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Chapter Four
My day was ruined. The performance by the Entertainers that day had ruined it completely. After the performance had finished, a few shocked villagers and the children ran up to the stage, some of the children had started crying, but nowhere could the Entertainers be seen.
We searched high and low. Where had they gone? Nobody could disappear so quickly, surely? Every villager, being him the local Lord or the common labourer, joined in the search. Every nook and crank was looked in. But nowhere were they found.
Hoggard had come round my house many hours later after their performance, some time around four o’clock.
“Why, Matthew, you look a wreck.”
Indeed I was. Black patches rested under my eyes. My hair, which was usually groomed quite well, was sticking up in tufts. Several empty cups of coffee lay around the room.
“Matthew”, said Hoggard, “this coffee is expensive and rare, all the way from the coffee plantations of Portuguese South America. You can’t buy much of this at all. And here you are guzzling it down!”
“Please Hoggard, I want some sleep. I’ve been drinking coffee this morning, I didn’t get much sleep.”
I pointed at the door.
“Come back later” I said.
Hoggard, hunching his shoulders, adjusting his moustache, and looking a little dejected, slowly turned around, and went out of the door. And just as he closed the door, he said:
“I’ll be back later. You can count on it. Something is up, I know it Matthew.”
Sleep. Beautiful sleep. I sank into the bed, as the bed sheets tenderly tucked me in. My eyes closed. And I was drifting off. Strange. I was imagining the tune that the Entertainers had sung. All day they sung it. It was infuriating me. But it was waltzing me into the land of sleepiness. Isn’t that all that mattered?
Then suddenly – SMASH!
The window! My front window. Someone was breaking into my house!
Quickly, I jumped out of bed. I lit a candle beside my bed, and then I strode up to my sitting room, because that is where I thought the sound had come from.
I peeped round the door, and there, standing in my sitting room was the Entertainers.
“Is that you Mr. Shepperd?” asked Mr. Grim, who stood in front of the other two.
“Yes!” I shouted. “And what do you mean to break into my house at this time of night!?”
“My apologies, but it wouldn’t have happened if these two would be SENSIBLE!”
Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole looked down at their shuffling feet nervously. But I could still see their grins. But I couldn’t help but notice the sacks that they were carrying.
“What is in those sacks?” I asked.
A dark glint suddenly came into Mr. Grim’s eyes.
“I would care if you would not ask that question.”
Mr. Pole and Mr. Smith looked at me now not with the nervous and silly looks of just a few seconds ago, but with much more threatening looks. All three seemed to rest their hands on their coats, almost as if they were about to grab something quickly out of them.
But something that made me very curious was how much their appearance and manner had changed. Even Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole were no longer their jolly and humorous selves. Each had a look of deep resolve on them, and below the eyes lingered something that could resemble loathing.
“Say no more”, said Mr. Grim. “Sleep well, we will not disturb you.”
So I went back to my bed.
What was in those bags? The days of my youth were slipping back once again. No longer was I Mr. Shepperd the accountant. Mr. Shepperd, the man who lived life easily, who never experienced anything out of the ordinary. Since the Entertainers had turned up, I had resisted the urge to get involved with these eccentric characters. But now, no longer could I resist. Curiosity had killed my last stand against it. I had to see what was in those bags.
So I sneaked into my sitting room, the candle I was carrying smothered by my cupped hand, as not to disturb my “guests”. The Entertainers were sleeping, all slouched on the floor. Up to the bags I crept. I reached for on of the bags. Yes! I was about to open it…
“Don’t move one inch!”
I turned around to see Mr. Grim, slouched on the floor, with a pistol in one hand. The other two leaped up all of a sudden, and both withdrew pistols from their coats.
“I knew you would try to see what was in those bags.”
I stared at Mr. Grim, not able to speak.
“Open the bag, I dare you”, said Mr. Grim, after a moment of silence.
Shaking with pure and utter fear, I opened the first bag I had tried to look in. What I saw shocked me to the core.
Treasure. Gold ornaments, rings, goblets, diamonds, cutlery, jewels, paintings. It was all there.
“Why, you are nothing more than common thieves!” I cried.
“Oh yes”, sneered Mr. Grim.
Then a nasty grin appeared on his face.
“I am afraid that we’ll have to kill you.”
“Wh…what?” I stuttered.
He moved up towards me, and put the pistol against my head. I could feel it pressed there, and I could feel the sweat dripping down my face. Then he pressed the trigger. Nothing.
“It is not loaded”, said Mr. Grim, “you are lucky. I do not kill people unless it is in defence.”
He put the pistol back in his coat, and as if following his lead, so did Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole. Then Mr. Grim got a Pipe from his pocket, filled it with some tobacco, lit it with the candle that I had put down, and started puffing away.
“You know Mr. Shepperd”, he said, “you’ll have to come with us.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you know to much”, he said.
“I won’t tell a soul”, I pleaded, “Please, let me stay.”
Mr. Grim leaned up close to my face.
“I’m not a very trusting person. Besides, I could do with an accountant.”
So that was settled. Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole, realising that the account was settled, and that I was now their travelling guest, were back to the jolly and mischievous selves. I was slaved away in the kitchen once again, preparing them food. And then I heard them singing, and heard the clinking of mugs, toasting their successful robberies.
And I would answer many times the cry of “more beer” and “another slice of cake if you don’t mind”. Then finally, Mr. Grim said:
“Enough! We need sleep! We need to leave early tomorrow!”
My day was ruined. The performance by the Entertainers that day had ruined it completely. After the performance had finished, a few shocked villagers and the children ran up to the stage, some of the children had started crying, but nowhere could the Entertainers be seen.
We searched high and low. Where had they gone? Nobody could disappear so quickly, surely? Every villager, being him the local Lord or the common labourer, joined in the search. Every nook and crank was looked in. But nowhere were they found.
Hoggard had come round my house many hours later after their performance, some time around four o’clock.
