A Paul Dorset Sampler

Fergus Fedderfeeny’s Food Factory

Xannu – The Prophecy

New Blood

Copyright 2011 Paul Dorset

Smashwords Ebook Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the provider and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CONTENTS

1. Fergus Fedderfeeny’s Food Factory (Middle Grade)

2. Xannu – The Prophecy (Young Adult)

3. New Blood (16+ Young Adult)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Paul Dorset was born in Poole, Dorset in England in 1960 but has been living in America since 1995. He has been writing for many years and some of his early works were published in 'teen advice' columns. He has also had many technical articles published, mostly in the field of Computing.

Paul currently lives in the Pacific Northwest but has traveled extensively and worked many times with teens and youth groups. It is this background combined with a vivid imagination that has enabled him to weave a tapestry of magic into complete novels. His first epic fantasy series, aimed at young adults, is entitled 'The Southern Lands'. However, the storyline is more than exciting enough to keep adults turning pages as the story unfolds.

Paul is a father of five who has worked as a computer consultant for more than 30 years. His publications include fantasy novels for ages 12-plus, how-to books for adults, and dark paranormal thrillers for ages 16+. He incorporates his extensive experience in computers - and his insightful perspective on the possibilities therein - in novels that include layers of contemporary intrigue, romance and mystery.

GENRE: Middle Grade Comic Adventure

Fergus Fedderfeeny’s Food Factory

Gwillville Book One

A novel by Paul Dorset

1 - The Missing Supplies

“Uh, nope, now that don’t seem right,” Farnsworth muttered as he swept the floor of the supply room. “Looks like some things is missin’.” He took a closer look. “Yep, yep, uh yep,” he nodded his head in agreement with himself.

Farnsworth had first noticed that some of the food supplies seemed to be missing yesterday evening as he’d cleaned up the restaurant and the supply room for Mr. Fedderfeeny. At the time he thought that maybe he’d miscounted things but this morning his worst suspicions were confirmed.

“Hmm, what to do?” he asked himself. He let his head sink down to his chest and propped himself against the tall broom he was carrying. He continued to stand there for a while just thinking.

“Well, better check out back,” he eventually said out loud. Grabbing the broom firmly he set off for the small area that was mostly unused, tucked away in the far corner of the supply room. “Nope.” It was still empty.

Farnsworth didn’t like situations like this. In the nine years he had been working at the Food Factory he had only had to mention problems a couple of times to Mr. Fedderfeeny. The last time was about two years ago when The Mangler got stuck after they changed their flour suppliers and it threw lumps of meat and pastry all over the pie room. The mess was incredible. It seemed that everything in the room had somehow got coated with something. Even Farnsworth was covered head to waist with lumps of gooey meat sauce and pastry. His unfortunate mistake however was to walk into the restaurant that was full of customers, looking like someone that had come back from the dead. Several customers had screamed, one fainted and two of the waitresses had thrown trays of food everywhere in shock. Needless to say Mr. Fedderfeeny had suggested that in future emergencies, Farnsworth should consider his appearance first before entering the restaurant area.

Thankfully the restaurant wasn’t yet open for the day and so at least he didn’t have to consider his appearance. But, and this was really the worst thing, Mr. Fedderfeeny wasn’t here yet either. It would be at least an hour or two before he arrived.

“Well, just have to tell him later.”

In the meantime there were jobs that needed doing, the most important of which was making the day’s supply of pies. Farnsworth propped the broom up against the side wall and wandered off to the pie room.

The pie room was a sight to behold. It was only about twenty feet long and about fifteen feet wide but crammed into every piece of space were incredible contraptions that had individual and unique purposes. Farnsworth delighted over every machine in the room. Except The Mangler. The Mangler was dangerous and unforgiving. He always moved carefully around it and kept his operating time of it down to an absolute minimum. Still, thankfully The Mangler was the final machine in the pie-making process.

The first job of the day was to measure out the flour from the large tub in the corner and drop it into the pastry-making machine. He then added the salt, butter and eggs and closed the lid. Farnsworth pressed the large green ‘on’ button and stood back as mechanical hands started to do their work, mixing the ingredients together and dispensing water as necessary from the automatically controlled tap on the side of the machine. Within a few minutes Farnsworth relaxed as the machine made its ‘whoosh, slurp, bang, bang’ noise that he had come to know and love over the years. He smiled to himself.

Next it was on to the meat stripper and cutter. Farnsworth stepped into the cold storage room and pulled out some big cuts of meat that would make up today’s pies. He closed the door to the cold room and shuffled over to the huge meat chopper laden down with meat. One piece at a time he filled the machine and compacted it all as best he could. At last it was full to capacity and he set the machine in motion, standing well back as sharp blades began their relentless and unforgiving work.

Finally there was only the sauce to consider. This was the smallest and simplest of the machines even though it took the most time to do its job. Farnsworth reminded himself that one day he wanted to make some improvements to it. He was sure that with a few modifications the sauce-cooker could make the sauce in half the time that it currently took. Still, for now it had to be done the old-fashioned way. Farnsworth measured out the scoops of sauce ingredients from the individual spice containers and counted them into the open funnel that was located on top of the sauce-cooker. “Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three,” he absentmindedly said out loud as he always did at the end of his counting. He closed the lid to the funnel, turned the machine on and waited a few minutes until the confirming ‘swoosh’ of the hot water could be heard.

Step one of his jobs had been completed. In an hour or so he could return and gather up all the completed parts and fire up The Mangler which would actually put all the pies together.

Farnsworth returned to the supply room determined to find out exactly what was missing so he could report it all to Mr. Fedderfeeny. He was pretty sure it was some of the vegetables but, just in case, he got out the large ledger he kept of all the supplies purchased and used. Every day he had to keep this updated so Mr. Fedderfeeny knew exactly what was being consumed. Walking up and down the rows of supplies Farnsworth made a mental count of everything and compared it to the totals written on the ledger. Eventually he found the discrepancies. He was short on three of the vegetables. Carrots, peas and cabbage.

