The Disposable Read online

  That moment of realisation was all he had time for before the rocky river bottom hurtled up to meet him and knocked him into darkness.

  * * *

  Clunny’s voice, cutting through the darkness with ruthless precision, rolling over the words he had hurled across the stable yard, over and over again: You’ve managed to upset everything and everyone, bully for you, aren’t you clever? Change the world? There’s nothing wrong with it! So we do ignore the Taskmaster, what then? What do we do with ourselves? What’s the point? You want to write the world to your tune, do you? You bang on about the Taskmaster bossing us around, but if you want to make our world over without our say-so, how does that make you any different? Some of us are quite happy to have the world the way it is! And if it’s a choice between trusting the all-powerful Taskmaster who’s looked after us for generations or relying on you to run the world, I know where my money’s going.…

  Enough is enough. It’s time to stop.

  Fodder opened his eyes.

  “…how many times do I have to apologise? I didn’t land on him on purpose!”

  Ah. That explained the headache then.

  Groaning softly, he reached up and fingered his forehead gently, probing at the diminishing scar that marked the site of what had apparently been a very nasty head wound. He’d obviously been out for a while for it to have healed so well.

  The facts that it was dark and he was dry were also strong indications that a fair amount of time had passed. But how much time? Enough time to be captured and dragged off to a cell? Enough time for it all to be ruined?

  And would that be for the best?

  “Oh! Fodder!” Flirt’s pale face, framed by her tangle of dark curls, filled his vision, slightly fuzzy-edged as she blocked out the pale light of the moon overhead.

  The moon. He was outdoors, then. No torture chamber, no prison cell. The relief at that and at having seen Flirt’s face and heard Shoulders’s voice was profound. They hadn’t been spotted; they hadn’t been caught.

  “How’s your head?”

  “Tender,” Fodder admitted as his sight stabilised. It was difficult to see clearly in the darkness, but he could make out rocky walls stretching up towards the narrow crack of stars that arched across the sky above. “What happened? Is everyone all right?”

  Flirt’s brow creased, a shadow against her skin. “Oh, it worked like a charm, your plan. Right up until Shoulders sat on your head and cracked your skull.”

  “I couldn’t help it!” Shoulders’s scraggly face thrust into his line of sight. “I was still wearing chain mail! I just sank! And because I leaped right after you, you happened to be underneath me! I’m sorry, mate, but I had the princess in one hand, and I was trying to get out of my armour with the other. I couldn’t exactly steer!”

  “Don’t worry about it. No harm done.” Fodder smiled slightly as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “It’s healing quickly. The headache’ll be gone by morning.” He squinted against the darkness. “Where are we?”

  An odd, disconcerted expression flickered across Flirt’s face. “It’s sort of a crevice,” she hedged awkwardly. “It’s off the Traversable Gorge. It’s well hidden.”

  The Traversable Gorge. Fodder blinked. Of course he knew it, the low, rocky gorge that spat out the Tumbling River onto the Noble Plains. But that was upstream by more than a mile, back up into the foothills of the Least Savage Mountains and in plain view of the road all the way.

  There was no logical conclusion. But Fodder groped towards one the best he could. “You swam upstream?” he managed. “Dragging me and the princess? How?”

  Flirt pursed her lips. “We didn’t swim, exactly.…”

  Fodder couldn’t help but frown. “Then how…?”

  “I gave them a lift.”

  In a Narrative situation, Fodder was sure, the sudden shock of a new voice in a perilous situation would have had him leap to his feet in a smooth, fluid instant, his sword whipping out of its scabbard as he wheeled to face the potential threat. As it was, however, his feet and hands scrabbled in the loose gravel that lay scattered over the rocky surface, skidded away from him, and sent him tumbling down onto his backside before he’d got halfway to his knees.

  “It’s all right!” Flirt’s face thrust into his line of sight once more, her hands gentle on his shoulders as she eased him up to a more stable sitting position. “If he was going to dump us in it, he’d have done it by now, wouldn’t he? He was hiding under the bridge in his boat, keeping out of the way of The Narrative when he saw us dive for it. But he didn’t shout out; he waited until everyone had barrelled past after the carriage and then helped us into his boat. He hid us under his kit and took us upstream.”

