctantly, Sublime_Porte – Von Steuben – blew three sharp blasts on a whistle. Immediately, the gunmen broke formation and scattered in all directions, feigning a rout. Within seconds, they had vanished.
“Good men, them,” remarked Edorix.
“Aye, the best,” replied Von Steuben. “They were elected favourite unit by the leaders of the rebellion; that’s why I brought them. Line infantry, you know. Those heavy guns – twelve-pound foot artillery – were also among our favourites. Haven’t been able to get our hands on any Dutch grenadiers though. Now, let’s go!”
They ran down the alley Pitt had been standing in, rounded the corner, and found Pitt standing at the door to a building.
“Inside and up the stairs,” he said, ”quick!”
Instantly they obeyed. Pitt followed them in, shut the door and locked it.
“It’s invisible from the outside,” he explained once he had caught up with them. ”They won’t find us here.”
“Clever,” said Edorix sarcastically.
“That’s what we thought,” said Von Steuben seriously. “That’s why we call him Hume.”
“Where are we, anyway?” asked EoJ.
“London,” replied Pitt promptly, “part of theEmpire Empire.”
“The Ompee-rompee?” said Terikel, bemused.
“It’s French,” hissed Edorix. “It means Empire Empire.”
“I’m afraid we can’t really tell you any more, much as we’d like to,” came a voice from the next room. “Do come in though.”
“That’s The Gentalmen,” muttered Von Steuben to EoJ as they went in off the landing, “although we call him Bilderdijk. Infuriatingly nice sometimes.”
Inside the room, there was a large round table, covered with maps, with a number of distinguished gentlemen sitting round it. Bilderdijk gestured for them all to take seats. As they did, Von Steuben asked Aftermath how many they had lost. He knew he could get a mature response from him.
“How many did we lose, Kant?”
Before Aftermath could speak, he was interrupted by a loud voice from the other end of the table.
“Come now, no call for that sort of language was there?”
Everyone got it. Nobody laughed. Everyone looked at THEmanIShere. Aftermath put his head in his hands.
“Shut up, Voltaire.”
“It wasn’t funny the first time,” added Von Steuben.
Voltaire – THEmanIShere – muttered an apology and hid his face behind a large map. Aftermath nodded in a dignified manner and then turned to reply to Sublime_Porte.
“They are still filtering in, but it seems we lost only three men. One of them I saw floating downstream myself. It was Sondre_Norge.”
“Not Marlborough!” exclaimed The Gentalmen.
Aftermath nodded sadly. Von Steuben took off his hat. Like everyone else, he too had adopted an upper-class English accent, mannerisms and attire to suit the setting.
“He will, I think, be the most missed,” he said. There was a rumble of agreement. Edorix waited a respectfully long moment before bursting out.
“Guys, what in this world or that is going on here?”
“How do you mean?” said Aftermath.
“The boy is right,” said GundamMerc unhelpfully, sitting up and banging his fist on the table for emphasis. He had been dozing. Von Steuben pointed at him surreptitiously and muttered to EoJ under his breath, “completely mad.”
“I mean,” said Edorix, “how did it come to this? How come the French are in possession of the capital of the Empire which, within a century, will be the undisputed greatest power in the world?!”
“I might dispute that,” muttered Voltaire from behind his map, just a little predictably. Everyone ignored him. Aftermath made to reply, but it was a voice from the window that did.
“It’s this damned way Total War works,” said Primo. He had been looking out of the window at the street below in silence since they came in. Only now he turned to face them all. He was not old, but the wisdom of experience was etched into his expression – the opposite of Terikel, who was utterly ancient but without the wisdom that should accompany it. He looked at Edorix. “Anything can happen. And anything did.”
It looked as if he was finished, but obviously there was more to say. “Indeed, Von Zieten,” continued Aftermath after a pause. “Few have been here longer to know it better than you, and fewer still of those remain. You are after all our best old-timer.” He turned to Edorix. “It is as he says; there are millions of Total War worlds, particularly belonging to this period. Something like this is bound to happen in one of them. What happened here was, Daelon – perhaps you know him? – took command of Napoleon’s army at the Battle of Waterloo – and won. Like a true Total War-er, he knew how to exploit his victory; he immediately used the impetus gained from his victory to turn around the Prussians to his side, had a small transport fleet hastily built, and raced across to Britain before they could get their navy together. He laid siege to London, assaulted it – and just like that, Britain fell into his hands.”
There was another dignified silence, broken only by GundamMerc trying to choke down his laughter. Only someone as crazy as he was could laugh at one of Voltaire’s jokes. Aftermath felt like a school-teacher: he regretted letting the two of them sit together.
“So what do we do?” asked EoJ.
“Do?” asked Terikel. “Why do anything?”
Edorix raised his eyebrows. Aftermath and Primo exchanged glances.
“I think, Old One,” said Von Steuben, “that if you knew England better, you would understand why French rule is intolerable.”
“Something about being at war for half a millennium solid,” added Edorix.
“Not exactly,” muttered Kor from the end of the table in case anyone was listening, without looking up from the article he was writing.
Terikel sighed. “Very well, if it’s so important to my British friends, what shall we do?”
The door opened, and Hussarknight strode in.
“Hello chaps. Sorry I’m late,” he said, removing his hat and travelling cloak. “Got caught up.”
Terikel and EoJ froze when they recognized his voice. They glanced at each other. You could almost smell the silent expletive that flashed between them. Edorix looked quickly at both of them – and realised that it were probably best if Hussarknight did not know they were here.
“Von Steuben,” the cherub hissed. “Get him out of here!”
“What?” he whispered back.
“Hussarknight! Make him go away! He mustn’t know we’re here!”
“Oh…” Von Steuben got up quickly. He was always known as a helpful fellow. He turned to face Hussarknight.
“Er, Hussarknight, I’m really sorry, but this is a private meeting. Top secret, you know?”
“Yes?”
“Well, you’re not allowed.”
“But I’m the Seraph!”
“Yes I know, and you’re doing a marvelous job of it, go and do some more.” He thrust Hussar’s cloak and hat into his hands and almost pushed him out the door. Hussar stayed on the threshold.
“Please?” called The Gentalmen.
Rolling his eyes, Hussarknight turned and left. Von Steuben slammed and locked the door behind him.
“Well-played, Sublime_Porte,” said EoJ.
“Once again we owe you our thanks,” said Terikel.
“Don’t mention it,” said Von Steuben sitting back down. “Care to tell me what that was all about?”
“Erm –“ said EoJ. He glanced at Terikel.
“No,” said Terikel.
“Very well,” said Von Steuben, a little put out.
“Gentlemen, please, the matter at hand,” begged Edorix. “What can we do?”