“Why, Matthew, you look a wreck.”
Indeed I was. Black patches rested under my eyes. My hair, which was usually groomed quite well, was sticking up in tufts. Several empty cups of coffee lay around the room.
“Matthew”, said Hoggard, “this coffee is expensive and rare, all the way from the coffee plantations of Portuguese South America. You can’t buy much of this at all. And here you are guzzling it down!”
“Please Hoggard, I want some sleep. I’ve been drinking coffee this morning, I didn’t get much sleep.”
I pointed at the door.
“Come back later” I said.
Hoggard, hunching his shoulders, adjusting his moustache, and looking a little dejected, slowly turned around, and went out of the door. And just as he closed the door, he said:
“I’ll be back later. You can count on it. Something is up, I know it Matthew.”
Sleep. Beautiful sleep. I sank into the bed, as the bed sheets tenderly tucked me in. My eyes closed. And I was drifting off. Strange. I was imagining the tune that the Entertainers had sung. All day they sung it. It was infuriating me. But it was waltzing me into the land of sleepiness. Isn’t that all that mattered?
Then suddenly – SMASH!
The window! My front window. Someone was breaking into my house!
Quickly, I jumped out of bed. I lit a candle beside my bed, and then I strode up to my sitting room, because that is where I thought the sound had come from.
I peeped round the door, and there, standing in my sitting room was the Entertainers.
“Is that you Mr. Shepperd?” asked Mr. Grim, who stood in front of the other two.
“Yes!” I shouted. “And what do you mean to break into my house at this time of night!?”
“My apologies, but it wouldn’t have happened if these two would be SENSIBLE!”
Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole looked down at their shuffling feet nervously. But I could still see their grins. But I couldn’t help but notice the sacks that they were carrying.
“What is in those sacks?” I asked.
A dark glint suddenly came into Mr. Grim’s eyes.
“I would care if you would not ask that question.”
Mr. Pole and Mr. Smith looked at me now not with the nervous and silly looks of just a few seconds ago, but with much more threatening looks. All three seemed to rest their hands on their coats, almost as if they were about to grab something quickly out of them.
But something that made me very curious was how much their appearance and manner had changed. Even Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole were no longer their jolly and humorous selves. Each had a look of deep resolve on them, and below the eyes lingered something that could resemble loathing.
“Say no more”, said Mr. Grim. “Sleep well, we will not disturb you.”
So I went back to my bed.
What was in those bags? The days of my youth were slipping back once again. No longer was I Mr. Shepperd the accountant. Mr. Shepperd, the man who lived life easily, who never experienced anything out of the ordinary. Since the Entertainers had turned up, I had resisted the urge to get involved with these eccentric characters. But now, no longer could I resist. Curiosity had killed my last stand against it. I had to see what was in those bags.
So I sneaked into my sitting room, the candle I was carrying smothered by my cupped hand, as not to disturb my “guests”. The Entertainers were sleeping, all slouched on the floor. Up to the bags I crept. I reached for on of the bags. Yes! I was about to open it…
“Don’t move one inch!”
I turned around to see Mr. Grim, slouched on the floor, with a pistol in one hand. The other two leaped up all of a sudden, and both withdrew pistols from their coats.
“I knew you would try to see what was in those bags.”
I stared at Mr. Grim, not able to speak.
“Open the bag, I dare you”, said Mr. Grim, after a moment of silence.
Shaking with pure and utter fear, I opened the first bag I had tried to look in. What I saw shocked me to the core.
Treasure. Gold ornaments, rings, goblets, diamonds, cutlery, jewels, paintings. It was all there.
“Why, you are nothing more than common thieves!” I cried.
“Oh yes”, sneered Mr. Grim.
Then a nasty grin appeared on his face.
“I am afraid that we’ll have to kill you.”
“Wh…what?” I stuttered.
He moved up towards me, and put the pistol against my head. I could feel it pressed there, and I could feel the sweat dripping down my face. Then he pressed the trigger. Nothing.
“It is not loaded”, said Mr. Grim, “you are lucky. I do not kill people unless it is in defence.”
He put the pistol back in his coat, and as if following his lead, so did Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole. Then Mr. Grim got a Pipe from his pocket, filled it with some tobacco, lit it with the candle that I had put down, and started puffing away.
“You know Mr. Shepperd”, he said, “you’ll have to come with us.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you know to much”, he said.
“I won’t tell a soul”, I pleaded, “Please, let me stay.”
Mr. Grim leaned up close to my face.
“I’m not a very trusting person. Besides, I could do with an accountant.”
So that was settled. Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole, realising that the account was settled, and that I was now their travelling guest, were back to the jolly and mischievous selves. I was slaved away in the kitchen once again, preparing them food. And then I heard them singing, and heard the clinking of mugs, toasting their successful robberies.
And I would answer many times the cry of “more beer” and “another slice of cake if you don’t mind”. Then finally, Mr. Grim said:
“Enough! We need sleep! We need to leave early tomorrow!”
Entertaining, as always! But why do I get the feeling there's more to the Entertainers than thieves pretending to be entertainers??? 
Haven't lost your skills, I see! I agree with Farquharson, though... This seems to be running a little deeper than at first glance...
Th :rofl:
Th :rofl:
Interesting set up, and I agree with the other posters. These entertainers are not all that they seem. Very good writing, you shouild seriously consider a career as an author. I'm impressed, keep up the good work.
Chapter Five
The early hours were busy. The carriage was retrieved from the field, and was folded up from the stage it had been. Mr. Grim was constantly whistling a tune in a very low tone. Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole were running around hectically, often giggling. I soon found out why they were giggling. They had decided to go to relieve their bladders right on someone’s front path.
“You two!” shouted Mr. Grim, in a very annoyed fashion, “you had better behave yourselves! Otherwise you’ll get no supper!”
Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole were now busy bundling items into the carriage. Mr. Grim was leading the horse towards them.