“Yep, yep. That’s it. That’s what’s missin’.” He counted the vegetables with some deliberation and finally concluded there were about five bunches of carrots, a bag of peas and four cabbages missing. “Hmm,” he continued. “Not a lot. Numbers’ll be messed up tho’. Mr. Fedderfeeny doesn’t like it when his numbers are messed up.”

In all the time that Farnsworth had been working for Fergus Fedderfeeny he had only ever seen him angry a couple of times. That is, apart from the time Farnsworth got covered in meat sauce and pastry. Both those times were when there had been a problem with the numbers. Last time it was all about five bags of peas that had been miscounted and placed in the wrong area of the supply room. Mr. Fedderfeeny had been in a really bad mood on that day. Everything was about the numbers to Mr. Fedderfeeny. He was a very likeable and respected boss but you never wanted him to get upset over the numbers. They were a big part of Mr. Fedderfeeny’s life. Farnsworth never did the numbers; he let Mr. Fedderfeeny do them. But he knew this time the numbers weren’t going to be right.

“Gonna be a tough day today. Hope he’s in a good mood when he gets here.” Farnsworth’s train of thought was cut short by the sound of a loud buzzer. “Whoa, fixin’s are ready for the pies.”

Back in the pie room all the machines had done their jobs. Pastry was neatly stacked up by the pastry-maker, meat was cut into small pieces by the meat-chopper, and sauce was gently steaming next to the sauce-cooker. Farnsworth went over to the shelves next to The Mangler and reached up for the pie dishes. He carefully heaped them in the side of The Mangler and then emptied the chopped meat into the big bucket inside the front of the machine. The sheets of pastry were stacked carefully into the feeder at the front of The Mangler and lastly the sauce was poured into a funnel at the very top of the machine. Farnsworth carefully checked and rechecked to make sure every door and lid was closed and walked completely around the machine one more time to make absolutely sure. When he was confident everything was ready he reached out a hand and pulled the lever that kicked everything into motion. There was a large creaking sound and then a short period of silence before all of a sudden everything seemed to happen and The Mangler nearly wrenched itself off its base. Farnsworth stepped back as he did every day, wary of the power and ferocity of this machine.

All at once everything started moving and Farnsworth was deafened by the noise of clanking dishes, cutting blades, scooped up meat, dripping sauce and pressed pastry. Slowly the pies started appearing on the conveyor belt at the far end of The Mangler and Farnsworth moved to collect them and stack them neatly on shelves ready-made for the pies. As the last of the pies made its way along the conveyor belt Farnsworth breathed a sigh of relief and wiped some sweat from his brow. “I hope that’s the worst of it over. Nothin’ to do now but wait,” he said to himself. “Fer the boss!”

2 - A Perfect Morning in Gwillville

Fergus Fedderfeeny only wore white shirts. Never blue or gray or green. Only white. The mere thought of any other color sent a shiver down his spine. His suits however were a slightly different matter. He had eight in total. All pinstripes, a mixture of grays, blues and browns. One for each workday, Monday through Friday. One for when he had to work on a Saturday. One that was sent each week to the cleaners and one just in case something needed repairing. It all made perfect sense to Fergus. He was a dummy of beliefs, logic and good judgment. He smiled as he reached into his wardrobe and pulled out a perfectly pressed white shirt and put it on. “It’s going to be a glorious day today, Molly,” he shouted out, knowing that his wife probably couldn’t hear him all the way from their bedroom to the kitchen downstairs. “A blue-striped tie,” he continued to himself, pulling one out and holding it up to make sure it suited the way he felt today. “Yes, that will work nicely.”

Dressed and ready Fergus headed down to the kitchen where the aroma of freshly made pancakes had already escaped and tempted his nose. “Smells wonderful,” he chortled, reaching out and hugging his wife from behind, kissing her tenderly on the cheek. “I don’t know where you find all the time to do this cooking every day.”

Molly laughed and waited for Fergus to sit himself down at the table before serving him up his morning glass of orange juice and some hot buttered pancakes. She turned and left him to enjoy his breakfast in peace.

“I’m off to work, honey,” Fergus shouted out a little later, as he picked up his small bag that contained all the restaurant accounts and receipts. “Will you be coming by today?”

Molly appeared from the front room into the hallway carrying a small hand brush. “We’ll have to see, my pet. Now we’ll just have to see about that.” She took the brush to Fergus’ jacket and brushed it clean of a few pieces of clinging fluff. “Now off you go else you’ll be late. And we can’t be having that on a glorious day like today.” She pecked at his cheek as she opened the door and ushered him out. “Off with you now. I’ll see you later.”

Outside Fergus stopped briefly to breathe in the fresh morning air. Spring time always made him feel even happier than usual.

The walk from Fergus’ house in the leafy suburbs of Gwillville to the town center where his restaurant was located was always something he looked forward to provided it wasn’t raining, which today it wasn’t. Fergus lived in a small development of houses that was built between the town center to the north and the barren grassland to the south. It was like living on a little island, cut off from the mainland by the two forks of the river Gwill. His house opened up directly onto South Main Street and he only had a walk of about a half-mile to get to work, traveling north across the bridge over the Gwill and then a left turn onto Stoney Avenue.

Fergus and Molly Fedderfeeny had lived in their house for nearly six years now and although it wasn’t as grand nor had a view as nice as his brother Hamish’s house, it was better than he had ever hoped for. Maybe one day, if the restaurant continued to do well, he would be able to afford to move onto South River View where Hamish lived.