“I have an idea,” said Pitt.
“Of course you do,” smiled The Gentalmen.
“Go on, Pitty,” said EoJ.
Pitt rolled his eyes. “It’s really not that hard, you know. You have been travelling on the River of Time. Get back on it, and go back to the Battle of Waterloo. Rearrange things as they happened historically, and all will be well. The French will never have conquered Britain.”
After a long whispered debate with Terikel – from which Edorix felt very left out, but after all, he wasn’t really supposed to be on this adventure anyway – while everyone waited, EoJ made his decision.
“That could work.”
Pitt rolled his eyes again. “That’s why I said it. Are you going touse the plan?”
This time the whispered discussion was so long that after about five minutes even Aftermath got bored.
“Yes,” he announced for them. “Now off with the three of you. We have other things to discuss.”
Obediently, EoJ and Edorix got up and made for the door. Terikel remained standing beside the table.
“I don’t suppose anyone would care to come with us? Changing history is no easy task when large armies are involved, as we discovered at the Medieval Morass. We will need all the help we can get.”
“ME!!!” shouted GundamMerc, leaping up. “I want to come!”
“I reckon you’re the only one mad enough, Ludwig,” muttered Primo.
After another moment, Schwerpunkt stood up. “I shall come.”
“Arkwright, you’re exhausted,” said Aftermath firmly, “and still recovering from your wounds. I appreciate you have the good of all of us at heart, but you work yourself too hard! It would do none of us any good if you were to get yourself killed.”
“Nonetheless, I will go,” said Schwerpunkt equally firmly. Aftermath threw up his arms – it was no use arguing with him when he was trying to be helpful. Knowing he held the moral high ground made him unbelievably stubborn.
“Anyone else at all?” he said resignedly.
After a second, Army Ranger stood up. Primo laughed out loud.
“What good will that do, continental?”
Army Ranger reddened. “Please stop calling me that! I have a name, you know.”
“Alright, Continental-Army,” laughed GundamMerc. Army Ranger ignored him and replied to Primo.
“I have actually become rather handy with a gun, Primo, believe it or not.”
“I hope so,” chuckled Primo. He was not normally a mean man, but Army Ranger’s skill with a gun, as most of them knew it, was quite hard not to laugh at.
“It’s true,” said The Gentalmen. “He is infinitely improved since you last saw him shoot. I too shall go, if only to help my friends.”
“If he is so improved, perhaps Ludwig actually came up with a good name for him,” laughed webstral, who until then had remained silent.
“Well, that would be the best news I’ve ever heard,” muttered Von Steuben.
“Hey, I thought we agreed I was the best newbie!” protested webstral.
“Of course you are Freddie, “the best news” I said.”
“Freddie theGreat,” corrected webstral, sinking back into his chair.
“That’s enough companions,” said EoJ quickly. “We can’t take a whole army in the boat.”
“Well, off you go then,” said Aftermath. “Good luck defeating De Ruyter.”
“De Ruyter?” asked Edorix, confused. “He was never one of Napoleon’s generals...”
“Sorry, I meant Daelon,” said Aftermath.
“We call him De Ruyter ‘cause he’s so darn good,” muttered Von Steuben. “Good luck, guys – you will need all you can get…”
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Once they had managed to sneak back down to the river and unfold the boat, the journey was uneventful. They didn’t have far to go; the Battle of Waterloo was only a couple of years upriver. The boat fell out of the airborne river, dumping all of them on the grass of a plain. It was just after dusk, maybe 11 o’clock. Away in the distance was the little Belgian village of Waterloo. They had arrived.
“This place will look so different in a couple of hundred years time,” muttered Edorix.
“No doubt,” muttered EoJ. “Unless we fail to change it. After all… what can seven of us do to change history?”
“We must find this Daelon person and convince him to change sides,” announced Terikel. “With him commanding Wellington’s forces instead, he is bound to win.”
“So, we need to infiltrate the French camp and arrange a private meeting with the commander on the eve of a great battle,” concluded EoJ.
“Sounds fun,” smiled GundamMerc. “When do we start?”
“I think we probably need a plan,” suggested Army Ranger.
“We have little time,” said Terikel. “Thus listen very carefully. We shall say this only once. Here is our plan. You mortals must provide a distraction while we snatch this Daelon person and flee forthwith unseen. Then you lot have to make thine own escape from the perils of the opposing forces. Agreed?”
Edorix and EoJ agreed. The mortals did not – even Arkwright and Bilderdijk looked skeptical.
“Precisely how should we distract them?” asked Scwerpunkt.
“You wanted to help,” said Terikel, waving the question away. “Why must I think of everything myself? Wait here if you will, I imagine we angel-folk can accomplish this deed without your help.”
“We want to help,” said Arkwright firmly.
“Then forth! Go distract them!” cried Terikel, then to EoJ and Edorix, “Come, let us fly over the French camp and see what we can see…”
It was not such a simple matter of “flying over the French camp” because military camps in the Empire Empire were not quite as they had been in Rome. Still, they eventually managed to pick out what they wanted and, hidden by darkness, they dropped out of the sky and alighted behind the huge red, white and blue tent which they could only assume belonged to the French commander.
“What if he’s not inside?” hissed EoJ.
“We run off and try the next one,” replied Edorix.
“Forsooth, he will be inside, where else could he be?” replied Terikel rather huffily. “On my signal, young warlords, we cut into the tent.”
“How will we know when the distraction is ready?” asked Edorix.
“Distraction? Oh, our little mortal friends… bah, forget about them, they’ll be alright. Now stop asking impudent questions.”
Edorix didn’t particularly think that Terikel hadanswered his question but said nothing. Quietly but quickly, Terikel drew his sword and cut a long slash in the back of the ugly tent, and stepped inside. EoJ pulled out Imhotep’s Wand and followed. Edorix hesitated, then decided to wait outside and watch.
Inside the tent, a short and rather fat man lay on a bed, snoring. He was wearing a tricorn hat tipped over his face, and one hand was stuck inside his pyjamas over his chest. Terikel ignored him and looked around. EoJ went over to the sleeping figure and peered at him.
“I’m sure I’ve seen this fellow somewhere before,” he murmured.
“Never thou mindst him, help me carry away this foolish young Total War-er over here,” cursed Terikel. “A heavy fellow he is, too heavy for mine ancient back.”
In the end EoJ carried Daelon back out of the tent by himself, with Terikel following, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
“Now what?” said Edorix.
“Now, we take this slovenly youth away and keep him out of the battle tomorrow.”
“No, actually I meant, what shall we do with Napoleon?”
“Napoleon?! Where???” cried Terikel.