“Could you make some mash for our horse?” asked Mr. Grim “He hasn’t eaten yet.”
Grumbling, I went back into my house, into the kitchen, and started making some mash in a bowl. Soon it was finished, and a few minutes later, the horse had its head buried into it, eating hungrily away.
“We’ll soon be ready!” said Mr. Grim cheerfully.
The horse was attached, Mr. Grim sitting at the reins, and a heavy mist coming out of his mouth. Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole were sitting behind him inside the carriage, and I was sitting between the both of them. With a crack of the whip, the horse trotted off at a gentle pace.
“So where are you going next?” I asked Mr. Grim.
“We are going to Bristol. We have to meet a few people there.”
I didn’t ask anymore. I was thinking these people were probably as deranged as Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole. So we were going along the village road. But just as we were leaving the village, I saw someone chasing after us. It was Hoggard, suddenly chasing towards the carriage.
“Matthew!” he cried out. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Don’t answer”, Mr. Grim whispered to me. “Let me deal with him.”
Mr. Grim pulled on the reins and the horse came to a halt. Then Mr. Grim jumped out. So did Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole.
“That is nothing to concern you”, Mr. Grim said to Hoggard. “Mr. Shepperd is our honoured travelling guest.”
The Entertainers opened up their coats to show their pistols.
“I trust you don’t object.”
Hoggard started whimpering and slowly started walking backwards.
“Don’t run!” said Mr. Grim in a rather cool voice, “Don’t tell anybody what you saw. Because I swear in Jesus’ name, I will kill you Hoggard if you open that trap of yours.”
The other two Entertainers grinned, and patted their pistols.
“Good day then”, said Mr. Grim, touching his hat, and nodding his head towards Hoggard.
And with that, the Entertainers jumped back in the carriage, leaving Hoggard standing in the middle of the road, staring in disbelief. Soon, he was a distant spot in the horizon.
“He will tell everyone, trust me.”
Mr. Grim looked back at me.
“That doesn’t matter”, said Mr. Grim. “We are very good at disguising.”
We travelled in silence for most of the journey. Bristol was some fifty miles from my village, so after some twenty miles, we stopped at an Inn to sleep for the night.
“You two”, said Mr. Grim to the other Entertainers, “behave yourselves. Don’t get drunk, don’t talk too much, and keep your guns away.”
Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole nodded, but when Mr. Grim wasn’t looking, they started winking at each other, and sniggering. I was immediately suspicious. I would keep an eye on them.
“I trust you have some money to pay for this Mr. Shepperd.”
“I am well provided for in money terms if that is what you mean.”
“Then you can but us all drinks then!” said Mr. Grim.
I looked at Mr. Grim with a look of ingratitude. This was really getting beyond a joke. These Entertainers had invited themselves to MY home, eaten MY food, hidden stolen items in MY cellar, and now they were making me spend MY money on them.
However, as history has shown me, guns do the talking.
“Four beers please.”
We were sitting at a table in the corner. It was a quiet Inn, not many people were there. The barkeeper was at the bar, wiping some glasses and mugs. One woman was sitting in the corner, snoozing. One of the windows was open, and a gentle breeze was shuffling through, making the curtains blow around. But I could hear noise coming from outside. A great noise. It was disturbing me.
Then the doors was thrown open. In walked in the most terrible man I had ever seen, silhouetted in the doorway. And a look of fury was erupting all over his face.
He was wearing a British red coat uniform, complete with the boots and hat. A rifle was slung over his back, along with a backpack. He had his arms folded in front of him.
But it was his face that scared me most. An eye patch was worn over one eye. His mouth was constantly crooked, which one could easily mistake for a sneer.
He walked up to the bar, very slowly. There was silence everywhere. Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole both got a jab of Mr. Grim’s finger, telling them that silence was a necessity.
“Good day my good bartender”, said the man.
“How may I help you?” he replied.
“My name is Col. Jacobs. But most people just call me Jacobs. You wouldn’t happen to have seen three escaped convicts would you?”
I dropped my beer in shock. Could the Entertainers be escaped convicts?
“Describe them sir?”
“Well, one has a French accent, one is chubby, and one is from America.”
Oh dear…
“Keep your mouth shut!” I heard Mr. Grim whisper.
Then I saw the bartender lean up close to the Colonel. He started whispering something, and I’m sure that he glanced over towards us.
“Okay”, I heard Mr. Grim whispering, “I think we are going to have to move.”
So we all stood up. And then the Colonel spun around.
“Why…it’s you!” he cried. “The escaped convicts!”
The Entertainers looked at each other.
“RUN!”
Into the night we ran. The colonel was in hot pursuit. Into the carriage we jumped, not even looking behind us. Luckily, we had left the horse attached to the carriage.
“Gee up!” cried Mr. Grim.
The horse lurched forward. In the background, I could hear a lot of cursing.
“You bastards! I’ll get you yet! I’ll see you back in jail.”
The early hours were busy. The carriage was retrieved from the field, and was folded up from the stage it had been. Mr. Grim was constantly whistling a tune in a very low tone. Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole were running around hectically, often giggling. I soon found out why they were giggling. They had decided to go to relieve their bladders right on someone’s front path.
“You two!” shouted Mr. Grim, in a very annoyed fashion, “you had better behave yourselves! Otherwise you’ll get no supper!”
Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole were now busy bundling items into the carriage. Mr. Grim was leading the horse towards them.
“Could you make some mash for our horse?” asked Mr. Grim “He hasn’t eaten yet.”
Grumbling, I went back into my house, into the kitchen, and started making some mash in a bowl. Soon it was finished, and a few minutes later, the horse had its head buried into it, eating hungrily away.
“We’ll soon be ready!” said Mr. Grim cheerfully.