As Fergus traveled north on South Main Street he was distracted by the sight of the open sea and the sea wall to his right. The harbor looked empty today which was unusual. There were normally a few trading ships in from down the coast bringing exotic cloth and spices. He had heard there had been some bad storms recently and had also heard talk of pirates from some of the restaurant customers, so maybe that explained it. Still, if it was true then it was very worrisome.

The bridge across the Gwill was empty as Fergus approached it. He carefully placed his feet squarely on the wooden walkway and gripped the handrail. It was not that he was afraid of falling in, he told himself, he just liked to make sure he was well anchored in case of any surprises. Looking down to his left the river was fully swollen as the last of the melted mountain snow made its way to the sea. In another few weeks the water would start receding again and summer would be upon them. Fergus absentmindedly breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the far side of the bridge and started up the hill towards Stoney Avenue, passing the side entrance to The Food Factory as he did so.

There was already a bustle of dummies as Fergus reached the corner of Main Street and Stoney Avenue. He nodded his head in acknowledgement to a couple of them and approached the main entrance to his restaurant. “Ten o’clock precisely,” he said to himself. “Just as it should be.” Adjusting his glasses slightly and making sure his tie felt straight he opened the door and let himself into the restaurant.

“Morning, Mr. Fedderfeeny,” several cries rang out. “Nice to see you again, sir,” came another. Fergus nodded back in every direction, smiled, and made his way to his office just off the main dining room floor. Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out his collection of keys and carefully unlocked the door. Once inside his office he placed his bag on top of his battered old oak desk and sat himself down in his chair. Within seconds a hot cup of steaming tea was in front of him, along with the paperwork for the day. Fergus muttered his ‘thank yous’ and instantly lost himself in the paperwork.

“Pies are made,” a voice from the doorway cautiously interrupted. Fergus didn’t seem to notice. Farnsworth cleared his throat and tried once more. “Um, Mr. Fedderfeeny, the pies are done.”

“Oh what? Sorry! Good morning, Farnsworth. And how are you today?”

“Yep, yep,” Farnsworth sort of mumbled, fidgeting a little as he spoke. “Uh, pies are ready for ya.”

“I’ll be right there, Farnsworth. You just get yourself sorted and I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.” Fergus lowered his head once more to his papers, not noticing the worried expression Farnsworth was wearing.

After a couple more minutes of scribbling and note-taking Fergus was finally done and he got up from his chair and walked from his office, carefully locking the door behind him. To another chorus of ‘good morning’ he smiled and nodded to staff as he crossed the dining room and made his way to the pie room. As he approached, his taste buds awoke to the aroma of freshly cooked pot pies. He licked his lips without realizing it.

“You’ve been busy this morning then?” he asked Farnsworth, still not noticing the way he was fidgeting as he waited.

“Uh, yep.”

As was the usual custom, Farnsworth had prepared one of the pies for Mr. Fedderfeeny to taste, out of the morning batch. Mr. Fedderfeeny liked to ensure a certain quality and consistency before the day’s customers started arriving. Farnsworth never really understood why, as he knew that every day The Mangler made the pies exactly the same as the day before. Still, Mr. Fedderfeeny was the boss and the boss is always in charge.

“Good. I think it’s going to be a busy day today. I hope there’s plenty of stock to make pies with?” Farnsworth was at a loss for a moment and struggled for something to say in response. Thankfully Fergus continued speaking. “Now where’s my fork? Oh yes.” He reached down into his coat pocket and pulled out a fork and scrutinized the pie that had been placed in front of him. As he did every day he stabbed the pie first to let any excess steam escape. He hated burning his mouth on a fresh pie. Then he carefully cut out a small piece from the center with his fork, raised it to his nose for a sniff, blew on it to cool it, and finally put the forkful into his mouth. Farnsworth fidgeted nervously.

“What did you do, Farnsworth?” Fergus exclaimed at the top of his voice. Not waiting for a reply he dug his fork into the pie once more and repeated the process. “What on earth did you do?”

“Um. Sorry, Mr. Fedderfeeny,” Farnsworth replied wondering just what exactly he had done.

“No. No need to be sorry, Farnsworth,” Fergus said laughing out loud. “No need to be sorry at all. This pie is magnificent. It’s the best pie I’ve ever tasted! Get yourself a fork and try for yourself.”

Farnsworth hurried off to get himself a fork and tried a piece of the pie. “Yep, yep. Sure is good,” he chuckled to himself.

“Whatever you did to the recipe you’ll have to keep doing. These pies are the best we’ve ever made and they’re going to be the most popular in the town. Keep up the good work, Farnsworth!” With that Fergus turned and headed back to his office laughing and shaking his head as he went.

“But there’s a problem you need to know about,” Farnsworth half mumbled under his breath, watching Mr. Fedderfeeny walk away. How was he going to mention the missing supplies to him now?

3 - A Toolkit of Hammers

“…Tick tock, every dummy, tick tock. Every dummy who was watching the clock, was sittin’ on the top of the dock.” Farnsworth played his air guitar and smiled. “Wella, wella, wella. Sittin’ on the top of the dock!”

The last few days at the Food Factory had flown by and business had never been so good. The new magnificent tasting pies had become a huge hit and the restaurant was full from morning to night. Farnsworth was in a happy mood as he sang his way from supply room to pie room to kitchen.

“…Silly Billy was a dancin’ with a terrible walk…,” he screeched out ignoring the odd looks from the rest of the kitchen staff.

“Keep it down, Farnsworth,” shouted out one of the cooks.

“Leave him be. He’s harmless enough,” responded one of the helpers.

“…Little Joe was right next to him and could hardly talk…”

“FARNSWORTH!” the cook shouted at the top of his voice.

Farnsworth stopped dead in his tracks and dropped his string plucking hand to his side. “Uh. What’s up?” he asked innocently.