“Gumby will know!” announced EoJ suddenly, pulling from his cloak a large briefcase from which he extracted a sheaf of paper. He held it up proudly.
Terikel squinted at the title – it was the only bit in big capital runes, so he could actually read it.
“Trade… and, Taxes… Explained, by… reader… colin?” read the Old One infuriatingly slowly.
“That’s right,” grinned EoJ. “It was voted our best gameplay article. It will surely be able to tell us what to do next.
Edorix could scarcely prevent himself rolling his eyes.
“I somehow doubt it EoJ. Trade and taxes is a slightly different science to dealing with dilemmas in time-travel. No, think Napoleon. The other fellow sleeping in there. The one in the pyjamas which say “Je <3 France” on the front.”
Terikel looked confused. “Why – nothing. He’s not important, is he?”
“I think he probably is,” said Edorix. “Historically, he didn’t command the Battle of Waterloo, but hid out in various mansions and villages until it was over. It was left to his general – Ney, I think was his name – to actually command the troops.”
“So if we have taken away the general who was going to fill Ney’s role –“ realised EoJ.
“Then Napoleon may well end up commanding the battle himself. And may win,” finished Edorix. They both looked at Terikel.
“What do ye propose I should do?” exclaimed the Old One defensively.
Edorix shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose, as is thy wont. C’mon EoJ, we probably need to take Nappy with us too.”
A few minutes later, three angels carrying two snoring men in tricorn hats soared off once more into the night sky. They set the two generals down in a coppice a few miles away from the battlefield and bound them up. Terikel put a spell on them to make sure they didn’t wake up, just in case, and then EoJ sent him off to go and bring back their companions who were probably by now captives inside the French camp. Edorix realized they were in for a long wait.
“So what do we do now?” asked Edorix.
EoJ took out his battered briefcase again and removed another sheaf of papers from it.
“I suppose you must like history, Edorix,” he said. “Care to read some Gibbon?”
Gibbon? thought Edorix, taking it from him. What’s that supposed to mean? He looked at the title, then smiled, shook his head and handed it back. “No thanks, EoJ. It’s not really my period.”
EoJ looked shocked. “But this is this year’s Gibbon!”
“Gibbon?” repeated Edorix, nondeplussed.
“It was voted best history article of the year.”
“Maybe, but the Republic of the Seven Provinces looks about as boring as just sitting counting the intervals between Nappy’s snores I’m afraid.”
“Would you prefer theBattle of Lafelt?
“Century?”
“Eighteenth or nineteenth I suppose, I haven’t actually read it myself yet.”
“No thanks.”
“Come come, Edorix, whether you like it or not, we’rein the nineteenth century, you might as well get used to it. And these aren’t just any old history articles, these are by Kor!”
Edorix stretched. “Even so. Actually, it being night, I think I might just sleep.”
He had barely gotten comfortable when there was a bang and a flash and he leapt up again. Terikel had arrived, with four mortals.
“A thousand pardons,” he said, as The Gentalmen, GundamMerc, Schwerpunkt and Army Ranger landed at his feet. Napoleon and Daelon slept on. “I did not think thou wouldst sink to mine own levels of laziness, young warrior.”
“Trying to sleep at night is laziness, huh?” muttered Edorix. “Anyhow, what took you so long?”
Terikel chuckled. “Their distraction was quite amusing. They had set up a circus tent – where they got it from I cannot tell – just outside the camp, and wereperforming. A remarkably good performance, I can tell thee – it is that which took me so long. The Gentalmen and GundamMerc were clowns, Army Ranger was an acrobat, and Schwerpunkt was a lion tamer. I must confess I would have stayed all night, however the French soldiers decided enough was enough and came to arrest them. That’s when I was forced to fly us all out of the way. And here we are.”
“And what’s this?” said EoJ, scooping up a small tabby kitten which was mewling forlornly at him.
Terikel’s grin broadened. “When I said Schwerpunkt was a lion-tamer… well, they were a bit short of lions.”
“Ow!” exclaimed EoJ, sucking a bitten finger. “He’s quite fierce enough, I think. Hey, get off that!” The kitten had found a ball of thread in EoJ’s briefcase and was playing with it.
“Aw, leave him, EoJ,” said The Gentalmen, getting up. “Playing with thread is a cat’s best game.”
“Funny you should say that,” said EoJ, pushing the cat away and grabbing the ball of string (the cat hissed and leapt at it, hanging off the ball by its claws. EoJ shook it, and the kitten fell off again with an ouraged mew), “because this was our best game thread too. If you look closely, it actually has a dozen words written on every inch of its length. Gaius got it off Zen’s computer. It’s that “India is Conquered… Where now?” thread by Primo. I thought I’d read it if I got a chance, Pitt recommended it.”
For the remainder of the night, the seven of them rested. The next day, the Battle of Waterloo raged across the plain. Napoleon and Daelon slept on while the seven companions kept watch in shifts. Eventually, evening fell again and the battle died down. Army Ranger returned from his patrol.
“The British clearly won,” he announced. “Turns out General Ney was around to lead the French; he kept Napoleon’s disappearance a secret so as not to hurt his men’s morale, and everything occurred just as Pitt’s book said it would. And I didn’t fall of my horse once!” he added enthusiastically.
“Congratulations, Continental-Army,” smiled The Gentalmen. “You are evidently very much improved.”
Just then, Napoleon and Daelon both began to stir. Terikel’s spell had worn off. EoJ had cut their bonds as they were evidently unnecessary, but when the two woke they still found themselves surrounded by four men in British redcoat officers’ uniforms, and three medieval travelers. Terikel, EoJ and Edorix had not bothered to change since they had left the Red Lion Tavern.
“’Ere, what is ze meaning of zis?” cried Napoleon, jumping up. It made little difference – his head seemed to remain approximately the same distance from the ground as it had when resting on a small rock for a pillow. Daelon looked up sheepishly.
“Oh… hello folks. What’s going on?” He noticed Terikel and EoJ with their big red angel wings. “Am I being banned?”
“No, no,” chuckled Edorix. “You’re just too great a general for your own good.” Between the seven of them, they explained what had happened.
“In the end,” finished EoJ, “although obviously it is up to you where you direct your conquests, we really couldn’t allow Britain to be conquered by France. It was voted, after all, our favourite faction.”
“Forsooth, EoJ, technically it was not,” said Terikel. “It was tied with the Ottoman Empire, Spain, and the United Provinces in the Empire Empire, and with Hesse-Kassel in the Ompee-Rompee.” (Terikel’s French had not improved.)
“Ah, but it was the only faction which earned votes in both the Empire Empire and theEmpire Empire,” realized GundamMerc. Everyone looked at him.