The horse was attached, Mr. Grim sitting at the reins, and a heavy mist coming out of his mouth. Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole were sitting behind him inside the carriage, and I was sitting between the both of them. With a crack of the whip, the horse trotted off at a gentle pace.
“So where are you going next?” I asked Mr. Grim.
“We are going to Bristol. We have to meet a few people there.”
I didn’t ask anymore. I was thinking these people were probably as deranged as Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole. So we were going along the village road. But just as we were leaving the village, I saw someone chasing after us. It was Hoggard, suddenly chasing towards the carriage.
“Matthew!” he cried out. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Don’t answer”, Mr. Grim whispered to me. “Let me deal with him.”
Mr. Grim pulled on the reins and the horse came to a halt. Then Mr. Grim jumped out. So did Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole.
“That is nothing to concern you”, Mr. Grim said to Hoggard. “Mr. Shepperd is our honoured travelling guest.”
The Entertainers opened up their coats to show their pistols.
“I trust you don’t object.”
Hoggard started whimpering and slowly started walking backwards.
“Don’t run!” said Mr. Grim in a rather cool voice, “Don’t tell anybody what you saw. Because I swear in Jesus’ name, I will kill you Hoggard if you open that trap of yours.”
The other two Entertainers grinned, and patted their pistols.
“Good day then”, said Mr. Grim, touching his hat, and nodding his head towards Hoggard.
And with that, the Entertainers jumped back in the carriage, leaving Hoggard standing in the middle of the road, staring in disbelief. Soon, he was a distant spot in the horizon.
“He will tell everyone, trust me.”
Mr. Grim looked back at me.
“That doesn’t matter”, said Mr. Grim. “We are very good at disguising.”
We travelled in silence for most of the journey. Bristol was some fifty miles from my village, so after some twenty miles, we stopped at an Inn to sleep for the night.
“You two”, said Mr. Grim to the other Entertainers, “behave yourselves. Don’t get drunk, don’t talk too much, and keep your guns away.”
Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole nodded, but when Mr. Grim wasn’t looking, they started winking at each other, and sniggering. I was immediately suspicious. I would keep an eye on them.
“I trust you have some money to pay for this Mr. Shepperd.”
“I am well provided for in money terms if that is what you mean.”
“Then you can but us all drinks then!” said Mr. Grim.
I looked at Mr. Grim with a look of ingratitude. This was really getting beyond a joke. These Entertainers had invited themselves to MY home, eaten MY food, hidden stolen items in MY cellar, and now they were making me spend MY money on them.
However, as history has shown me, guns do the talking.
“Four beers please.”
We were sitting at a table in the corner. It was a quiet Inn, not many people were there. The barkeeper was at the bar, wiping some glasses and mugs. One woman was sitting in the corner, snoozing. One of the windows was open, and a gentle breeze was shuffling through, making the curtains blow around. But I could hear noise coming from outside. A great noise. It was disturbing me.
Then the doors was thrown open. In walked in the most terrible man I had ever seen, silhouetted in the doorway. And a look of fury was erupting all over his face.
He was wearing a British red coat uniform, complete with the boots and hat. A rifle was slung over his back, along with a backpack. He had his arms folded in front of him.
But it was his face that scared me most. An eye patch was worn over one eye. His mouth was constantly crooked, which one could easily mistake for a sneer.
He walked up to the bar, very slowly. There was silence everywhere. Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole both got a jab of Mr. Grim’s finger, telling them that silence was a necessity.
“Good day my good bartender”, said the man.
“How may I help you?” he replied.
“My name is Col. Jacobs. But most people just call me Jacobs. You wouldn’t happen to have seen three escaped convicts would you?”
I dropped my beer in shock. Could the Entertainers be escaped convicts?
“Describe them sir?”
“Well, one has a French accent, one is chubby, and one is from America.”
Oh dear…
“Keep your mouth shut!” I heard Mr. Grim whisper.
Then I saw the bartender lean up close to the Colonel. He started whispering something, and I’m sure that he glanced over towards us.
“Okay”, I heard Mr. Grim whispering, “I think we are going to have to move.”
So we all stood up. And then the Colonel spun around.
“Why…it’s you!” he cried. “The escaped convicts!”
The Entertainers looked at each other.
“RUN!”
Into the night we ran. The colonel was in hot pursuit. Into the carriage we jumped, not even looking behind us. Luckily, we had left the horse attached to the carriage.
“Gee up!” cried Mr. Grim.
The horse lurched forward. In the background, I could hear a lot of cursing.
“You bastards! I’ll get you yet! I’ll see you back in jail.”
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Farquharson said:Entertaining, as always! But why do I get the feeling there's more to the Entertainers than thieves pretending to be entertainers???
Have I answered the question?
Edit: Also, I plan to start work on another AAR soon. I will continue to work on this one, but I want to write an AAR in parallel with actually playing the game as well. However, I will have to incorporate a bit of report style into it. But the new one has the advantage of me actually doing some screen dumps.
The new AAR will have a bit of imagination, most notably, the incorporation of witches and wizards, dragon lairs and evil neo-nazi pirates.
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Even more, I believe, than he expected!!!
As usual, stunningly werll written. I second the opinion on you considering a carreer in writing; it is amazingly good quality!
Th :rofl:
I am sincerely apologetic for the infrequency of my postings, but I have been swamped with work and stuff these last five days. But finally, Chapter Six is here. The next chapters will be more frequent as well hopefully, because my workload has died down a little.
Chapter Six
We travelled the long road to Bristol. It went through the Salisbury plain, all the way to the coast. I could see for miles across the plains, not a person was in sight. People describe it as beautiful. Some describe it as nature’s control. Indeed, when I passed Stonehenge, I could feel the control that nature had, so visibly enhanced by the structure. But the loneliness, and the miles of plains made it look more like a desert.
“What is this barren wasteland we travel?” I cried.
Mr. Grim, who was in control of the reins, turned his head towards me, and in his sleepiness grunted at me, as if to ask what I was talking about.