“Stop singing those old rock star songs will you? You’re making us crazy in here.”

“Leave him be,” interrupted the head chef. He turned to Farnsworth. “You just carry right on, son. Don’t worry about him.” He turned back to the cook and muttered under his breath to him. “He’s just a simple lad. He doesn’t mean any harm by it.”

Farnsworth smiled and nodded and mimed a guitar solo for the benefit of the cook. “Sorry. I’m just right happy today. Pies are selling as fast as I can make ’em.”

“Good old Farnsworth,” the cook said with a hint of sarcasm.

The head chef raised a ladle in the direction of the cook. “That’s enough I say. Let’s get back to work. There’s plenty to do in here.”

With that, all the kitchen staff put their heads down and resumed the jobs they were doing. The hustle and bustle of the kitchen grew once more as orders came in and plates of pies and vegetables went out. Farnsworth rested and leaned against one of the tall cabinets, watching as everyone went about their work. He was amazed at the calm and the order of it all. The scribbled paper orders came in from the dining room. The head chef screamed out the instructions and then everyone just got on and did what they needed to do. Farnsworth never wanted to work in the kitchen. He didn’t like to be told what to do all the time. Well, it wasn’t so much that as Mr. Fedderfeeny always told him what he needed to do. It was more that he liked to be able to choose how he did his work. Kitchen jobs looked too boring and organized. There would never be time to work on improving his machines or designing new ones. And of course he wouldn’t be able to practice his rock star songs. One day he hoped he would get the chance to sing them for a real audience.

“Yep, yep…sittin’ on the top of the dock,” he screeched out once more. He chuckled to himself as the cook gave him another angry glance.

Back in the pie room the latest batch of pies was just about finished and stacked up on the end of the conveyor, needing to be put up on racks and taken to the kitchen for cooking. He had already made three batches this morning and if today was going to be anything like yesterday then he still had another three batches to make. Usually he only made a total of four batches in a whole day. The pie business was certainly booming since word of the new magnificent tasting pies had gotten around Gwillville. Mr. Fedderfeeny was even happier about everything than he normally was and all the staff in the restaurant seemed to be getting on with everyone else a lot better too. The only thing that still tugged at the back of Farnsworth’s mind was the missing supplies. What with the excitement of the pies and the increased business there hadn’t seemed the right opportunity to mention it. But maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Now that they were selling a lot more pies every day the missing supplies wouldn’t seem so important after all. Maybe no one would even notice.

Farnsworth’s thoughts came to a sudden stop as a huge ‘clankety, clank, bing, bonk, grundge’ sound echoed around the pie room. The Mangler hissed out a huge tower of steam and came to a shuddering stop. “Hmm. That’s peculiar,” he said out loud, scratching the side of his head as he spoke. “I’ll get my toolbox.”

Farnsworth wandered off to the supply room and picked up his large red toolbox from behind the door where he always left it. It weighed a lot but Farnsworth didn’t mind. His toolbox had everything he ever needed to fix his machines when they were misbehaving. He carried the toolbox back to the pie room, grunting a little as he walked.

“Now, what seems to be the matter?” he said out loud, standing square in front of The Mangler, peering into its innards as best as was possible without undoing any of the panels. It looked as if all the pies were completed, so that was a good thing. He didn’t fancy having to retrieve pieces of pastry, meat and sauce from the complicated insides. “Hmm,” he muttered looking all around. “Don’t know quite what’s up. Better get a hammer.”

Farnsworth’s toolbox was not only large, red and heavy, but there was one other distinguishing thing about it. It contained only hammers inside. Small hammers, big hammers, light hammers, heavy hammers, round-headed hammers, square-headed hammers, wooden hammers and metal hammers. There was even a selection of mallets too. In all, Farnsworth’s toolkit contained twenty-six hammers. That seemed to be the ideal number that sufficed for every eventuality.

Farnsworth pulled open the toolbox and carefully examined its contents. “Hmm,” he muttered once more. “Sounds like the central spigot got a little mangled up.” He reached down into his toolbox and hunted around for the large rubber-headed mallet. “This oughta do the trick.”

He placed his ear carefully to the side of the silent Mangler and touched its metal skin delicately with his fingers as if feeling for a small spot or sickness. “Aha, aha.” Leaving his finger in an exact position he raised the mallet that was in his right hand and carefully studied the location he would have to hit. “Velocity, weight, angle,” he mumbled to himself as if going through a thousand calculations in his mind all at once. “Vector, density and inertia,” he concluded and stood still for a moment, a picture of pure concentration and intelligence. Finally Farnsworth decided the moment was right to strike and he unleashed the exact blow that was required. The mallet connected with The Mangler at the position his finger had been just a moment before with the slightest of force you could imagine. It was only a tap, half a tap really, but it was exactly what Farnsworth deemed necessary to fix the problem.

After the blow was completed he put the mallet back into his toolbox and listened once more to The Mangler. “Yep, yep. That’s it,” he concluded, smiling. Standing well back he reached out a hand and pulled the lever that started the machine going again. Just as expected there was a large creaking sound, silence and then it all kicked into life, noise and ferocity. Farnsworth once again stepped back from The Mangler. He smiled. “Yep, yep. Better get another batch of pies started.”

“Everything still going well?” Fergus Fedderfeeny asked Farnsworth a little later as he completed one of his daily tours of the Food Factory.

“Yep, yep. Making more pies.”

“Very good, Farnsworth. Very good indeed. Whatever you did to that pie recipe a few days back has made all the difference to business. The dining room is always full and we’re even having to turn dummies away at busy times. Looks like Mrs. Fedderfeeny and I will be able to afford a good vacation this year,” he chuckled. “Should be good bonuses for everyone here as well.”

Farnsworth wiped some sweat from his brow as he finished filling the pastry-maker with flour for the fifth time of the day. He smiled back at Mr. Fedderfeeny, not quite knowing what to say.