“Is it possible you made a sane comment, Gundam?” said The Gentalmen, for an instant too surprised to be nice.
“That was my logic exactly,” said EoJ proudly.
“’Ey, and ergh, what about me?” interrupted Napoleon, whom they had up until that point ignored.
“Thou, thou wretched Frenchman, shalt be captured by the Seventh Coalition, and then exiled to a small island far away, whence thou shalt not have the opportunity to escape again and where thou shalt live out a lonely existence until the end of thy miserable days,” declaimed Terikel dramatically. “Thou shalt die in sickness, and never see a Valkyrie nor dine with us in Odin’s Great Hall.”
Napoleon looked a little crestfallen.
“You, er – weren’t supposed to tell him that,” muttered Edorix to Terikel.
“I do not care,” continued Terikel at maximum volume. “For I am the newNappy Lion!”
“Well zat is jus’ not fair!” came a voice from just beyond their circle. Turning, they saw BastWorshipper approaching with a troop of French soldiers. He came closer.
“Bonjour, mes amis. Monsieur Terikel, I cannot ‘ave zis. As you can see, I am le nouveau Napoléon – I ‘ave ze hat, I ‘ave ze short stature, and I even ‘ave ze French accent!”
EoJ intervened quickly.
“Forgive the Old One,” he said, jabbing Terikel in the ribs. “He has been up all night.” This wasn’t strictly true – Terikel had been the only one who had managed to avoid being drafted for a single shift on watch. EoJ continued. “Of course you can be the new Napoleon – you can both be. There will be several more Napoleons before the French finally decide once and for all to have a proper Republic.”
Terikel smiled, nodded at BastWorshipper, bent right down (with an ominous creak) and took Napoleon’s hat off his head. He then placed it on his own.
“Behold young warlords,maintenant, I too am Napoleon!” he declared.
The real Napoleon started to cry. Terikel looked put out, then quickly gave him his hat back and tried to comfort him. “See here, little Gaul, thou hast my sincerest apologies – forsooth, ‘twas all in jest. We are a Norseman and proud to be so, and furthermore, we do not envy thee the fate that awaits thee once we turn thee over to Wellington.” This only caused Napoleon to cry even louder. Annoyed, Terikel hit him on the nape of the neck and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
“Right, lords and ladies –“
“No ladies here,” said EoJ quickly.
“Sorry, lords and lady – that’s Edorix – our business here is almost done. Now we have only to send the youngNappy Lion here back to Wellington and then we’ll – where is yon daft little Gaul, anyway?”
They all looked around. Napoleon had vanished. Suddenly Army Ranger cried out and pointed.
“There he is!”
Napoleon had only pretended to be knocked unconscious by Terikel’s impatient blow, and was now running away as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. He was already quite some distance away, jumping over tree-roots that would not even have tripped the seven companions. Faintly they could hear him crying. “Ney! Ney! Je viens, mon ami!”
“Oh. Well, that’s one less job for us,” remarked Edorix. “Whether he gets himself caught or not is not our concern.”
“The youth Ed–“
“I thought you said he was a lady?” interrupted EoJ innocently.
“Indeed, the Lady Edorix is right. Now all that remains is to send you, our four faithful companions, and Daelon, back to Londinium-burg, 1817, and your own time. Our heartfelt thanks to you all.” Without waiting for their approval, Terikel snatched the Wand of Imhotep from EoJ, removed the cap, and waved it once. The others disappeared. “There. That got rid of them.”
“You did send them to London, didn’t you?” asked EoJ anxiously.
“I hope so,” chuckled the Old One. “To Londinium-burg we sent them for sure; it is merely the epoch about which we were not too precise... still, that is our concern no longer. Our deed is accomplished. We return to the River of Time, and make for the Basilica. I shall place the finishing touches on the runic masterpiece I have been crafting, and then – we shall see what those bloodthirsty Seraphs think of our marvellous adventures.”
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All is once again set to rights in the Empire Empire, but the tale continueshere.
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Here resumes the tale relinquished upon
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The trio sailed on down the River of Time. They could tell they were coming closer again to the time from which they had started, for the air began to smell fouler with the fumes of industry. They had shipped the oars as the current was ideal; Terikel was snoring noisily in the bottom of the boat, EoJ was once again fishing for clock trout (he was yet to catch any) and Edorix was idly watching the river go past. It was a rather odd river, he had to admit. It had no trouble whatsoever flowing uphill or through the air, and looking back they could see things they certainly had never passed. Edorix could see a Renaissance painter, oblivious of the medieval joust going on right beside him, which itself was taking place just paces from a pitched battle between an army of the Byzantine Empire and a raiding band of Vikings. The Byzantines were losing, but Mark Antony and Octavian didn’t bother to break off their conversation to help as they strode past the bustling building site of the Great Sphinx. It was a little dizzying, so Edorix kept his eyes on the water instead. As they progressed, he noticed that the river was not only widening but deepening and the gentle current still did not slow, despite the fact that he had remarked no tributaries of any sort. Suddenly they dropped off the air-cushion they had been sailing on and landed with a splash on a lower plane of the river.
Terikel sat up with a menacing creak like an old door, and a very wet Edorix climbed back into the boat. To prevent himself from laughing at them, EoJ announced where he deemed them to have arrived.
“Gentlemen, welcome to London!”
“Gentlemen?” asked Edorix.
“London?” exclaimed Terikel. “Where the hell is that?”
“Alright, gentleman and Viking. And yes, London, or Londinium as you knew it. Look, you can see the Tower from here.”
Edorix looked. He could certainly see
“Pray ignore him,” said Terikel. “The youth is irritated for he hath fallen in the river. Look.” Terikel pushed him off the boat again. When he returned, he was indeed even more irritated than before, judging from the string of Ancient British swear words and large volumes of filthy river-water pouring from his mouth. “There, thou seest?” chuckled the Old One good-naturedly.
EoJ brightened up. Terikel laughed harder when Edorix reached for his sword to find his scabbard empty, and held it up for him. He snatched it back. He had run out of Ancient British swear words so he abruptly switched to Old English. Unfortunately, this was rather similar to Old Norse, and it was Terikel’s turn to look hurt. Then his eyes flashed angry and things might have got out of hand between the two barbarians if EoJ had not distracted them by capsizing the boat. This time they all fell in, agreed that the matter was settled, righted it and climbed back on board. Once the river-water had drained from their ears, they were able to make out the sound of laughter coming from the bank.
Edorix was the first to notice, having the youngest and least hairy ears. He shot an angry look towards the bank, and then realized why the man was laughing and had to smile himself. Three men, dressed in the most ridiculous outfits, fighting in a canoe. Terikel was less readily acceptant of the dishonour. He stood up.
