Gordon Lightwater Steps Out

-Jonathan Garrett-

Chapter 1

A slightly new copy of the Sunday Scroll sat in Gordon’s lap. It was a ghastly publication, filled with all sorts of sensationalized gossip about what this Duke or that Lady happened to be wearing or nibbling on at their dinner table and fuzzy lithographs that could be a bear mauling a puppy dog or King Whoever visiting the brothels late at night. And it was printed on tanned sheepskin. Sometimes it still had tufts of hair sticking to it and it always smelled like a barn. Normally he’d carefully avoid touching it, or even getting near it, but it happened to be the only publication that had reviewed his masterpiece of semi-biographical fiction. The review, to put things mildly, didn’t consider his book to be on the same level as other recent works of similar theme.

The review used phrases such as “vomit-inducing pap devoid of intelligence”, “less literate than my two-year-old daughter”, and “self-aggrandizing rubbish scraped from the bottom of a shoe worn by someone who works with cows”. Where the score usually went, it appeared as though the review had simply spit on the page.

Gordon was crushed. He’d poured his heart and soul into his work and those barbaric philistines, who sat on their tall horses and probably wore monocles, saw fit to do nothing but laugh in his face and trounce upon his wonderful words. Well, it wouldn’t work! Gordon would come back stronger and better than ever. Their foolhardy words would merely fuel his determination to prove them all wrong. They’d beg for his forgiveness, oh yes they would, but he wouldn’t give it to them. Not at first anyway. He’d make them beg a lot for, quite a lot indeed.

Gordon slumped forward in his chair and the Sunday Scroll flopped onto the floor with a sickening splat. Man-Servant stood silently in a corner, his eyes glazed over. Most people would assume that he had fallen asleep waiting for new orders from his master, but that was just the way he always looked when he was awake. In fact, no one had ever actually seen Man-Servant sleep. A running bet down in Muttonshire was that part of his brain was awake and part of his brain was asleep at all times and that every few hours they’d switch.

“Man-Servant,” Gordon announced, standing up from his chair, “I’m going out.”

“Out?”

“Yes, out. To the world, as they say. Grand adventure, no doubt. Treasure and such, probably. Might even get some ‘inspiration’. You know, for my next book.”

Man-Servant’s jaw moved down slightly. “You wrote a book?”

“Yes, Man-Servant,” Gordon hissed, “The one that you told me was quite excellent. The one that I wrote about my glorious life.”

“Oh, that…nah, I said it was pastiche.”

“Pastiche?!” Gordon yelled, “Pastiche?! What do you know about pastiche?!”

Man-Servant’s mouth continued to gape slightly. “What?”

Gordon grabbed the foot stool, heaved it up on to his shoulders, and tossed it in Man-Servant’s direction. It landed several feet in front of Gordon. Man-Servant’s eyes continued to be glazed.

“Never mind, I’m going out.”

“Should I pack somethin’ for you, Lord?”

“I’ll need five or six changes of clothes, enough food for a week, and whatever monies I’ve been saving up.”

Man-Servant stood silent for several seconds, from somewhere in the distance there was the sound of metal gears clicking. “Oh, we ain’t go nuthin’ like that.”

Gordon inhaled deeply and a vein in his forehead protruded slightly. In the end, it wasn’t worth arguing over since it would only be a waste of energy that he didn’t even particularly have in the first place. He’d have to remember to severely beat Man-Servant when he returned from his sabbatical.

“Fine, go get the throne.”

Man-Servant slouched to the nearest secret panel and then disappeared into the castle’s many corridors. Minutes later, he appeared from the opposite wall carrying the throne on his back. Gordon climbed up on the throne and situated his clothes.

“Forward, Man-Servant.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Man-Servant pushed open the door and slouched out into the daylight. Gordon hissed sharply as the sun hit his skin; the smell of cooking meat quickly filled the air. He pulled a bottle out of his pocket and spread a white cream all over his arms and face. A pair of dark glasses went over his eyes.

Before they had gotten more than ten feet from the door, Gordon noticed a familiar figure coming up the road to meet them.

“Ho there, Emperor Malfeasance!” The figure announced, “Today shall be thine last!”

“Should I stop, Lord?”

“No!” Gordon hissed. “For God’s sake keep going!”

“I have come here to destroy your foul visage and carry away all your ill-gotten valuables!”

“Sorry, can’t chat today. Very busy, you know. Lots to do and all that.”

The adventurer’s sword drooped slightly. This was mainly because it was a particularly large sword and he was only holding it up with one hand. The other was wrapped in strips of linen and attached to the opposite shoulder with a leather strap. He attempted to put the sword away, but, failing that, settled with dropping it on the ground.

“Now see here!” He shouted indignantly, running around in front of Man-Servant, “I spent two hours coming up here and the least you could do is fight me a bit!”

“Uhh…” Said Gordon, “I’ll just say that we fought and you can go in my castle and take all the treasure you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure, only I haven’t got any treasure. So we’ll say that the two of us fought and then you took all my treasure, which is why I don’t have any. That means you don’t even need to go into my castle and you can just go on home or wherever it is that you came from. Sound good?”

“What?”

“That’s a good lad!”

Gordon kicked Man-Servant in the kidney and the two slouched off down the road, leaving a confused adventurer standing confused in the road behind them.

It was later revealed that the adventurer returned to his guild hall and informed them of his defeat of Emperor Malfeasance and the subsequent liberation of the latter’s most valuable treasures. Many hours were spent in awe, staring at the fabulous invisible jewel-studded golden crown and the camouflaged golden plate armor. An interview with a local publication was conducted, although it quickly devolved into the interviewer making subtle jabs at the group even as they continued to extol their latest recruit’s grand exploits. It made a few people’s days slightly better, but only a few because hardly anyone actually read the Sunday Scroll.