  “But…”

  That was all the coherence that Fodder could manage. He could see the new arrival now, washed in the glow of the small taper he had struck to light his pipe.

  The familiar figure matched the familiar nasal voice, his lank, dark hair as greasy as ever, and his sharp, sallow features cast strangely in the pale light as he lounged against the nearby rock wall. Pleasance was propped up beside him, her tiara apparently lost to the river, her eyes glaring as her nose registered the vaguely offensive aroma from the strong mash of lit tobacco. He grinned at her expression, his teeth ever crooked as he took a cheery puff and leaned out to rest his elbow firmly on her head. The look of utter outrage that washed over her face could have shattered glass at thirty paces.

  Fodder knew him. He’d lurked in his posse of brutes on more than one occasion.

  It was Cringe. The Dark Henchman. The Narrative’s hands-on doer of evil, facilitator of his boss’s dark deeds, a thorn in the side of the Merry Band, and one of the most consistently longstanding Principals in the history of their world. Twelve Quests and twelve ironic deaths later, he was a man who was ever in demand for his ability to lurk with feeling, spit insults at the good guys, and run like a coward as the situation required of him. He was well-respected, well-liked, and well-admired throughout the land as a thoroughgoing professional and a safe pair of hands.

  He had nothing to gain from Fodder’s plans. Indeed, he had an awful lot to lose.

  As did others. Fodder hadn’t thought of that. Why hadn’t he thought?

  Because he was selfish. Just like Clunny had said. And his selfishness had dragged Flirt and Shoulders along in this impossible, ridiculous…

  There was nowhere to run to. Nowhere to hide. No way to succeed. All this disruption, all this pain for nothing.…

  A small, deep-sunk pair of eyes fixed upon him. Cringe’s gaze was speculative as he looked the Disposable over. “You all right then, Fodder?” he asked, his voice the casual lilt he used when he wasn’t required to spit, snarl, or swear in every other breath. “It’s been a while. Got to be two, three Quests since we worked together?”

  “The Vile Rose,” Fodder acknowledged. “I was in your brute squad when you ambushed the Merry Band in the Rambling Woods.”

  “Oh, yeah. Urk gave you a ginger beard.”

  “Yep. It itched like a bugger.”

  “And it smelled too,” Cringe pointed out. “I always wondered whether Urk grew it fresh or whether he borrowed it from someone else.”

  “I think it was borrowed. I don’t think a fresh one would have had fleas.” His chin had been sore for weeks after that particular mission. Fodder had vowed from that moment on never to don a fake beard again if he could help it.

  “Got you a description, though.” Cringe shrugged as he chewed pensively on his pipe. His stare remained uncomfortably thoughtful. “Can’t argue with that.”

  That was all Fodder’d wanted back then. A description. He’d been so happy to make it into Narrative in that small, distinctive way, set apart from his fellows by a feature that wasn’t even his.

  And he had been happy, in those days, for those times. When had that stopped being enough? Why had it?

  And why the heck was he dancing around with this faux-casual conversation when all
he wanted to say was, What the hell are you doing helping us out? Where did you come from? Why are you here?

  The words lurked at the edge of his lips, a can of worms pleading to be opened. But then he’d have to explain their…cause.

  Some cause. Selfishness was more like it. Selfish personal obsession…

  Cringe’s grin reappeared somewhat abruptly as he blew a series of pale smoke rings out into the quiet of the night. “Fodder, are you going to argue with that or what? I haven’t got all night, you know.”

  Fodder blinked sharply. “Pardon?”

  “You!” Cringe waved his pipe absently through the dark air, leaving a faint trail of glowing light against the blackness as he nestled his arm more comfortably onto the princess’s nest of curls. “The whole time since I dragged you out of the river with your head split open, your friends have been telling me about this great and glorious crusade that you started by defying The Narrative—and that as soon as you were awake, you’d make me see that it’s the best thing for everyone if I help you out rather than washing my hands of you and tossing you back to Strut and Thud.” His lips twisted humorously as he grinned again—his grin abrupt, unexpected, unnatural on a face handpicked to be sinister. “I’ve rather been looking forward to it. And what do I get? Ponderings on the ginger-bearded brute. I’ve never been so let down.”

  Great. That was all he needed, his friends building him up. Fodder was certain that they’d meant well, but with doubts cascading through his mind like a spring melt waterfall, now was not the time for preaching to converts. Not when he was starting to wonder if he should be converting at all…

  Something Cringe had said tagged abruptly against his thoughts. “Wait. You pulled me out of the river?”

  “I did indeed.” The grin was back again, a flash of yellowed teeth in the darkness. “There I am, pottering along in my boat under that bridge, and suddenly I find myself surrounded by damp rebels and a soggy princess.” His expression was gleeful. “It was the funniest sight I’ve seen in Quests.”

  Fodder did not feel greatly enlightened. “Why were you under the bridge in the first place?”

  Cringe gave an easy shrug. “Easiest way downstream, isn’t it? I’m due a big confrontation down in Salty Port…or I was.” He winked with a level of cheer that Fodder found astonishing. “I’d rather cruise down the river than walk, and I reckoned The Narrative would be heading for the Magnificent City by now and the way’d be clear. That is, until I got a message from Hauteur. You know him?”

  Fodder shook his head. He’d never had any direct dealings with the Officious Courtier in charge of the senior figures of Darkness, although he had on occasion seen him around.

  Cringe shrugged again. “No matter. Well, Hauteur told me that there were these crazy Disposables down near Humble Village who’d made a mess of the plot and that I was to hang around at the Gallows junction and await further instructions. I think they were hoping I’d be able to get involved in incompetently losing the princess to the Merry Band. After all, you two were dressed up as men of Sleiss when you decided to play with The Narrative, and I am supposed to be Lord Sleiss’s illegitimate brother.” He chuckled, a surprisingly friendly sound out of a voice designed to be unpleasantly creepy. “And so there I was, just fishing and minding my own business, when I realised that The Narrative was coming at me at speed from the Rambling Woods. Since the bridge was the only cover, I paddled my boat underneath and hoped I wouldn’t get noticed. And then all of a sudden, it’s raining Disposables.” He laughed again, more loudly. “Oh, you should have seen your friends’ faces when they saw me!”

  “You should have seen them when he didn’t turn us in!” Flirt added fervently as she absentmindedly handed Fodder a flask of water. He took a sizable swig and handed it back, wishing in the quiet of his mind that she had thought to pack more ale. “We were waiting for him to draw in The Narrative, but he let it pass without a word. And then, when Strut and Thud rode over in pursuit a couple of minutes later, we were dreading it all over again, but he just sat there, smoking his pipe and grinning at us! We didn’t know what to think, did we? And when he reached out, casual as you like, and offered us a lift…”

  “It was only polite.” Cringe tapped his pipe cheerfully against the rock wall beside his head, scattering drifts of ash down over Pleasance’s tangled curls. “You were bobbing there with your head cracked open and your friends were floundering around looking like drowned puppies trying to keep you afloat and stop this sodden little nuisance from kicking up a noisy splash.” He patted the glowering Pleasance on the head in a phenomenally patronising manner. “Leaving you there would have been like kicking a basket of kittens. Unnecessary cruelty.”

  “So that’s why you hauled us all the way upstream to a hiding place? Because you felt sorry for us?” Fodder wasn’t entirely certain whether he should feel grateful or insulted.

  “I wouldn’t put it like that.” Cringe squinted thoughtfully towards the sky. “It’s more…” He frowned. “I’ve been in this game for a while, and the one thing I know for sure is that this life can be damnably repetitive. It’s all lurk, spit, sneer, die, lurk, spit, sneer, die—and, to be frank, after twelve Quests of more of the same, I’m getting bloody bored. I like it better when things are interesting, and you lot are the most interesting thing that’s happened around here for a long time. I’ve never seen a Quest wander this far off plan before, and no one has the faintest idea what’s going to happen next. This world’s never seen anything like it. And that’s fantastic.” He laughed again. “And that’s why I don’t want to see you get kicked down before you’ve really got started. I want to watch where this thing goes.” His gaze narrowed once more, his deep-sunk eyes boring with startling sharpness into Fodder’s face. “That’s why it’s so annoying that the Taskmaster is cheating. Planting in a Disposable! Damned underhanded if you ask me.”