“Ahoy there, wight with the ugly laugh! Bring thy foolish self out here to ourselves and we shall see how jovial thou canst laugh with a sword in thine giblets!”
“
“He’s speaking French,” muttered Edorix.
“What is French?” retorted Terikel. “Is that yet another silly tongue spoken by men dreaming of past glory?”
“Mostly.”
“Dost thou speak it?”
“No,” Edorix replied quickly. “Doth EoJ?”
EoJ shook his head. “Precious little.”
Whether this was true or not, Edorix couldn’t tell.
“Fine, I do speak French,” Edorix decided. Then to the man on the bank he replied (in French): “Please ignore
“
Edorix decided against explaining the genetic evidence for how the English were not in fact technically Germanic but indigenous Ancient Britons. They had given the man enough to laugh about already. The only thing that annoyed him more was that this Frenchman, dressed very much like an old-fashioned
“Sir, if I were you, I would guard my tongue.”
Edorix wasn’t sure that “
“Sir, if I were you, I would show more respect.”
“Why?”
“Because I am a gendarme.”
“Not in London,
“Where have you been since the Battle of Waterloo, my strangely-dressed young fool?”
Edorix didn’t reply.
“England is French property, “
Edorix pulled a face at him and sat back down in the boat. EoJ looked at him expectantly. Terikel was still trying to work out what
“Gentleman and Viking, we are under arrest.”
“Oh, thou foolish youth!” declaimed Terikel theatrically. “What didst thou say?”
“I’m not entirely sure. But that bloke over there – he’s police. Looks like Napoleon has conquered Britain.”
EoJ nearly fell out of the boat again. “What?!”
“That’s what he said.”
EoJ made to shout at the gendarme, who was blowing a whistle and waving his arms upriver, but Edorix pulled him back down.
“Don’t! We’ve already been arrested, you
“Young warlords, forgive me,” Terikel interrupted, “but methinks I would be correct in thinking this guardian of the peace is signaling his fellows in boats. We would suggest attempting to get the hell out of here.”
“You’re the brains,” said Edorix.
“Plan?” smiled EoJ.
For once, Terikel was bewildered.
“Plan? We are sure
They were running out of time. The French police-boat was almost upon them, when there was tremendous explosion, and a large cannonball smashed into its hull. Just moments later, a series of gunshots rang out. Craning his neck, Edorix could see a band of men wearing red jackets and tricorn hats carrying guns (muskets? rifles? he couldn’t tell) forming into rows on the bank. A few seconds later, more shots rang out, then the first line knelt to reload while the second line fired, and then the third. Howls and splashes from the police boat announced that their surprise attack was having the desired affect.
“Strange winged men! Over here!”
The three looked, to see another man waving frantically at them. He ducked as someone on the other bank took a shot at him.
“Fly this way!” he shouted.
The three winged men didn’t need telling twice. Edorix and EoJ jumped out of the boat and flew towards the bank as fast as they could. Terikel took an instant longer to hastily fold up the boat and then followed. A few moments later, they stood together once more on dry land.
Terikel turned to face their rescuer.
“I believe thanks are in order. What is thy name?”
“Sublime_Porte – but everyone calls me Von Steuben.”
“A fitting name,” declared Terikel, “for thou art the most helpful man I have met. Our most heartfelt thanks.”
“Watch out,” said Von Steuben. They all ducked as another bullet whistled past. A friendly gunman nearby ducked out from hiding and returned fire. There was another howl, followed by a splash.
“Thanks, Washington,” said Von Steuben. tkwarrior inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the thanks. To the three angels Von Steuben remarked, “That fellow gets a hard time from the others; they say he never was much good with a gun. But that – that was good shooting. I’d say he’s pretty seriously underrated by his peers.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” said EoJ.
“Okay gents, enough chit-chat, now follow me,” came a familiar voice. Looking up, the four of them saw Pitt standing in a narrow alley. Von Steuben cursed.
“Dammit Hume, just when things were getting interesting!”
“Stick to the plan,” retorted Pitt. “It is a good one – I made it. You get out there, you make a distraction, rescue the angels, and then you
Reluctantly, Sublime_Porte – Von Steuben – blew three sharp blasts on a whistle. Immediately, the gunmen broke formation and scattered in all directions, feigning a rout. Within seconds, they had vanished.
“Good men, them,” remarked Edorix.
“Aye, the best,” replied Von Steuben. “They were elected favourite unit by the leaders of the rebellion; that’s why I brought them. Line infantry, you know. Those heavy guns – twelve-pound foot artillery – were also among our favourites. Haven’t been able to get our hands on any Dutch grenadiers though. Now, let’s go!”
They ran down the alley Pitt had been standing in, rounded the corner, and found Pitt standing at the door to a building.
“Inside and up the stairs,” he said, ”quick!”
Instantly they obeyed. Pitt followed them in, shut the door and locked it.
“It’s invisible from the outside,” he explained once he had caught up with them. ”They won’t find us here.”
“Clever,” said Edorix sarcastically.
“That’s what we thought,” said Von Steuben seriously. “That’s why we call him Hume.”
“Where are we, anyway?” asked EoJ.
“London,” replied Pitt promptly, “part of the
“The Ompee-rompee?” said Terikel, bemused.
“It’s French,” hissed Edorix. “It means Empire Empire.”
“I’m afraid we can’t really tell you any more, much as we’d like to,” came a voice from the next room. “Do come in though.”
“That’s The Gentalmen,” muttered Von Steuben to EoJ as they went in off the landing, “although we call him Bilderdijk. Infuriatingly nice sometimes.”
Inside the room, there was a large round table, covered with maps, with a number of distinguished gentlemen sitting round it. Bilderdijk gestured for them all to take seats. As they did, Von Steuben asked Aftermath how many they had lost. He knew he could get a mature response from him.
“How many did we lose, Kant?”
Before Aftermath could speak, he was interrupted by a loud voice from the other end of the table.
“Come now, no call for that sort of language was there?”
Everyone got it. Nobody laughed. Everyone looked at THEmanIShere. Aftermath put his head in his hands.
“Shut up, Voltaire.”
“It wasn’t funny the first time,” added Von Steuben.
Voltaire – THEmanIShere – muttered an apology and hid his face behind a large map. Aftermath nodded in a dignified manner and then turned to reply to Sublime_Porte.
“They are still filtering in, but it seems we lost only three men. One of them I saw floating downstream myself. It was Sondre_Norge.”
“Not Marlborough!” exclaimed The Gentalmen.
Aftermath nodded sadly. Von Steuben took off his hat. Like everyone else, he too had adopted an upper-class English accent, mannerisms and attire to suit the setting.