“Been quite a run on everything these last few days. Do we need to order some extra supplies, Farnsworth?”

“Well uh, don’t quite know.” Farnsworth gulped a little as he replied. He had tried to forget about the missing supplies and now definitely wasn’t the time to raise the subject.

“Well maybe you should do a good stock check this afternoon and let me know. I want to make sure we have enough food for the weekend. Market day’s tomorrow and if we need to get extra supplies then I need to know before then. Maybe we should buy some extra vegetables anyway. It wouldn’t do to run out of anything now that we’re getting all these extra customers. Farnsworth?” He paused for a moment before repeating it again. “Farnsworth? Are you alright? Are you listening?”

Farnsworth was suddenly feeling a little faint. “Okey dokey.”

“Good. I’ll leave you to it. Come by my office before you leave today and let me know just what we need. I can do a final count with you when you’re ready and make sure my numbers all match up.”

Farnsworth let himself fall against the wall as he watched Mr. Fedderfeeny leave. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and so he breathed deeply, trying to relax a little and get his breathing back to normal. He’d better have a good look at all the supplies and make sure the differences were not noticeable.

As soon as Farnsworth had set all the machines in motion once more he picked up his toolbox which was still lying up against the far wall of the pie room and he walked back to the supply room. He put the toolbox back behind the door and picked up the large ledger from the shelf where it was kept. Then carefully he walked up and down the rows of supplies and counted everything.

Farnsworth counted everything seven times. Just to make sure. Seven times. He had never had to count things that many times before. There had been a couple of times where it had needed three counts. But never seven. Farnsworth sat down on the floor and put his head in his arms. “It’s bad,” he muttered to himself. “Real bad. Mr. Fedderfeeny isn’t gonna be happy.” Farnsworth had no idea how he was going to explain that he was now short twelve bunches of carrots, three bags of peas, ten cabbages and two bags of green beans.

4 - An Alien Discovery

“Um,” Farnsworth muttered as he cleared his throat outside the door of Fergus Fedderfeeny’s office later that afternoon. “Excuse me, Mr. Fedderfeeny. Numbers is wrong.” He sank back against the door trying to keep his legs from collapsing. There, he had said it. Now he just had to wait for the punishment that would surely come his way.

“What? What’s that?” Mr. Fedderfeeny replied, looking up from his papers.

“The numbers. They’re wrong.”

“Numbers? What numbers?”

“Vegetables. Isn’t all there.”

Mr. Fedderfeeny straightened his glasses and looked at Farnsworth for a few seconds with a look of confusion on his face as if trying to process what he had been told. “The vegetables aren’t all there?” he repeated, still not quite understanding. “What vegetables? Where aren’t they?”

Farnsworth took a deep breath and tried to pull himself as upright as he could. He took a step forward into Mr. Fedderfeeny’s office and placed a hand on his desk for support. “It’s worse than before. Now there’s more missing. It don’t add up.”

Fergus Fedderfeeny was still not clear precisely what Farnsworth was talking about. “Start from the beginning, Farnsworth. Tell me exactly what has happened.”

Farnsworth spent the next few minutes recapping the story of a few days ago and then today’s stock count of the vegetables. At the end of his retelling he looked decidedly pale.

“I see,” Fergus said eventually, nodding his head slowly and deliberately. “Twelve bunches of carrots?” Farnsworth nodded. “Ten cabbages?” Farnsworth nodded again. “Three bags of peas and two bags of green beans? Hmm.” Fergus put his pen down on his papers and slowly got to his feet. “Well we’d better go and investigate then, hadn’t we?”

Fergus Fedderfeeny locked the door to his office behind him and the two of them set off towards the supply room. Farnsworth handed Mr. Fedderfeeny the ledger as they walked. “You don’t think someone has been stealing them then?”

“Not that I know about,” replied Farnsworth. “Never happened before. Not like this anyways.”

Mr. Fedderfeeny muttered something incomprehensible under his breath as they walked. “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation for all this.”

When they reached the supply room, Fergus Fedderfeeny closed the door shut behind them and removed his jacket. “Let’s treat it like this is one of our yearly stock-takes, Farnsworth. Create a new row and let’s move vegetables from one row to another as we count.”

For the next hour or so, Farnsworth and Mr. Fedderfeeny counted and recounted the vegetables just as he had suggested. When it was finally done, the numbers matched those of Farnsworth exactly. Fergus and Farnsworth both sat down on the floor of the supply room to think.

“Now just what’s been going on here then?” Molly Fedderfeeny’s voice suddenly rang out as the door to the supply room opened once more. Farnsworth continued staring at the floor, hoping that maybe it would swallow him up.

“Just trying to get to the bottom of a small problem, my dear,” Fergus began, getting to his feet. He then went on to explain what they had been doing for the last hour or so.

“I see. Sounds like we have a thief then. Have you been asking the staff yet? No, of course not. They wouldn’t. Would they? I mean, I just brought them baked home-made cookies. They all love my home-made cookies. There’s not a bad ’un amongst them. The staff that is. Still, best be sure. Maybe we should ask them all just to see if anyone knows anything.” The room remained quiet and so Molly continued. “Fergus? What do you say? Don’t you think we should at least ask the staff if they know anything about the missing vegetables? We can’t have this type of situation continuing. It’s not good for business I’m telling you. Fergus?”

“You’re quite right, dear. We should ask the staff. Maybe you could gather them all together in the kitchen for me while I get myself together.”

Molly nodded. “Five minutes,” she whispered and left the supply room once more.