“Oh, nothing, just thinking aloud.”
“Don’t disturb me, please.”
I did not disturb him again.
But the journey was still chilling. I kept imagining that the hooves of the horse tapping on the road was mixed with the sounds of following horses. I almost slapped myself. “Get a grip!” I thought.
But still, I felt uneasy.
In the late evening, the day after our escapade at the Inn, we finally got to the outskirts of Bristol.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Bristol University”, said Mr. Grim.
I did not ask why. I looked into the back, to tell Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole that we had arrived at Bristol, but they were fast asleep. I felt Mr. Grim’s hand on my shoulder.
“Leave them.”
“Okay.”
Through the outskirts of Bristol we went, passing the nicer houses, which belonged to some of the wealthier merchants of the city. At first, the streets we went down seemed quite wide, but soon they were became much more narrow. We were obviously moving into some of the slums of Bristol.
“Isn’t very nice!” said Mr. Grim, acknowledging my look of horror. “You’ll get used to the smell.”
“What smell…” I started, but before I finished, I was suddenly hit by a terrible stench.
“The docks!” laughed Mr. Grim, noticing the look of revulsion on my face. “Everybody tips their rubbish into the water besides the dock.”
Through the streets we travelled, passing many people finishing work for the day, carrying their tools on their shoulders. Shop owners were closing for the day.
“We are nearly there.”
We turned the corner of one street, and came suddenly into a wide avenue, leading up to big, old looking building. The building must have been at least as tall as a cathedral, and the brickwork was similar in design as well. The wide avenue led up to a gate to the grounds, which I was now taking for granted to be the university.
As if confirming my idea, Mr. Grim said: “This is the university.”
Up to the gate we pulled. At the gate stood a man, dressed up in a frilly jacket, that one might have seen someone like Charles Stuart wearing in one of the paintings of him. The clothes he wore were all black. And he stood up straight, as if to tell passer bus that he was performing an important job.
“Can I help you?” he said.
“Yes”, said Mr. Grim. “I am here to attend the discussion tonight.”
“And your name?”
“Mr. Grimaldi.”
The man pulled out a piece of paper and ran his finger down it. Then, he moved towards the gate, unlocked it, and it swung open.
“You may enter.”
We parked the carriage outside, and Mr. Grim disappeared for a minute or two to take the horse to one of the universities stables. He came back, and started to shake Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole.
“Wake up you lazy gits.”
Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole started rubbing their eyes and yawning.
“What is it”, said both of them together, rather sleepily.
“We are here.”
Mr. Grim led the way, with both the other Entertainers cursing and muttering under their breath. I’m sure I heard one of them say something like ‘banker’, but I guessed it was much ruder.
“I heard that!” said Mr. Grim, spinning round.
We walked into the building through the main door, and soon we were winding through a maze of corridors. Mr. Grim seemed to know where he was going however, and soon, we came to a big set of double doors, where I was sure I could hear lots of talking drifting through. Mr. Grim opened the doors and we walked through.
We went into a large hall, with a stage set at the other end, and lots of chairs before it. Many young scholars, who were busy talking to one another, occupied most of the chairs. They did not notice our entrance.
“Remember”, said Mr. Grim, talking to Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole, “we are not here to entertain today.”
Both of them looked down at their feet.
We walked down the centre aisle, and soon noticed four chairs vacant near the front. So we sat down in them.
It seemed like half and hour, until suddenly, the double doors opened again, and in walked a rather odd looking man. He walked onto the stage. Still, nobody seemed to notice. Then he shouted.
“QUIET!”
There was a sudden silence.
“Good evening gentlemen”, he said. “My name is Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”
Suddenly, as if in recognition, there was a cheer from the audience.
“I am here tonight to talk to you about grave happenings from France.”
There was a murmur spreading round the audience.
“Yes indeed, the terror is over! France once again is in revolution.”
He paused, and then went once again, into speech.
“Britain has signed peace with France. And all that has happened is France conceding some Indian territory, and a few islands in the Caribbean! Some forty thousand British soldiers have been killed fighting round the world. What for? For the greed of our politicians, that is what! And now we are at peace, the time is ripe to enlighten the minds of our fellow comrades of this country!”
A great muttering was spreading round the hall. Then, for some hour at least, he talked about revolution, of new land in the America’s, how every man should have liberty and prosperity, and that the fat of the land would be cut down to size.
He then finished by saying:
“So, my comrades, the authorities are trying to control every aspect of our lives. That included our freedom. But I say that in a past tense. Because they can never control our minds! Let us free the minds of our fellow men!”
A great cheer spread round the hall. Many had taken their hats off, and started waving them in the air. Coleridge walked from the hall, to a great applauding from the audience.
“Well”, I said to Mr. Grim, “that was enlightening.”
“You think so?” he replied. “Come, all this listening has made me hungry! We’re going to eat now.”
“Amen!” said Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole.
We had dinner in the dining hall of the university. Many scholars were seated, as kitchen staff came out with plates of food for us. We sat opposite a man whom Mr. Grim seemed to know, because he was talking with him in quite a friendly manner.
“Mr. Shepperd”, said Mr. Grim, “please let me introduce my friend, Professor King.”
“How do you do?” I said, shaking hands with him.
Mr King was not a very striking type of person. He wore an ordinary suit, and a neat side parting. He had rather bushy eyebrows that stuck out, probably because he was clean-shaven.
Mr. Grim leaned over, and whispered in my ear.
“The professor is my employer. He pays us for everything we steal for him.”
Chapter Six
We travelled the long road to Bristol. It went through the Salisbury plain, all the way to the coast. I could see for miles across the plains, not a person was in sight. People describe it as beautiful. Some describe it as nature’s control. Indeed, when I passed Stonehenge, I could feel the control that nature had, so visibly enhanced by the structure. But the loneliness, and the miles of plains made it look more like a desert.