“He will, I think, be the most missed,” he said. There was a rumble of agreement. Edorix waited a respectfully long moment before bursting out.
“Guys, what in this world or that is going on here?”
“How do you mean?” said Aftermath.
“The boy is right,” said GundamMerc unhelpfully, sitting up and banging his fist on the table for emphasis. He had been dozing. Von Steuben pointed at him surreptitiously and muttered to EoJ under his breath, “completely mad.”
“I mean,” said Edorix, “how did it come to this? How come the French are in possession of the capital of the Empire which, within a century, will be the undisputed greatest power in the world?!”
“I might dispute that,” muttered Voltaire from behind his map, just a little predictably. Everyone ignored him. Aftermath made to reply, but it was a voice from the window that did.
“It’s this damned way Total War works,” said Primo. He had been looking out of the window at the street below in silence since they came in. Only now he turned to face them all. He was not old, but the wisdom of experience was etched into his expression – the opposite of Terikel, who was utterly ancient but without the wisdom that should accompany it. He looked at Edorix. “Anything can happen. And anything did.”
It looked as if he was finished, but obviously there was more to say. “Indeed, Von Zieten,” continued Aftermath after a pause. “Few have been here longer to know it better than you, and fewer still of those remain. You are after all our best old-timer.” He turned to Edorix. “It is as he says; there are millions of Total War worlds, particularly belonging to this period. Something like this is bound to happen in one of them. What happened here was, Daelon – perhaps you know him? – took command of Napoleon’s army at the Battle of Waterloo – and won. Like a true Total War-er, he knew how to exploit his victory; he immediately used the impetus gained from his victory to turn around the Prussians to his side, had a small transport fleet hastily built, and raced across to Britain before they could get their navy together. He laid siege to London, assaulted it – and just like that, Britain fell into his hands.”
There was another dignified silence, broken only by GundamMerc trying to choke down his laughter. Only someone as crazy as he was could laugh at one of Voltaire’s jokes. Aftermath felt like a school-teacher: he regretted letting the two of them sit together.
“So what do we do?” asked EoJ.
“Do?” asked Terikel. “Why do anything?”
Edorix raised his eyebrows. Aftermath and Primo exchanged glances.
“I think, Old One,” said Von Steuben, “that if you knew England better, you would understand why French rule is intolerable.”
“Something about being at war for half a millennium solid,” added Edorix.
“Not exactly,” muttered Kor from the end of the table in case anyone was listening, without looking up from the article he was writing.
Terikel sighed. “Very well, if it’s so important to my British friends, what shall we do?”
The door opened, and Hussarknight strode in.
“Hello chaps. Sorry I’m late,” he said, removing his hat and travelling cloak. “Got caught up.”
Terikel and EoJ froze when they recognized his voice. They glanced at each other. You could almost smell the silent expletive that flashed between them. Edorix looked quickly at both of them – and realised that it were probably best if Hussarknight did not know they were here.
“Von Steuben,” the cherub hissed. “Get him out of here!”
“What?” he whispered back.
“Hussarknight! Make him go away! He mustn’t know we’re here!”
“Oh…” Von Steuben got up quickly. He was always known as a helpful fellow. He turned to face Hussarknight.
“Er, Hussarknight, I’m really sorry, but this is a private meeting. Top secret, you know?”
“Yes?”
“Well, you’re not allowed.”
“But I’m the Seraph!”
“Yes I know, and you’re doing a marvelous job of it, go and do some more.” He thrust Hussar’s cloak and hat into his hands and almost pushed him out the door. Hussar stayed on the threshold.
“Please?” called The Gentalmen.
Rolling his eyes, Hussarknight turned and left. Von Steuben slammed and locked the door behind him.
“Well-played, Sublime_Porte,” said EoJ.
“Once again we owe you our thanks,” said Terikel.
“Don’t mention it,” said Von Steuben sitting back down. “Care to tell me what that was all about?”
“Erm –“ said EoJ. He glanced at Terikel.
“No,” said Terikel.
“Very well,” said Von Steuben, a little put out.
“Gentlemen, please, the matter at hand,” begged Edorix. “What can we do?”
“I have an idea,” said Pitt.
“Of course you do,” smiled The Gentalmen.
“Go on, Pitty,” said EoJ.
Pitt rolled his eyes. “It’s really not that hard, you know. You have been travelling on the River of Time. Get back on it, and go back to the Battle of Waterloo. Rearrange things as they happened historically, and all will be well. The French will never have conquered Britain.”
After a long whispered debate with Terikel – from which Edorix felt very left out, but after all, he wasn’t really supposed to be on this adventure anyway – while everyone waited, EoJ made his decision.
“That could work.”
Pitt rolled his eyes again. “That’s why I said it. Are you going to
This time the whispered discussion was so long that after about five minutes even Aftermath got bored.
“Yes,” he announced for them. “Now off with the three of you. We have other things to discuss.”
Obediently, EoJ and Edorix got up and made for the door. Terikel remained standing beside the table.
“I don’t suppose anyone would care to come with us? Changing history is no easy task when large armies are involved, as we discovered at the Medieval Morass. We will need all the help we can get.”
“ME!!!” shouted GundamMerc, leaping up. “I want to come!”
“I reckon you’re the only one mad enough, Ludwig,” muttered Primo.
After another moment, Schwerpunkt stood up. “I shall come.”
“Arkwright, you’re exhausted,” said Aftermath firmly, “and still recovering from your wounds. I appreciate you have the good of all of us at heart, but you work yourself too hard! It would do none of us any good if you were to get yourself killed.”
“Nonetheless, I will go,” said Schwerpunkt equally firmly. Aftermath threw up his arms – it was no use arguing with him when he was trying to be helpful. Knowing he held the moral high ground made him unbelievably stubborn.
“Anyone else at all?” he said resignedly.
After a second, Army Ranger stood up. Primo laughed out loud.
“What good will that do, continental?”
Army Ranger reddened. “Please stop calling me that! I have a name, you know.”
“Alright, Continental-Army,” laughed GundamMerc. Army Ranger ignored him and replied to Primo.
“I have actually become rather handy with a gun, Primo, believe it or not.”
“I hope so,” chuckled Primo. He was not normally a mean man, but Army Ranger’s skill with a gun, as most of them knew it, was quite hard not to laugh at.
“It’s true,” said The Gentalmen. “He is infinitely improved since you last saw him shoot. I too shall go, if only to help my friends.”
“If he is so improved, perhaps Ludwig actually came up with a good name for him,” laughed webstral, who until then had remained silent.
“Well, that would be the best news I’ve ever heard,” muttered Von Steuben.