Fergus retrieved his jacket and put it back on. “Okay Farnsworth, let’s get this over with. First things first. We’ll ask the staff and if no one comes forward then we’ll have to post a guard here at the Food Factory tonight. Maybe you can catch the thief red-handed. But don’t go telling anyone of our plans. We don’t want to warn them off. I hate this kind of situation. Never in all my years have vegetables gone missing like this.” He turned to Farnsworth once more. “Come along.”

The questioning of the staff had proved very uneventful with no one claiming to know anything about the missing vegetables. Fergus Fedderfeeny had stressed the importance of being truthful but he wasn’t convinced that his talk had done the trick. Eventually he had had to let everyone return to their tasks and he was none the wiser about the missing vegetables.

“And after I brought in those cookies too,” Molly Fedderfeeny disappointedly said to Fergus.

“I know, my dear. I know.” He put a reassuring hand around her shoulders. “Farnsworth will get to the bottom of this. You’ll see.” Fergus turned to Farnsworth. “You know what you’re doing tonight? No problems?”

“Nope,” answered Farnsworth. “No problems.”

“Right then. We’ll be off. Everything is locked up and closed for the evening. We’ll leave you to it. I’ll get a report tomorrow morning.”

“Yep, yep.” Farnsworth watched as Mr. and Mrs. Fedderfeeny left the restaurant and locked the door behind them. Suddenly he was all alone in the dark and empty restaurant.

Farnsworth came to his senses suddenly as a mysterious noise reached his ears from somewhere close by. He had been dozing on a chair in the kitchen. Trying not to make a sound, he got to his feet and listened. Yep, there it was again. Definitely a noise from somewhere close by. Possibly the pie room. He gripped the large broom that he had been carrying for protection and slowly crept in the dark towards the pie room, trying to remember exactly where everything was so as not to trip over and alert anyone to his presence. Finally he reached the half-open door of the pie room and he stopped once more to listen. Swish, swoosh, rustle. It was the sort of a sound that Farnsworth imagined a very large mouse would make. “Oh dear,” he muttered under his breath.

Carefully pulling the flashlight from his pocket, Farnsworth maneuvered it around so that it was facing the right way. He pointed it at where he thought the sound was and pressed the button to turn it on. A beam of light shone out, illuminating a shape in the middle of the pie room. Farnsworth screamed and dropped the flashlight.

Desperately Farnsworth fumbled around in the dark to retrieve the flashlight, which had gone out as it hit the floor. In the distance he could hear the sound of the thing he had illuminated moving towards him. He dropped to his knees and moved his hands quicker, all the time trying to sense exactly where that thing was. He’d only caught a glimpse but it hadn’t looked like a dummy. Maybe a child? No, definitely not even a child, although it had been about the same size as a child. It had looked sort of blue in color and had a really odd looking face. Farnsworth’s hands continued searching the floor. Whatever was in the room with him was now getting very close. He could sense its movement towards him. Finally his hand found the flashlight and he picked it up trying desperately to press the button that would bring light to his world once more.

“Aaaarrrrgggghhhhh!” Farnsworth screamed as the light went on and illuminated the creature in the pie room once more.

“Yeep, yeep, yeep,” the creature screeched in reply, turning and running as it did.

Farnsworth desperately pointed the flashlight in all directions, trying to find the creature once more. “Where’d you go?” he asked out loud. “Come on out now. No need to hide.” He swept the pie room once more with the flashlight but he still couldn’t see what he was looking for. “My name’s Farnsworth,” he said stutteringly. “I won’t hurt ya.” It was really more for his benefit than for anyone else’s that he said this, but it helped. He got back up onto his feet again.

At last from the corner of his eye he thought he caught a movement and he swung the flashlight round towards it. The Mangler stared back at him, cold and unmoving. Farnsworth took a deep breath and tried to control himself. “I know you’re there. Come on out,” he bravely stuttered once more. From somewhere close by he heard another sound just as the last of his flashlight battery gave out and he was left all alone in the pitch black of the pie room with an alien creature.

5 - Duckets and Lies

“Monkey breath,” she spat. “Foul monkey breath. If you have nothing better to do than come in here and complain then I suggest you return to your home.”

The dummy looked taken aback. “I was only saying,” he started. “It’s just that last month you said that I would have great fortune. Since that time I’ve lost my home, lost my job and my pet dog has eaten three pairs of my best shoes. I don’t call that great fortune.”

“I call what I see, nothing else.”

“Well you had better start seeing better then hadn’t you? I want my money back and I want a new reading.”

“That is something I cannot do,” the old lady hissed, leaning forward in her chair letting the dim light of the shop catch her unkempt silvery hair. “All readings is final and they are what they are. If the lords of justice decide to change the readings that I make then there is nothing I can do. I suggest you look to the heavens instead and complain to them. Obviously you have displeased someone on high.” She grinned a toothless grin at the dummy. “Now depart before I bring a curse upon you.”

“I’m just saying,” the dummy reiterated. “It just seems to me that if you get things so wrong then you should owe me something.”

“My name is Shagoonda The Mystic. I am who I am. My readings are final. The matter is closed.” She waved her hands at the dummy in dismissal.

“I spit on you. I spit on your family,” the dummy finally said, turning and leaving the dingy shop. “May all your relatives grow warts and be unable to sit at the table to eat.”

Shagoonda raised her two hands out in front of her as the dummy left. “Sleep well, monkey breath. Sleep well in your bed tonight. Be afraid of the dark. Be very afraid.” She spat out the last few words of the empty curse at the now vacant shop.

It had been a bad few months for Shagoonda and her business. Ever since she had opened the shop it had seen nothing but unhappy customers just like the last one who had just left. It seemed that whatever she told dummies, they were never satisfied. If she told them they would have bad fortune they cursed her. If she told them they would have good fortune and they didn’t, then they would curse her too. The life of a fortune-teller was not a popular one. “I curse you too, Hamish,” she said under her breath. “You brought me here to this desolate place.”