“What is this barren wasteland we travel?” I cried.
Mr. Grim, who was in control of the reins, turned his head towards me, and in his sleepiness grunted at me, as if to ask what I was talking about.
“Oh, nothing, just thinking aloud.”
“Don’t disturb me, please.”
I did not disturb him again.
But the journey was still chilling. I kept imagining that the hooves of the horse tapping on the road was mixed with the sounds of following horses. I almost slapped myself. “Get a grip!” I thought.
But still, I felt uneasy.
In the late evening, the day after our escapade at the Inn, we finally got to the outskirts of Bristol.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Bristol University”, said Mr. Grim.
I did not ask why. I looked into the back, to tell Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole that we had arrived at Bristol, but they were fast asleep. I felt Mr. Grim’s hand on my shoulder.
“Leave them.”
“Okay.”
Through the outskirts of Bristol we went, passing the nicer houses, which belonged to some of the wealthier merchants of the city. At first, the streets we went down seemed quite wide, but soon they were became much more narrow. We were obviously moving into some of the slums of Bristol.
“Isn’t very nice!” said Mr. Grim, acknowledging my look of horror. “You’ll get used to the smell.”
“What smell…” I started, but before I finished, I was suddenly hit by a terrible stench.
“The docks!” laughed Mr. Grim, noticing the look of revulsion on my face. “Everybody tips their rubbish into the water besides the dock.”
Through the streets we travelled, passing many people finishing work for the day, carrying their tools on their shoulders. Shop owners were closing for the day.
“We are nearly there.”
We turned the corner of one street, and came suddenly into a wide avenue, leading up to big, old looking building. The building must have been at least as tall as a cathedral, and the brickwork was similar in design as well. The wide avenue led up to a gate to the grounds, which I was now taking for granted to be the university.
As if confirming my idea, Mr. Grim said: “This is the university.”
Up to the gate we pulled. At the gate stood a man, dressed up in a frilly jacket, that one might have seen someone like Charles Stuart wearing in one of the paintings of him. The clothes he wore were all black. And he stood up straight, as if to tell passer bus that he was performing an important job.
“Can I help you?” he said.
“Yes”, said Mr. Grim. “I am here to attend the discussion tonight.”
“And your name?”
“Mr. Grimaldi.”
The man pulled out a piece of paper and ran his finger down it. Then, he moved towards the gate, unlocked it, and it swung open.
“You may enter.”
We parked the carriage outside, and Mr. Grim disappeared for a minute or two to take the horse to one of the universities stables. He came back, and started to shake Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole.
“Wake up you lazy gits.”
Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole started rubbing their eyes and yawning.
“What is it”, said both of them together, rather sleepily.
“We are here.”
Mr. Grim led the way, with both the other Entertainers cursing and muttering under their breath. I’m sure I heard one of them say something like ‘banker’, but I guessed it was much ruder.
“I heard that!” said Mr. Grim, spinning round.
We walked into the building through the main door, and soon we were winding through a maze of corridors. Mr. Grim seemed to know where he was going however, and soon, we came to a big set of double doors, where I was sure I could hear lots of talking drifting through. Mr. Grim opened the doors and we walked through.
We went into a large hall, with a stage set at the other end, and lots of chairs before it. Many young scholars, who were busy talking to one another, occupied most of the chairs. They did not notice our entrance.
“Remember”, said Mr. Grim, talking to Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole, “we are not here to entertain today.”
Both of them looked down at their feet.
We walked down the centre aisle, and soon noticed four chairs vacant near the front. So we sat down in them.
It seemed like half and hour, until suddenly, the double doors opened again, and in walked a rather odd looking man. He walked onto the stage. Still, nobody seemed to notice. Then he shouted.
“QUIET!”
There was a sudden silence.
“Good evening gentlemen”, he said. “My name is Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”
Suddenly, as if in recognition, there was a cheer from the audience.
“I am here tonight to talk to you about grave happenings from France.”
There was a murmur spreading round the audience.
“Yes indeed, the terror is over! France once again is in revolution.”
He paused, and then went once again, into speech.
“Britain has signed peace with France. And all that has happened is France conceding some Indian territory, and a few islands in the Caribbean! Some forty thousand British soldiers have been killed fighting round the world. What for? For the greed of our politicians, that is what! And now we are at peace, the time is ripe to enlighten the minds of our fellow comrades of this country!”
A great muttering was spreading round the hall. Then, for some hour at least, he talked about revolution, of new land in the America’s, how every man should have liberty and prosperity, and that the fat of the land would be cut down to size.
He then finished by saying:
“So, my comrades, the authorities are trying to control every aspect of our lives. That included our freedom. But I say that in a past tense. Because they can never control our minds! Let us free the minds of our fellow men!”
A great cheer spread round the hall. Many had taken their hats off, and started waving them in the air. Coleridge walked from the hall, to a great applauding from the audience.
“Well”, I said to Mr. Grim, “that was enlightening.”
“You think so?” he replied. “Come, all this listening has made me hungry! We’re going to eat now.”
“Amen!” said Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole.
We had dinner in the dining hall of the university. Many scholars were seated, as kitchen staff came out with plates of food for us. We sat opposite a man whom Mr. Grim seemed to know, because he was talking with him in quite a friendly manner.
“Mr. Shepperd”, said Mr. Grim, “please let me introduce my friend, Professor King.”
“How do you do?” I said, shaking hands with him.
Mr King was not a very striking type of person. He wore an ordinary suit, and a neat side parting. He had rather bushy eyebrows that stuck out, probably because he was clean-shaven.
Mr. Grim leaned over, and whispered in my ear.
“The professor is my employer. He pays us for everything we steal for him.”
“The professor is my employer. He pays us for everything we steal for him.”
That was pretty funny, so far we have one villian and one revolution on our hands.
That was pretty funny, so far we have one villian and one revolution on our hands.