  Fodder felt a strange jolt of shock, as though Cringe’s boring eyes had clubbed him from behind. “Planting? What do you mean by that?”

  Cringe’s eyes widened in surprise. “You haven’t heard of it?”

  “I’ve heard it mentioned.” Flirt ventured into the resulting silence. “The last time the Merry Band stopped over at the Archetypal Inn, I listened in on Harridan telling Clank about something The Narrative had planted in her backstory that they needed to set up. But I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about.”

  Cringe shook his head, his dark expression almost matching the kind he wore In Narrative. “Cheating,” he reiterated irritably. “I was sure you wouldn’t have experienced it, but I didn’t know you’d never heard of it.” He pulled a face. “Have any of you ever appeared in The Narrative as the same character twice? Gone out and come back in again as the same person?”

  Fodder and Shoulders shook their heads as one. It was rare that they survived their scenes, let alone came around for a repeat performance. Flirt pursed her lips. “Just once, I think. I served the Merry Band one night and let them out again in the morning. It was hardly much of a character, though. I don’t think I said much more than yes sire, no sire, can I get you a drink, my lords?”

  Cringe gazed at her thoughtfully. “Was it easier the second time? In the morning?”

  Flirt shrugged. “All I did was bob a curtsey and unlock the door. Can’t say that I noticed.”

  “Ah, well.” Cringe pulled a face as he patted the princess on the head once more. Pleasance had apparently run out of steam with her non-stop fury and was wearing an expression of martyred resignation. “She’ll have been told about this. Anyone who plays a character with any regularity will have. For those who spend most of the Quest immersed in The Narrative, it’s practically a way of life. You see, if you’ve got a recurring character, The Narrative doesn’t just affect you when you’re up to your eyeballs in it. It gets in your head in between scenes as well.” One thin eyebrow arched upwards. “I’m guessing The Narrative got a touch on you while you were running from it?”

  Fo
dder nodded, his mind whirling, his mouth hanging open with blank horror. Surely, that couldn’t be right! It wasn’t fair!

  Cringe grimaced. “Thought so. You had that faraway look about you, that look you see in recurring Principals when they’re mulling over their character before The Narrative arrives. You see, The Narrative has a way of dropping what it wants you to do into your head—you’ll know about that. But if you’re likely to pop up again, it also drops the knowledge of that character into your head as well for you to study and utilise later. It plants it there so it can grow. It helps make the character you’re playing automatic, effortless, and consistent; and the more you appear, the easier it gets. And it can do that to you now, Fodder. You’ve appeared in The Narrative twice as the same soldier. You’re fair game.”

  Cringe pulled his pipe from the corner of his mouth and emptied it irritably onto the floor. “Most first-time Principals are warned about this, told that it’ll happen so they don’t mix up their character thoughts with their own. But for someone who didn’t know what was happening…well, it’d be easy to let a character work itself into your brain and take control of your behaviour. And I’m assuming from the lack of persuasion you’ve thrown at me thus far that your new character isn’t in favour of what you’re doing.” He shook his head yet again. “It’s just cheating,” he exclaimed for the third time. “It’s not on, not at all. You people deserve a fair chance.”

  Fodder stared at Cringe, his words resonating with horrible clarity. Could it be? He’d been doubting so much, considering giving up, believing the cause to be lost and his actions to be selfish, but had they really been his thoughts at all or what the Taskmaster wanted him to think? Clunny’s words had lodged like a festering sore, itching at him, whispering, assailing him in the darkness of unconsciousness—who am I to make such a decision for everyone else? Am I being selfish by running around trying to change the entire world without asking the rest of the people who have to live in it what they think? Why should the whole world listen to the ideas of someone so Ordinary?