Shagoonda got up from her chair to make some tea. As she moved around at the back of the shop she heard the rattle of someone else entering through the reeded entrance door. She poured the hot water into her cup and returned with it to the front of the shop. Two younger dummies were browsing through the knick-knacks she had on an upper shelf.

“Can I help you?” She enquired.

One of the dummies turned to face her. “Do you have anything that will bring good fortune to a new mother?”

Shagoonda smiled exposing the one rotten browning tooth she still had. “Of course, my children.” She put her tea down on her cloth covered fortune-telling table and walked over towards the two dummies. “Now tell me a little about the mother?”

The two dummies babbled at Shagoonda for a couple of minutes while she pretended to listen, nodding in all the right places. Finally they had finished.

“I see,” she said, trying to calculate exactly how much money the two would be willing to pay her. “Good fortune don’t come cheap you know.” One of the dummies just nodded. Shagoonda smiled. “Glad to see you understand,” she responded, turning towards the far side of the shop. “I think I have just what you need in here.” Shagoonda reached up to a partly hidden shelf and pulled down a large old box covered in dust. The two dummies drew closer to her as she put the box onto her table and blew away a layer of dust.

Inside the large box was an assortment of things, none of which looked particularly pleasant to the two dummies. Shagoonda sorted through for a moment before pulling out a smaller, wrapped, box. She carefully undid the paper that bound it and reached inside to separate its contents. “Here we are,” she said at last as she took something from within and laid it on the table in front of the two dummies. They each took a deep breath and one of them took an extra step back.

“Don’t be afraid. It won’t bite. Dried tail of rat is especially good for young mothers and bringing good fortune.”

The two dummies looked a little unsure. “Well,” one of them began.

“Do you want good fortune or not?” Shagoonda hissed.

“Of course,” replied the other.

“Then this is what is required. You must take the tail home and place it high on the mantle, where it can watch over the household. It will protect the family from all bad omens and unforeseen circumstances.”

The two dummies looked at each other and nodded. “It will do,” one said to the other. “How much is it?”

“My wonderful Shagoonda. How are you this bright and lovely morning?” Everyone stopped for a second and turned to look at the older dummy who had just entered the shop.

“I’ll be right with you, Hamish. I’m just concluding some business with these young dummies,” Shagoonda replied. Turning back to them she continued. “Fifty duckets for the tail. Another fifty for the blessing.”

“A hundred duckets?” The taller of the two dummies looked surprised.

“If you want the blessing too. Of course you can buy it without the blessing but it will only do half its job. The choice is yours. You both seem such sensible dummies.” Shagoonda gave them both her best customer smile and waited.

“Very well,” the taller dummy agreed after a moment. “A hundred duckets it is then.”

Shagoonda lifted the rat’s tail from the table and placed it across both her hands, letting the pointed end droop towards the table where it overflowed her grip. She raised her hands to the sky and spat upwards. “By the will of the mothers bless this gift and bring all who gaze upon it the knowledge of fortune.” Laying the tail back on the table, she took some paper from underneath and carefully wrapped it. Then she picked up the package in one hand and extended the open palm of the other towards the two dummies. One of them dug into his pocket and came out with a handful of coins. He counted out the hundred duckets and handed them over to Shagoonda. “Bless you both. May you have extended fortune for the week.” She smiled as she spoke, closing her fist around the money while giving the package with the other hand. “Now do be sure you come back to see me soon,” she shouted after the two dummies as they left the store.

“Still making a good business then?” Hamish asked Shagoonda once the two dummies were clear of the store.

“Some days are better than others.”

“I’m here for my money, Shagoonda. I can’t stay too long, I promised I’d stop by and see that brother of mine at his restaurant.”

“Money. That’s all you think about. Money.”

“We all have a job to do, Shagoonda. Just remember how come you’re here. Remember where you were and what you were doing before I brought you here to open up this shop.”

“I don’t need reminding,” Shagoonda hissed.

“Good.” Hamish took a seat at Shagoonda’s table. “Now, tell me, how has business been?”

Shagoonda spat at the floor. “I hate this place. I sit in this darkness all day, make up pleasantries that the customers want to hear and take a few duckets for my trouble. Then I give half my money to you. I don’t know if it’s worth it. I barely make enough to live on.”

“If only that were true, Shagoonda,” Hamish laughed. “If only that were true. I just saw you take a hundred duckets from two young dummies. That’s a lot of money.”

“Those visits are few and far between. Only just previously to them a customer was in here complaining about his fortune and wanting his money back. He even tried to place a curse on me.”

Hamish laughed. “We all have our tough days, Shagoonda. Anyway, I’m not here to argue with you. I need my money today. I have debts of my own to pay and investments to return.”

Shagoonda glared at Hamish and briefly disappeared into the back of the shop before returning with a cash box. “It’s all here. Don’t worry. I am not like you. I would never trick my family.”

“I have never tricked you, Shagoonda. Just remember that.”

“Call it what you want,” she hissed. “Anyway, there’s four hundred duckets in here.”

“Plus the fifty from your last sale?”

“The heavens protect me! Yes, have that too. Four hundred and fifty. Does that make you happy?”

“I just do as I need,” Hamish replied. “And one day when I can get my share of my brother’s business I will be content.”

“Dummies in town are saying that the pies in Fergus’ restaurant are tasting better than ever. I even heard that business is booming more than ever too,” Shagoonda whispered.

“I heard that as well. As I said, it’s time I paid that brother of mine a visit.”

“Well, don’t forget what we agreed. I only came here to Gwillville to help you get what is rightfully yours.”

“We both know exactly why you are here, Shagoonda. Don’t you forget it either. We both have secrets that neither wants exposing.” Hamish forced a smile at Shagoonda. “But until we execute our plan, no one gets between us.”

Visit http://PaulDorset.com to discover more about this book

GENRE: Young Adult Epic Fantasy

Xannu – The Prophecy

The Southern Lands (Book One)

A novel by Paul Dorset

1

“And it came to pass, he appeared before the Power Almighty and was found wanting. He had no excuses and was sent back from whence he came.” (Pika’Al 3:1, The Scriptures of Al’Zaneed)

“Damn!” It was probably the worst day of his life. Then again, it was probably the last day of his life. “Damn, damn, damn!”

“Grovel before me you miserable, cowardly, pathetic little worm. You are an excuse for a soldier. Grovel I say.”

Teern flattened himself further against the cold marble floor. All he could see were the shiny black tips of the man’s pointed shoes. Shoes that tapped impatiently against the wooden plinth on which the man was seated.

“And what is the excuse this time? Too busy stuffing yourself with food to watch out for enemies? Practicing make believe strokes with that fancy sword of yours? Dreaming of princesses and fairy tale castles?”

Teern heaved his shoulders, thought about opening his mouth, but finally went on staring at the shiny shoes.

“Well?” The deep booming voice was growing very impatient. “If I ask you a question, I expect an answer. You are nothing. Nothing. You are not even worthy to be here before my feet. Yet I permit it. Now answer me. I command you.”

“I, I, that is, I, well, you see,” Teern said, his voice quivering with fear. “I apologize Sir. Apologize most absolutely. I fought bravely, but there were too many. Too many to…”

“Shut up! Quiet! I don’t want your pathetic excuses. I just want to know the facts. This is the three hundred and thirty-fifth time you have been here in front of me. Three hundred and thirty-five times. Do you hear me? You must be the most inept soldier in the history of time itself. If it weren’t for the fact that you are a necessary part of the prophecy, I would have you dispatched to the Broken Mountains. There to serve out your days fighting the Kriks. To live in abject poverty, praying each and every day for deliverance from your fate.”

A shiver fought its way down Teern’s spine and he cringed with despair. Three hundred and thirty-five times. Wow. Yes, surely he must be the most inept soldier of all time. But he had tried. He had tried so hard. “I beg your forgiveness, oh Mighty One. I lay myself before you as a humble servant, a mere serf in your presence, not even worthy to kiss your shoes.” Those shiny shoes that he had come to so despise over the years. “Please, send me to the Broken Mountains, to live in poverty. My fate is to fight Kriks every day. I know I deserve this, I know.”

“Oh, shut up and let me think!” The great man stroked his long silver beard with ancient gnarled fingers, sitting erect in his chair. You could even have called it a throne. It had been built to last millennium upon millennium. As it had. It was the simplest of designs, four straight legs, a seat of the plainest oak, a back carved as one solid piece, and arms that were encrusted with jewels and inlaid with gold. On the hard seat was a lavish cushion, filled with the softest goose down, and decorated with simple tassels. The great man himself looked old. Very old. His face was weathered; his eyes were so deeply inset into their sockets you could hardly see them. They were only visible because they shone so brightly. A light of blue that radiated from his face; a radiance that almost blinded you if you looked directly at it. But the greatest feature was surely his beard. It reached almost to the floor, tapering as it did until it reached a point, pure shiny silver all the way. The man’s mouth showed no hint of the malice his voice had displayed. He just smiled, gently. It was the face of a very old, wise man. But Teern knew this was the face of the actual Power Almighty. He that had no name; the Creator, the Ultimate. Called by so many different names in the different lands he had traveled. But all signifying the one, same person. The man that Teern was prostrate in front of.

The battle had unfolded so quickly. Teern remembered the trumpet calls, the banners, and the cries. It had been a bright sunny spring morning. The dew was still on the ground when he had awoken and got dressed. Mintu had warned him that the Outlanders from across the Broken Mountains, from the unholy place named ‘The Unforgiving’, were massing beneath them in the valley, ready to attack the city of Treloon once more at first light. Mintu’s army was small, but strong. A well trained legion of men clad in light leather body armor, each with shield and sword. The shields all bore the mark of the two-headed dragon, wrapped around a castle tower, the motif of the King’s guard of Triluika. Over three thousand of the best soldiers the land had, ready to repel the Outlanders who came to destroy the city and take whatever captives they could. Teern was just a hired hand in this battle. Of course he was a soldier, a trained soldier at that, but he was not truly one of the King’s men. He was a mercenary, a soldier who fought with an army for reward of money.

He had come across Mintu in the Castle Inn, a small hostelry in Treloon where he had been staying these past few weeks. Mintu was scouting for help and had spotted Teern’s fine sword laid against the wall, next to the table where he was seated. Teern had needed the money. He had used nearly all he had, and of course fighting in the King’s army meant payment in advance. Who was to know if you would return from battle or not? After a brief conversation, the deal was done. Fifty gold marks for a month of service. And so he had checked out of the inn and made his way with Mintu to where the rest of the army was based. That had been the day before yesterday.

After getting dressed, Teern quickly ate some hot gruel that had been prepared for breakfast and made his way through the scrubland to his position, ready for the attack. He was a fine figure of a soldier, solidly built, even muscular, six feet two inches tall with green eyes and long ginger hair tied into a braid. He was only eighteen years old but that was a very deceptive statement. He knew something that no one else on that battlefield knew. If they even suspected it he would probably be imprisoned or left out for the dogs to eat. After all, it was this thing that had caused him so many problems and brought him before the Power Almighty so many times. Yes, he was cursed all right. But right now that was not the important thing. Now he just had to concentrate on the battle ahead. He glanced down at his sword. It was not an ordinary sword. It had attracted comments many times, several times when they were not welcome. The sword had the mark of the High Priests of KA’Tor, and the hilt was carved with a winged cobra. He had never seen another similar and he had had it for a very long time. He could never be without it, for this was his sword.

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