These Entertainers are slippery customers all right. Consorting with revolutionaries now! So was Coleridge really such a radical? Well done bringing him back into the story anyway!
Farquharson said:
I believe that Coleridge started off a little radical. Some of his public speeches and articles were very revolutionary. And he did talk a lot about starting a new community in America. Coleridge was often watched by government spies as well, but they soon realised he was no threat.
But later on, he became disillusioned, maybe due to Wordsworth's influence. The BBC did a drama about Coleridge and Wordsworth a few years ago called "Pandamonium". But I thought it was a little to far-fetched, and not completely truthful.
*Edit- And also, the use of any real life characters such as Coleridge is purely make believe.
In one of the previous chapters, Mr. Grim sang a song. Here it is.
The Entertainers Song
I walked towards my memory hill,
The grass was green, the day was still,
With me walked two friends, a pole, a Smith,
In my hands, I carried a gift.
Fair lady stood, at the top, in my sight,
Walking towards me, taking with her the light,
Singing a song, so sad, so sweet,
And at the top, we came to meet.
I presented the lady, the gift, a sword,
"I cannot take the gift, it's yours!"
She kissed my lips, and parted away,
She said, "Meet me tommorow, please not today."
My friends turned to foes, in an instant of time,
And laughed at me, as the church bells chimed,
The ground collapsed, as I fell in,
The lady had left me, because I am only sin.
The song makes no sense, but nor does our lives,
All goodness fails, no matter how much I strive,
The lady turned me down, not out of hate,
Because good and evil don't mix, it's only fate.
The Entertainers Song
I walked towards my memory hill,
The grass was green, the day was still,
With me walked two friends, a pole, a Smith,
In my hands, I carried a gift.
Fair lady stood, at the top, in my sight,
Walking towards me, taking with her the light,
Singing a song, so sad, so sweet,
And at the top, we came to meet.
I presented the lady, the gift, a sword,
"I cannot take the gift, it's yours!"
She kissed my lips, and parted away,
She said, "Meet me tommorow, please not today."
My friends turned to foes, in an instant of time,
And laughed at me, as the church bells chimed,
The ground collapsed, as I fell in,
The lady had left me, because I am only sin.
The song makes no sense, but nor does our lives,
All goodness fails, no matter how much I strive,
The lady turned me down, not out of hate,
Because good and evil don't mix, it's only fate.
I think I get it now
CAUTION Possible Spoiler below
The entertainers spread thier message through songs! Like to an agent in each town or somehting like that
CAUTION Possible Spoiler below
The entertainers spread thier message through songs! Like to an agent in each town or somehting like that
Zeno of Cyprus said:
??? That's crazy!!! ??? :wacko: :wacko: :wacko:
What possible hidden message can you see in that song?
i'm not saying anything about the story, the song is only their for pure cultural enlightenment
Last edited:
And a very nice song, too! But I did think some of the lines suggested a sinister hidden meaning. Why, for example, would someone give a sword as a gift to a lady??? Perhaps there's a message so secret even the author doesn't know...
Sorry it's been such a long time coming.
Chapter Seven
We spent a long hour having dinner that evening. Many of the students had gone to bed, whilst Mr. Grim, the other Entertainers and Professor King talked. It turned out that they went back a long way, certainly the Professor and Mr. Grim. It turned out that Mr. Grim and the Professor had both studied at Bristol. Mr. Grim had studied Law, and the Professor had studied some form of Science. But at times, they lowered their conversation, because they started to talk about more sinister things. Such as bank robberies they had pulled off, highway hold ups they had done which had shocked many people who read their newspapers in the morning, such as me. Never would I dream to have mixed up with this sort of people. My life I had imagined to be perfectly normal and law abiding. I paid my taxes, and I had served my time in the army as a Private.
Soon, there was nobody left in the hall, and then the real conversation began.
“I imagine you know why you are here?” said the Professor to the Entertainers. It was not a question. They simply nodded their heads.
“Well, you escaped from that Colonel what’s his name…”
“Jacobs”, said Mr. Grim.
“Whatever”, said the Professor, “He’s been annoying me of late. He constantly comes here asking questions about you, Mr. Grim. Seems to think that just because I remember you from our student’s days that I would know what you get up to now. Whilst you were in jail, he was always asking questions, trying to find evidence against you I think. He was right of course, I did know what you lot were up to.”
At this, the Entertainers laughed.
“But there are more important things at stake,” said the Professor.
The Entertainers looked serious again.
“Have you got it?” asked the Professor.
I gave Mr. Grim a curious look. Did he have what?
“No, but it is safe,” said Mr. Grim, “I have hidden it.”
“What about the agent?” said the Professor.
“He doesn’t know anything.”
“Agent…? I said, butting in.
“Yes Mr. Shepperd”, said Mr. Grim, “there is a government spy who lives in your very village.”
“What?” I said, rather taken aback, “who?”
“It’s Hoggard.”
It took at least a minute of silence to let the absurdity of the statement sink in.
“Hoggard, a spy?” I laughed. “Please be serious.”
They were silent as I looked at each in turn. Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole merely grinned at my shocked face; rather amused by the look I gave them. Mr. Grim bowed his head.
“I am sorry, Matthew.”
Then I looked at the Professor.
“I am sorry to Matthew. But we had to take it off him.”
“Take what off him?”
“The journal.”
“What journal?” I asked.
The Professor looked at me with a stunned look on his face.
“Did he never tell you about the Journal?”
I shook my head.
“It was a journal he kept in his private collection. It had once belonged to a French admiral who commanded a brand new battle ship, which was stronger, faster and more powerful twice fold than anything the Royal Navy had. But it sunk in stormy conditions, and the journal was washed up onto a shore in Cornwall.”
“So?” I said.
“The journal also contained details, specifications about the ship. It was a stroke of luck for the British admiralty, determined to protect our shores from French invasion, if it should happen. An agent who happened to live near by, who happened to be Hoggard, was entrusted with looking after the journal.”