“Hey, I thought we agreed I was the best newbie!” protested webstral.
“Of course you are Freddie, “the best new
“Freddie the
“That’s enough companions,” said EoJ quickly. “We can’t take a whole army in the boat.”
“Well, off you go then,” said Aftermath. “Good luck defeating De Ruyter.”
“De Ruyter?” asked Edorix, confused. “He was never one of Napoleon’s generals...”
“Sorry, I meant Daelon,” said Aftermath.
“We call him De Ruyter ‘cause he’s so darn good,” muttered Von Steuben. “Good luck, guys – you will need all you can get…”
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Once they had managed to sneak back down to the river and unfold the boat, the journey was uneventful. They didn’t have far to go; the Battle of Waterloo was only a couple of years upriver. The boat fell out of the airborne river, dumping all of them on the grass of a plain. It was just after dusk, maybe 11 o’clock. Away in the distance was the little Belgian village of Waterloo. They had arrived.
“This place will look so different in a couple of hundred years time,” muttered Edorix.
“No doubt,” muttered EoJ. “Unless we fail to change it. After all… what can seven of us do to change history?”
“We must find this Daelon person and convince him to change sides,” announced Terikel. “With him commanding Wellington’s forces instead, he is bound to win.”
“So, we need to infiltrate the French camp and arrange a private meeting with the commander on the eve of a great battle,” concluded EoJ.
“Sounds fun,” smiled GundamMerc. “When do we start?”
“I think we probably need a plan,” suggested Army Ranger.
“We have little time,” said Terikel. “Thus listen very carefully. We shall say this only once. Here is our plan. You mortals must provide a distraction while we snatch this Daelon person and flee forthwith unseen. Then you lot have to make thine own escape from the perils of the opposing forces. Agreed?”
Edorix and EoJ agreed. The mortals did not – even Arkwright and Bilderdijk looked skeptical.
“Precisely how should we distract them?” asked Scwerpunkt.
“You wanted to help,” said Terikel, waving the question away. “Why must I think of everything myself? Wait here if you will, I imagine we angel-folk can accomplish this deed without your help.”
“We want to help,” said Arkwright firmly.
“Then forth! Go distract them!” cried Terikel, then to EoJ and Edorix, “Come, let us fly over the French camp and see what we can see…”
It was not such a simple matter of “flying over the French camp” because military camps in the Empire Empire were not quite as they had been in Rome. Still, they eventually managed to pick out what they wanted and, hidden by darkness, they dropped out of the sky and alighted behind the huge red, white and blue tent which they could only assume belonged to the French commander.
“What if he’s not inside?” hissed EoJ.
“We run off and try the next one,” replied Edorix.
“Forsooth, he will be inside, where else could he be?” replied Terikel rather huffily. “On my signal, young warlords, we cut into the tent.”
“How will we know when the distraction is ready?” asked Edorix.
“Distraction? Oh, our little mortal friends… bah, forget about them, they’ll be alright. Now stop asking impudent questions.”
Edorix didn’t particularly think that Terikel had
Inside the tent, a short and rather fat man lay on a bed, snoring. He was wearing a tricorn hat tipped over his face, and one hand was stuck inside his pyjamas over his chest. Terikel ignored him and looked around. EoJ went over to the sleeping figure and peered at him.
“I’m sure I’ve seen this fellow somewhere before,” he murmured.
“Never thou mindst him, help me carry away this foolish young Total War-er over here,” cursed Terikel. “A heavy fellow he is, too heavy for mine ancient back.”
In the end EoJ carried Daelon back out of the tent by himself, with Terikel following, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
“Now what?” said Edorix.
“Now, we take this slovenly youth away and keep him out of the battle tomorrow.”
“No, actually I meant, what shall we do with Napoleon?”
“Napoleon?! Where???” cried Terikel.
“Gumby will know!” announced EoJ suddenly, pulling from his cloak a large briefcase from which he extracted a sheaf of paper. He held it up proudly.
Terikel squinted at the title – it was the only bit in big capital runes, so he could actually read it.
“Trade… and, Taxes… Explained, by… reader… colin?” read the Old One infuriatingly slowly.
“That’s right,” grinned EoJ. “It was voted our best gameplay article. It will surely be able to tell us what to do next.
Edorix could scarcely prevent himself rolling his eyes.
“I somehow doubt it EoJ. Trade and taxes is a slightly different science to dealing with dilemmas in time-travel. No, think Napoleon. The other fellow sleeping in there. The one in the pyjamas which say “Je <
Terikel looked confused. “Why – nothing. He’s not important, is he?”
“I think he probably is,” said Edorix. “Historically, he didn’t command the Battle of Waterloo, but hid out in various mansions and villages until it was over. It was left to his general – Ney, I think was his name – to actually command the troops.”
“So if we have taken away the general who was going to fill Ney’s role –“ realised EoJ.
“Then Napoleon may well end up commanding the battle himself. And may win,” finished Edorix. They both looked at Terikel.
“What do ye propose I should do?” exclaimed the Old One defensively.
Edorix shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose, as is thy wont. C’mon EoJ, we probably need to take Nappy with us too.”
A few minutes later, three angels carrying two snoring men in tricorn hats soared off once more into the night sky. They set the two generals down in a coppice a few miles away from the battlefield and bound them up. Terikel put a spell on them to make sure they didn’t wake up, just in case, and then EoJ sent him off to go and bring back their companions who were probably by now captives inside the French camp. Edorix realized they were in for a long wait.
“So what do we do now?” asked Edorix.
EoJ took out his battered briefcase again and removed another sheaf of papers from it.
“I suppose you must like history, Edorix,” he said. “Care to read some Gibbon?”
EoJ looked shocked. “But this is this year’s Gibbon!”
“Gibbon?” repeated Edorix, nondeplussed.
“It was voted best history article of the year.”
“Maybe, but the Republic of the Seven Provinces looks about as boring as just sitting counting the intervals between Nappy’s snores I’m afraid.”
“Would you prefer the
“Century?”
“Eighteenth or nineteenth I suppose, I haven’t actually read it myself yet.”
“No thanks.”
“Come come, Edorix, whether you like it or not, we’re
Edorix stretched. “Even so. Actually, it being night, I think I might just sleep.”
He had barely gotten comfortable when there was a bang and a flash and he leapt up again. Terikel had arrived, with four mortals.
“A thousand pardons,” he said, as The Gentalmen, GundamMerc, Schwerpunkt and Army Ranger landed at his feet. Napoleon and Daelon slept on. “I did not think thou wouldst sink to mine own levels of laziness, young warrior.”
“Trying to sleep at night is laziness, huh?” muttered Edorix. “Anyhow, what took you so long?”
Terikel chuckled. “Their distraction was quite amusing. They had set up a circus tent – where they got it from I cannot tell – just outside the camp, and were
“And what’s this?” said EoJ, scooping up a small tabby kitten which was mewling forlornly at him.
Terikel’s grin broadened. “When I said Schwerpunkt was a lion-tamer… well, they were a bit short of lions.”
“Ow!” exclaimed EoJ, sucking a bitten finger. “He’s quite fierce enough, I think. Hey, get off that!” The kitten had found a ball of thread in EoJ’s briefcase and was playing with it.
“Aw, leave him, EoJ,” said The Gentalmen, getting up. “Playing with thread is a cat’s best game.”
“Funny you should say that,” said EoJ, pushing the cat away and grabbing the ball of string (the cat hissed and leapt at it, hanging off the ball by its claws. EoJ shook it, and the kitten fell off again with an ouraged mew), “because this was our best game thread too. If you look closely, it actually has a dozen words written on every inch of its length. Gaius got it off Zen’s computer. It’s that “India is Conquered… Where now?” thread by Primo. I thought I’d read it if I got a chance, Pitt recommended it.”
For the remainder of the night, the seven of them rested. The next day, the Battle of Waterloo raged across the plain. Napoleon and Daelon slept on while the seven companions kept watch in shifts. Eventually, evening fell again and the battle died down. Army Ranger returned from his patrol.
“The British clearly won,” he announced. “Turns out General Ney was around to lead the French; he kept Napoleon’s disappearance a secret so as not to hurt his men’s morale, and everything occurred just as Pitt’s book said it would. And I didn’t fall of my horse once!” he added enthusiastically.
“Congratulations, Continental-Army,” smiled The Gentalmen. “You are evidently very much improved.”
Just then, Napoleon and Daelon both began to stir. Terikel’s spell had worn off. EoJ had cut their bonds as they were evidently unnecessary, but when the two woke they still found themselves surrounded by four men in British redcoat officers’ uniforms, and three medieval travelers. Terikel, EoJ and Edorix had not bothered to change since they had left the Red Lion Tavern.
“’Ere, what is ze meaning of zis?” cried Napoleon, jumping up. It made little difference – his head seemed to remain approximately the same distance from the ground as it had when resting on a small rock for a pillow. Daelon looked up sheepishly.
“Oh… hello folks. What’s going on?” He noticed Terikel and EoJ with their big red angel wings. “Am I being banned?”
“No, no,” chuckled Edorix. “You’re just too great a general for your own good.” Between the seven of them, they explained what had happened.
“In the end,” finished EoJ, “although obviously it is up to you where you direct your conquests, we really couldn’t allow Britain to be conquered by France. It was voted, after all, our favourite faction.”
“Forsooth, EoJ, technically it was not,” said Terikel. “It was tied with the Ottoman Empire, Spain, and the United Provinces in the Empire Empire, and with Hesse-Kassel in the Ompee-Rompee.” (Terikel’s French had not improved.)
“Ah, but it was the only faction which earned votes in both the Empire Empire and the
“Is it possible you made a sane comment, Gundam?” said The Gentalmen, for an instant too surprised to be nice.
“That was my logic exactly,” said EoJ proudly.
“’Ey, and ergh, what about me?” interrupted Napoleon, whom they had up until that point ignored.
“Thou, thou wretched Frenchman, shalt be captured by the Seventh Coalition, and then exiled to a small island far away, whence thou shalt not have the opportunity to escape again and where thou shalt live out a lonely existence until the end of thy miserable days,” declaimed Terikel dramatically. “Thou shalt die in sickness, and never see a Valkyrie nor dine with us in Odin’s Great Hall.”
Napoleon looked a little crestfallen.
“You, er – weren’t supposed to tell him that,” muttered Edorix to Terikel.
“I do not care,” continued Terikel at maximum volume. “For I am the new
“Well zat is jus’ not fair!” came a voice from just beyond their circle. Turning, they saw BastWorshipper approaching with a troop of French soldiers. He came closer.
“
EoJ intervened quickly.
“Forgive the Old One,” he said, jabbing Terikel in the ribs. “He has been up all night.” This wasn’t strictly true – Terikel had been the only one who had managed to avoid being drafted for a single shift on watch. EoJ continued. “Of course you can be the new Napoleon – you can both be. There will be several more Napoleons before the French finally decide once and for all to have a proper Republic.”
Terikel smiled, nodded at BastWorshipper, bent right down (with an ominous creak) and took Napoleon’s hat off his head. He then placed it on his own.
“Behold young warlords,
The real Napoleon started to cry. Terikel looked put out, then quickly gave him his hat back and tried to comfort him. “See here, little Gaul, thou hast my sincerest apologies – forsooth, ‘twas all in jest. We are a Norseman and proud to be so, and furthermore, we do not envy thee the fate that awaits thee once we turn thee over to Wellington.” This only caused Napoleon to cry even louder. Annoyed, Terikel hit him on the nape of the neck and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
“Right, lords and ladies –“
“No ladies here,” said EoJ quickly.
“Sorry, lords and lady – that’s Edorix – our business here is almost done. Now we have only to send the young
They all looked around. Napoleon had vanished. Suddenly Army Ranger cried out and pointed.
“There he is!”
Napoleon had only pretended to be knocked unconscious by Terikel’s impatient blow, and was now running away as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. He was already quite some distance away, jumping over tree-roots that would not even have tripped the seven companions. Faintly they could hear him crying. “
“Oh. Well, that’s one less job for us,” remarked Edorix. “Whether he gets himself caught or not is not our concern.”
“The youth Ed–“
“I thought you said he was a lady?” interrupted EoJ innocently.
“Indeed, the Lady Edorix is right. Now all that remains is to send you, our four faithful companions, and Daelon, back to Londinium-burg, 1817, and your own time. Our heartfelt thanks to you all.” Without waiting for their approval, Terikel snatched the Wand of Imhotep from EoJ, removed the cap, and waved it once. The others disappeared. “There. That got rid of them.”
“You did send them to London, didn’t you?” asked EoJ anxiously.
“I hope so,” chuckled the Old One. “To Londinium-burg we sent them for sure; it is merely the epoch about which we were not too precise... still, that is our concern no longer. Our deed is accomplished. We return to the River of Time, and make for the Basilica. I shall place the finishing touches on the runic masterpiece I have been crafting, and then – we shall see what those bloodthirsty Seraphs think of our marvellous adventures.”
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All is once again set to rights in the Empire Empire, but the tale continues
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[This message has been edited by Edorix (edited 01-07-2011 @ 10:19 AM).]