“So why did you steal it from him?” I asked.
“Because whilst Mr. Grim was in your home, he looked through his accounts which he found on your desk, and found some payments from people we happen to know are French agents. He was about to sell the journal.”
“Okay, that’s it,” I cried. “This is absurd. Hoggard is my friend, and in the long years I have known him, I would never imagine him betraying our country.”
“Yes, but he was offered rather a lot of money.”
I let the Professor continue with the story.
“Mr. Grim stole the journal during the night he stayed before the show. All we know now is that Mr. Grim is the only one who knows where they are hidden.”
Mr. Grim then nodded at the Professor, looking sideways at me.
“Oh yes Mr. Shepperd”, said the Professor, “that is all you’ll need to know. Mr. Grimaldi and I have more secretive business to attend to. So you wouldn’t mind leaving now?”
I went up to bed, my mind buzzing at what I had been told that evening. Hoggard, my long friend - a spy, and a traitor? It didn’t make sense! Then the whole thing involving the French and a mysterious journal. And the fact that the Entertainers were not just professional thieves but mixed up in the whole espionage business them! But two things puzzled me. The first one was where was the journal hidden? And the second thing was what did the Professor and the Entertainers have to do with anything that was going on?
Let it be! That was the voice of reasoning ringing in my head. Okay, let it be. Don’t ask questions. I had nothing to do with what was going on. Was I?
Chapter Seven
We spent a long hour having dinner that evening. Many of the students had gone to bed, whilst Mr. Grim, the other Entertainers and Professor King talked. It turned out that they went back a long way, certainly the Professor and Mr. Grim. It turned out that Mr. Grim and the Professor had both studied at Bristol. Mr. Grim had studied Law, and the Professor had studied some form of Science. But at times, they lowered their conversation, because they started to talk about more sinister things. Such as bank robberies they had pulled off, highway hold ups they had done which had shocked many people who read their newspapers in the morning, such as me. Never would I dream to have mixed up with this sort of people. My life I had imagined to be perfectly normal and law abiding. I paid my taxes, and I had served my time in the army as a Private.
Soon, there was nobody left in the hall, and then the real conversation began.
“I imagine you know why you are here?” said the Professor to the Entertainers. It was not a question. They simply nodded their heads.
“Well, you escaped from that Colonel what’s his name…”
“Jacobs”, said Mr. Grim.
“Whatever”, said the Professor, “He’s been annoying me of late. He constantly comes here asking questions about you, Mr. Grim. Seems to think that just because I remember you from our student’s days that I would know what you get up to now. Whilst you were in jail, he was always asking questions, trying to find evidence against you I think. He was right of course, I did know what you lot were up to.”
At this, the Entertainers laughed.
“But there are more important things at stake,” said the Professor.
The Entertainers looked serious again.
“Have you got it?” asked the Professor.
I gave Mr. Grim a curious look. Did he have what?
“No, but it is safe,” said Mr. Grim, “I have hidden it.”
“What about the agent?” said the Professor.
“He doesn’t know anything.”
“Agent…? I said, butting in.
“Yes Mr. Shepperd”, said Mr. Grim, “there is a government spy who lives in your very village.”
“What?” I said, rather taken aback, “who?”
“It’s Hoggard.”
It took at least a minute of silence to let the absurdity of the statement sink in.
“Hoggard, a spy?” I laughed. “Please be serious.”
They were silent as I looked at each in turn. Mr. Smith and Mr. Pole merely grinned at my shocked face; rather amused by the look I gave them. Mr. Grim bowed his head.
“I am sorry, Matthew.”
Then I looked at the Professor.
“I am sorry to Matthew. But we had to take it off him.”
“Take what off him?”
“The journal.”
“What journal?” I asked.
The Professor looked at me with a stunned look on his face.
“Did he never tell you about the Journal?”
I shook my head.
“It was a journal he kept in his private collection. It had once belonged to a French admiral who commanded a brand new battle ship, which was stronger, faster and more powerful twice fold than anything the Royal Navy had. But it sunk in stormy conditions, and the journal was washed up onto a shore in Cornwall.”
“So?” I said.
“The journal also contained details, specifications about the ship. It was a stroke of luck for the British admiralty, determined to protect our shores from French invasion, if it should happen. An agent who happened to live near by, who happened to be Hoggard, was entrusted with looking after the journal.”
“So why did you steal it from him?” I asked.
“Because whilst Mr. Grim was in your home, he looked through his accounts which he found on your desk, and found some payments from people we happen to know are French agents. He was about to sell the journal.”
“Okay, that’s it,” I cried. “This is absurd. Hoggard is my friend, and in the long years I have known him, I would never imagine him betraying our country.”
“Yes, but he was offered rather a lot of money.”
I let the Professor continue with the story.
“Mr. Grim stole the journal during the night he stayed before the show. All we know now is that Mr. Grim is the only one who knows where they are hidden.”
Mr. Grim then nodded at the Professor, looking sideways at me.
“Oh yes Mr. Shepperd”, said the Professor, “that is all you’ll need to know. Mr. Grimaldi and I have more secretive business to attend to. So you wouldn’t mind leaving now?”
I went up to bed, my mind buzzing at what I had been told that evening. Hoggard, my long friend - a spy, and a traitor? It didn’t make sense! Then the whole thing involving the French and a mysterious journal. And the fact that the Entertainers were not just professional thieves but mixed up in the whole espionage business them! But two things puzzled me. The first one was where was the journal hidden? And the second thing was what did the Professor and the Entertainers have to do with anything that was going on?
Let it be! That was the voice of reasoning ringing in my head. Okay, let it be. Don’t ask questions. I had nothing to do with what was going on. Was I?
Haven´t been in these fora (or online for that matter) for ages, and find a great surprise seeing the story continue. Absolutely love it! Keep it up!
Th :rofl:
Th :rofl: