FEATURE: Butterfly Street Blues pt.7

by Juno Lister

   I sat comfortably in my seat. The engines of the Great Yarn airship were actually quite quiet and I wondered as I leaned my head back into the head rest if I'd sleep for the 5 hour journey to San Pedro. The Good Yarn airship cabin is like a train carriage in the air. Everything is nailed to the floor. Seats, tables even the lamp on the table. The evening sun shone in on the green baize seats and caught the brass on said lamps and reflected pools of light on the wood panelling on the walls. I pulled back the green curtains and hooked it back to reveal that the ground was suddenly starting to move away from us. I could feel the ship climbing. The cabin was full; to the left of me was a rather small man with floppy greasy black hair. He could only be in his 20s he wore a smart suit and round black rimmed glasses. He was reading The Times of San Pedro in San Pedrian. His walking stick was propped against his seat. I remember thinking it unusual for such a young man to possess a walking stick but gave it no further thought.  Opposite me were a couple who looked as if they were newlyweds off on honeymoon to San Pedro. It has become a popular destination for holiday makers since The Good Yarn has been operating. Across the way were a family, the children’s chatter and excitement fell silent as the ship's bard came down the aisle mandolin in hands singing about the legend of the Great San Pedro warrior Adrianu Quick-Axe and his adventures. Our cabin stewardesses were both San Pedrian girls our particular stewardess was called Maria, very pleasant dark haired girl dressed in the Great Yarn green uniform who brought me an ice cold glass of water at my request. She smiled sweetly as she left my table swerving gracefully out of the way of the bards flailing arms as he plied his trade.

   The Great Yarn Airships always have a bard on board. Dressed in a blue skull cap and a black flowing cape this one walked up and down the cabin telling tales and singing songs. Colleagues of mine have spoken of how annoying these San Pedrian bards are but this one was quite amusing his long grey goatee beard flapping around as he turned, his eyes popping out of his face as he executed  his words with deliberation. He made the children laugh and cry. The adults listened as intently as the children. His voice droned on in my mind in a soothing kind of way and as I looked at the failing light outside and the white clouds pass by the window, I dropped off into a well earned sleep. I'd only been a sleep about twenty minutes when I was shaken gently by a hand reaching over the gentlemen next to me. It was the stewardess in a deep strange San Pedrian accent saying

     "Mr. Lister can you come wid me please"

   I thought what a shame such a nice girl should have such a deep voice then my bleary eyes cleared and the stewardess wasn't Maria at all but in fact Guard Isaac Hunt-Fawshaw dressed as a woman in a very ill fitting uniform and badly put on makeup. I was just about to ask that question that needed asking when he dragged me out of my seat over the bloke with the walking stick next to me and frog marched me down the aisle smiling at other passengers trying to make it as inconspicuous as can be when you have a burly guard dressed as a woman dragging a passenger down the cabin. He opened the toilet door and we both crammed into the little space.

     "What I the heavens are you doing man?" I shouted at him …he put his hand over my mouth and said “Shhhhhh! you'll blow my cover"

   He explained that as he was waving goodbye to me he noticed that well known People's Front of San Pedro activist  Toni il-Bomba  the young man with the walking stick was sat next to me. He tried to draw my attention to him  but I didn't understand what he was trying to tell me. He then raced around the back of the ship jumped into the luggage compartment and stowed onboard, found a uniform so he could keep an eye on me as he felt that I was a target for assassination in retribution for  Rikardu l-Irqieq's  murder and my impending story documenting it. He told me there was nothing to worry about. I did query that Bomba means  Bomb in San Pedrian Hunt-Fawshaw stated I was worrying too much as Toni only ever bombed trains. Hoping he hadn't had a change of target I listened to Hunt-Fawshaw as he told me.

     "Now return to your seat act like nothing has happened and if you see Toni's walking stick moving be careful as it contains a sword inside" I gulped .

   With this there was a knock at the door I opened it and there stood another passenger desperate to go to the toilet. He looked at us in disbelief. He had just caught a  stewardess with a bloke in the men’s toilet. I hurried down the cabin very embarrassed . I looked back and the male quickly stepped into the cubicle and shut the door behind him . I didn't see Hunt-Fawshaw come out …I thought….…I stood in the aisle thinking that this wasn't good, I toyed with going back to the door then ….it flew off its hinges and landed in the aisle ,the passenger  came  flying  backwards to the floor. Hunt-Fawshaw  then emerged , picking up the bloke by his neck and started shouting

     "You ever touch a City guards bits again I’ll……….." his voice tailed off as he realized the Bard had stopped playing, the stewardesses were stood staring and the whole carriage were turned looking at him in amazement. Well almost everyone. From behind me I heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed. Hunt-Fawshaw's face turned from one of embarrassment to horror as he started running towards me I turned to see what was behind me. Toni Il-bomba was standing there the walking stick cover on the floor and a short thin sword in his hand  he removed his glasses and lunged forward with the sword like a lance shouting  "Freedom for San Pedro !" at the top of his voice. I stepped sideways just as Hunt-Fawshaw launched the cakes trolley down the aisle. Toni collided into the trolley and started travelling backwards on it like being dragged by a bolting horse. The bard was bowled over by Toni on the trolley his mandolin flying into the air and landing neck down in an old man’s soup splashing him. The trolley with Toni and the bard careered into a door at the end of the cabin and disappeared into the room it went into. Hunt-Fawshaw ran past me and launched himself into the room. I ran behind him and found myself in the cockpit with a rather bemused pilot with a bard sat on his lap …an assassin with an upturned cake trolley on his chest sparko on the floor with a  Victoria sponge perched on his head and a Valroma city guard riding the trolley like a surf board. Hunt-Fawshaw had Toni's sword in his hand and was now pushing the trolley aside. He lifted the sword back as if he was going to dig with a shovel. Toni was out cold. Hunt-Fawshaw threw away the sword  grabbed Toni il-Bomba  and dragged his knocked out body through the cabin to the rear stairs that lead to the engine room. He stepped down the ladder  and  then Toni's body disappeared down the hole too. Hunt-Fawshaw reappeared about ten minutes later back in his uniform.

     "Where was Toni?" I asked.  Hunt-Fawshaw  smiled at me and said

     " I've left him with the engine room staff they don't get much entertainment down there …apparently he's gone down like a bomb!"

   I raced to the window and in the moonlight I could just make out a figure falling through the clouds…and a walking stick following close behind!

NEWS: Vincenzu Critical

by Juno Lister

   Large Scale condemnation has rained down on Zhufburg bloodbowl team and The Imperial Purples after they seriously injured San Pedro Rams favourite blitzer Vincenzu. The incident took place at the final whistle of last night’s Premiership match at San Pedro where the purples were comfortable winners 0-2.

Vincenzu son of newly Elected Mayor of San Pedro, Karmenu Difsud-Conbici was mauled unnecessarily at the final whistle putting his bloodbowl career in jeopardy as he suffered horrific injuries including a shattered collar bone and shattered knee. We spoke with The San Pedrian premiere this morning as he left his son’s hospital bed.

     “Eh, he is very injured in terrible pain, it happens in bloodbowl he knows de dangers but it didn’t have to happen like dis. The comments from de Purples coach are insulting eh? “ when asked would this effect Zhufburg /San Pedrian relations  he said “ No, we do not have a relationship wid dees Dwarves so it won’t effect anyting...I will certainly not want anyting to do with zhufburg if dey do not condemn what happened to my son”

   We have also had word from the Northern provinces that the Nordic Dwarves from the City of Heimdalha are outraged that their more southern cousins have shamed the Dwarf name and their bloodbowl team the Hammers have challenged the Purples to a King’s Kup eliminator. No word from our Capital City regarding this sporting incident that is rapidly turning into a political one. Purples coach Usuul Hammerstein was bullish this morning when accepting the Hammers challenge.

     “Are you sure?  Huu haaa !!! AAArrrrrrrghhhhhhhhh there’s going to be some serious head butting; did you see the state of the Eisienport Pirates after they played us?”

   One thing’s for sure, this story is going to run and run.

NEWS: Ogrin or Gobre?

   Congratulations go to a happy couple on the birth of their baby  in the small village of Tertsenova not far from the Ostburg borders.

   What’s unusual about that I here you all ask? Well the mother is a goblin and the father an ogre. The happy couple,  Ms Hellova Bigasch and Mr Hawz Inotsplitzengobz, met about two years ago at a function to improve ogre and goblin relations. It was love at first sight . The baby who they have named  Kraksplitz was born last night weighing in at 5 stone which is a modern miracle considering that Ms Bigasch only weighed three stone before she was pregnant. Mother and baby were doing fine.

   A spokesperson for the Goblin Ogre Relations League said last night

     “we are delighted although somewhat gobsmacked about this occurrence we only wanted ogres to stop treading on goblins for fun in our high streets!“

FEATURE: Butterfly Street Blues pt.6

by Juno Lister
   Guard Hunt-Fawshaw had returned to the guard room at the barracks and washed his bloody hands. It was as if he'd just done a menial task like putting the bin out or cleaned up after the barracks' cat, although looking at Fluffy and his dislike for any beast other than a cat that is no menial task either. Hunt-Fawshaw however had carried out his orders to the letter. Slim Rick was a member of the "terrorist" group The People's Front of San Pedro. In any Guard's eyes there is only one thing to stop such an organisation, kill its members. As I watched the blood run away with the water into the metal grate under the tap I realised that I had been with Guard Hunt-Fawshaw when he acted as judge, jury and executioner. I was going to San Pedro that night on an overnight Good Yarn Airship to cover the Premiership Bloodbowl match between The Rams and The Imperial Purples the next evening. I was a little worried about how I was going to report that incident for fear of repercussion. I'd soon forgotten the incident. We were soon out and about again; we set off along Butterfly Street towards the docks, now in full morning swing Butterfly Street pulsated like a giant heart within Valroma City. Pumping, circulating “life” blood and all that’s good and bad with it. The Guards are spewed out with the rest of that “blood”, but they act as the antibodies, the thing that keeps us safe.
   The rest of the shift was a little uneventful. As you reach the end of Butterfly Street the cool breeze of River Erm breaks the somewhat claustrophobic closeness of The Street and as you suck the air in you can smell….fish! Valroma’s fishermen were back in from the night’s catch, countless boats were moored against the stone walls that separate the estuary from the river side road. It was a bright sunny morning and I wondered why people travel to the coast when they can look at the splendour of the Erm …..Then I smelt the fish again and I reminded myself why. This was a working river that leads out onto The Big Pond. Although there is an esplanade type wall and road it was all about the fishing industry here really. We walked alongside the boats as they off loaded their catch. I looked on to one boat and a stereo typical fisherman dressed in Mac and rain-hat and boots was waving to us from the deck. Sporting a snow white beard and leather face in which was stuffed a smoking pipe. He moved closer to us and leaned over the side of his boat. This old boy was a hardened sea dog I made a point I would sit beside him in the Goat and Troll quay side Pub by Gruff’s Bridge and write down his old tales of life on the Big Pond. He was about to say something when he leaned over the side and vomited into the water.
     “Captain Atsey still not found your sea legs? “ Hunt-Fawshaw shouted to the green faced old sea dog.
     “Blasted job, quite happy selling carts …blurggggghh” He let off another load of carrot filled puke. You see not all is what it seems. Up to a month before Captain Hugh Atsey was a used cart sales merchant. He was doing a roaring trade until a competitor Mrs Dot Com opened a large store called ‘We Buy Any Cart’ and priced him out of the market. So he took over his ill brother-in-law’s fishing boat and to be honest he spends most the time relieving his stomach of its contents over the side. We tried to have a conversation but the vomiting just got in the way…literally.
   I cleaned my boots and we walked along the Quay to Roland Stream the extremity of the beat which borders with the Darby Lane’s Garrison area. This stream runs under the city and out into the Erm. There is an old wooden bridge that traverses the stream which is a hang-out for young Skaven who occasionally clash with drunks coming out of the Goat and Troll pub that is on the other side of the bridge. It was as we reached the bridge that Hunt-Fawshaw's eyes lit up. Staggering along the bridge which was no more than 20 yards long was a well known tramp swaying to and fro in a drunken stupor.
     "Your next arrest Isaac?" I said inquisitively.
     "No way  ...that’s Mr Waschtinschitz…..its tramp tennis time"
   I was confused. Here was a drunk and incapable tramp by the name of Waschtinshitz walking towards Hunt-Fawshaw. He was obviously an Ostburg ex-pat. He wore dirty lederhosen and long socks and sandals. He had dirty unkempt grey hair and beard and had a bottle of beer in his hand as he tried to cross the bridge. I noticed that the bridge had seen better days, it has long been a bone of contention for the Darby Lane Residents Association and the Butterfly Street District Council, each of them claiming that the other had responsibility for its upkeep. It had several gaps in the railings and in places was quite rickety. This fellow’s journey across wasn't without peril. Across the bridge on the other side I saw two guards with white scarves looking as excited as Hunt-Fawshaw, oh no! I thought more Darby Lane Butterfly Street rivalry. As Waschtinschitz got close that burning question had to be asked ….." What's tramp tennis?"
   Hunt-Fawshaw looked at me smiled and winked”Watch and you will learn"
   Waschtinschitz was close now, he smelt of cabbage urine and dog sick. Hunt-Fawshaw marched up to him and said " Now then Didier! You know you will get slung in the cells if you carry on in this state but as I like you I'll tell you that the Darby Lane lot are short in numbers on the ground so you'd have a better chance that side of the bridge so off you go " with this he span Didier Waschtinschitz around and he started weaving back over the bridge. 
     "Zank you Guard!” He managed to utter as he set off across the bridge.
   We watched his journey over, narrowly missing falling through the railings. As he reached the other side the Darby Lane guards could clearly be heard to shout at him to go back over to The Butterfly Street side otherwise they were going to arrest him. He was spun around and he again started his journey back across.
     "Darn" Hunt-Fawshaw shouted it was now time for getting dirty. Waschtinschitz was nearly back with us when Hunt -Fawshaw walked up to him and said something in his ear. Waschtinschitz eyes flew open span around and walked as fast as he could towards the Darby Lane side..."I threatened to give him a bath” Hunt-Fawshaw chuckled;
   The tramp had reached The Darby Lane guards again. They had actually managed to get him to turn around and back he came …..This time with two bottles of beer in his hands. We thought Waschtinschitz was going to make it then to Hunt-Fawshaw's glee he tripped and fell toppling to the floor. He rolled and teetered on the edge of the bridge near a gap in the railings, one more movement and he'd splash into the water below.
   Hunt-Fawshaw rather concerned told me  "If he lays where he is I'll have to arrest him, so I lose, if he rolls into the water he's out, I win and they have to fish out the body" ….then Waschtinschitz  rolled one more time and with a groan rolled off the bridge, he toppled into the water. Hunt-Fawshaw jumped and punched the air, the Darby Lane boys looked unhappy. I looked over the bridge and there laying on the bottom of a very shallow stream was Didier Waschtinschitz still clutching his beloved beer bottles…..We walked off with Hunt-Fawshaw chattering away about how he beat Darby Lane again. Over my shoulder I could see the Darby Lane guards fishing Didier out of the water and dragging him off to the cells. He was singing an old Ostburg song as they dragged him and chuckling to himself.
   Then from under the bridge we heard a voice sneer “Dat was bare wrong“ another equally sneering voices added “yeah bro  dem Fedz iz bang out”
   Hunt -Fawshaw rolled his eyes turned and called “Out you come boys“
   From under the bridge out swaggered three young skaven. They all wore dark glasses and blue bandanas, the tallest skaven (a fine grey haired male) threw his hands out to the side, pointing down and said...
     “What you be wantin widda Bomb da Sewer Crew? We be rinzin and rhyming, copied by thazands, aint scared o you …stop yer asslin and aggin and leave us be…coz we live inda sewer we’ is young and free….”
   The other two proceeded to make drum noises with their snouts and interjected at various points with harmonies...they carried on.
     “Ma main rat is Da Robbie he cuts like a knife we shank, you for dissin, we shankin yer wife, we ……”
   Hunt-Fawshaw walked up to ‘the Main rat’ and in a calm voice said  “Will you please shut up!”
     “Isit  cos I is a rat innit! You is ratist….”
   Hunt-Fawshaw rolled his eyes. The Bomb Da Sewer Crew are from under the city, they occasionally come out from that dirty sleazy world of grime but usually at night where they create havoc fighting against fellow Skaven gangs or any other gang for that matter. It was early in the day for them to be out under the bridge. Hunt-Fawshaw inquisitive as always disappeared under the bridge to see what they’d been up to. The trio looked guilty, when Hunt-Fawshaw emerged he said ….
     "Why have you written ‘BDS FARTs’ on the wall under the bridge?"
     "Tis Bomb Dem Sewers Friends Against Rat Traitor Scum…dem Skaven dat rat on rats to you guards in fact we aint’ chewin it wid you no more."
   With this they ran off back down the stream into the sewers leaving the two of us chuckling at the little ‘farts’.
   It was time for me to go to catch my airship. Hunt-Fawshaw walked me to the airship field I had my bag with me on my shoulder and as we reached the field I could see the giant San Pedrian airship with Good Yarn Air written on its huge balloon. A trip I had done many times before the five hour’s flight to San Pedro is usually uneventful other than the bard that constantly entertains on the flight and the outlandish San Pedrian piloting skills but this trip was going to be one I'd never forget.
   Hunt-Fawshaw shook my hand “Have a great trip old fellow” he said.
   I stepped into the airship. I noticed that Hunt-Fawshaw was trying to say something to me but the San Pedrian steward ushered me in to take my place. I looked out the window and I couldn't see him, I presumed it was nothing and reclined my seat and got comfortable bracing myself for the San Pedrian pilot to throw us around.

FEATURE: Butterfly Street Blues pt.5

Early Morning knock

by Juno Lister

   I was awaken by banging at my front door and a familiar voice shouting

     "Signor Lister wakey up you come now".

   I checked the clock it was only five o'clock in the morning. I'd finished with Guard Hunt-Fawshaw late into the night and had written most of my report when I slumped wearily over it, only awakening when the candle burned down and I made my way to bed. I was not due to start with the guards again until lunchtime so who was at my door? I opened it to find Faye Estata the gas light girl standing on my doorstep.

     "Guard Hunt -Fawshaw says you come a now to a barracks, have special job"

   I wondered why Faye had come to get me it, was still dark out so her morning round wouldn't have started, why would she have been with Hunt-Fawshaw? As my curious journalistic mind asked these questions she gave me an embarrassed smile and walked off.

   I hurried to the barracks; Butterfly Street looked unusual at that time, the temporary lull when most people are either asleep or blind drunk. Street hawkers aren't up yet and Sanny Tizer the street cleaner was out whistling cheerfully to various calls of ‘shut up’ from drunks who couldn't find their way home and were slumped in doorways as they started to arise from their drunken stupor.

   There was however no lull at the barracks where I found six guards (Hunt-Fawshaw among them) in the court yard huddled around a tall middle aged man wearing a very smart brown suit. He wore it very untidily indeed. His hair was longer than any of the guards and his grey moustache was bushy and yellow, the guards were calling him Sarge as he held audience with them.

     "Who's this geezer?"  The man looked me over with a sneer and spat out his words with a ton of gravel in his voice.

     "This is Juno Lister, a journalist shadowing us for an article in the Herald" Hunt-Fawshaw cheerfully replied.

   I stepped forward to offer my hand but the sergeant looked me up and down and told me in no uncertain terms

     "You don't know me…you ‘aven't seen me, you do not report you saw me! I work in the shadows, I do the dirty work, coax out the rats for the tin tops to go fetch. It's an important job…if you compromise me I will break every bone in your body, you ‘eard?"

   As he spoke his face got closer to mine, I could smell last night's curry on his breath, probably a Dave's Tuna Special, his saliva was garlic laden as it inevitably jumped out of his mouth as he spat his words out at me. The curry smell was interspersed by a heavy smoker's breath which would account for the gravel voice. As he drew closer his face was pot-marked and as his eyes drilled into me I could see that they had seen a life that most of us only see in our nightmares.

  I nodded vigorously at him, I realised he was a ‘Suit’. We all knew about the ‘Suits’, we see them at most major incidents and in seedy corners of certain bars. What do they do? Where do they go? No one knows but now I was aware they are in fact Guards with special undercover duties. Since my first meeting with this ‘Suit’ he has in fact allowed me to name him as Sgt X. A few days after this event, over a drink, I managed to persuade him that I would write about him responsibly, hence I am not in traction!

   Sgt X briefed the "tin tops" as he so irreverently called his uniformed colleagues "Right ladies listen in!" He shouted

   He leaned on a sledgehammer that was sticking up from the floor, his eyes darted around each guard his mouth barely moving under the thick grey moustache, he started in a very low gravelly voice...

     “The San Pedrians are getting cocky. No one comes to this city and gets cocky on my watch. Since the whole "uprising” incident last year the People's Front of San Pedro have infiltrated our criminal underworld and are nearly running the show. My unit's job is to restore equilibrium" Sgt X's voice got lower. "Ladies...I have a rat in my kitchen, what am I gonna do? ....I'm going to get that rat...that is what I'm gonna do...get that rat..."  He raised a hand and squeezed it into a fist and looked at it in a delirious manner. "His name is  Rikardu L-irqieq  or Thin Rick for those of you that are bothered. I want him dealt with robustly. His wife Elizabet L-Irqieq or Thin Lizzy, has had enough of his affairs and has grassed him up to me in complete confidence one evening over cheeky claret." Sgt X gave them the address, he grabbed an overcoat and started to move to the barracks gate. He growled over his shoulder "Go early whilst he's still asleep…probably still hanging out of some wench" and as he left I heard him say under his breath "That'll teach him to cheat at poker ..darn right cleared me out"

   The guards formed up. Guard Tam grabbed the sledge hammer. Wes Tam was a huge guard and wielded the Hammer with ease. He was the door basher extraordinaire. He looked calm and collected, chewed on gum and was forever blowing bubbles. We scampered around the deserted streets trying not to make a sound. We soon arrived at the address. My heart was pounding, Guard Tam went to the door raised his sledge hammer to unleash hell when all of a sudden from around the next corner came another six guards trotting to the door. They were sporting white scarves which meant they were from Darby Lane. They stopped and both lines of Guards looked at each other  Hunt-Fawshaw broke the uneasy silence and whispered.. 

     "What you lot doing ere?" 

     "It's our Patch ..so naff off." a Darby Lane guard whispered back

     "No our suit sent us to sort out Thin Rick"

     "So did our suit so ……goodbye be off with you butterfly boys flutter on!" With this the Darby Lane door opener wielded his hammer to smash the door, Guard Tam shoved the Darby Lane door buster  and he toppled over with said hammer ending up on a colleagues foot and so ensued a fist fight between two garrisons of guards ……I stood in amazement as The Darby Lane guards looked like they were on top then Hunt-Fawshaw jumped on a Darby Lane guard's  back and wrestled him to the ground. It was mayhem not to mention noisy. I looked up at the address and the door opened and a small insignificant little thin man in his underpants quietly slipped out of the door unnoticed by the hapless guards and ran up the road. I tried to attract the fighting guards' attention but alas they were engrossed in their feud. Then another figure appeared at the door. A small thin woman with dark brown hair wearing a night shirt

   She shook her head and shouted out in a thick San Pedro accent "You are all very stupid He is getting away!" she set off up the road after him "  

   I managed to drag Hunt-Fawshaw out of the scrum and he realised what had happened, we both ran up the street, turned a corner and in the dawn darkness we saw that Thin Lizzy had caught Thin Rick  and had him by the throat.

     "What are you doing? Dey are goin to get me now" Rick remonstrated

     "I told dem about you and your involvement in the The People's Front of San Pedro" Lizzy replied

   Hunt-Fawshaw and I stood hands folded listening to the argument.

     "Why would you do dis you are my wife?" Rick asked arms wide open.

     "Because my sister sat on  your glasses and broke them !!"  Lizzy exclaimed…...Hunt Fawshaw and I looked at each other in bewilderment.

     "So is dat my fault ?" Rick shouted back looking at us in bewilderment .

     "You were wearing dem at de time !" she screamed ..Hunt Fawshaw and I looked at each other again with that look of  "Oh I see" She continued "Anda you spank me in da morning and say wid 2 sugars you ugly cow!"

   Rick replied "Well I was told de best way to make a perfect cup of tea is to agitate de bag! Hux?"   Hunt Fawshaw and I looked at each other and winced. This was going to hurt. Lizzy launched at him with her nails. Hunt-Fawshaw leaned forward and grabbed Lizzy pushing her to one side

     "Time to put you both out of your misery "

   With one sweeping hand gesture Hunt-Fawshaw drew his sword. I expected his trade mark butt whip but to my amazement his blade rose into the air and thundered down onto Rick's neck in a 45 degree angle. His head bounced  across the street like a bloodbowl ball. His body dropped to the ground like the proverbial sack. I took a sharp intake of breath as I watched the blood pouring onto the pavement. Lizzie started to scream. Hunt-Fawshaw span round and with the butt of his sword struck her to the back of the head  laying her out cold. He sheathed his sword and said 

     "Job done, domestic abuse is treated very seriously by the Guard, now let's sort them Darby Lane scum out"

   He ran off back around the corner and hurled himself back into the melee. I looked around me and realised that it was a dirty job being a guard. Rikardu L-irqieq's life as a womanising terrorist was over.  Lizzie his widow would have a huge bump on her head but would be free to live her life. I walked back to the address all the guards were lying prone moaning battered and bruised.

Hunt-Fawshaw picked himself up and together we walked back through the streets of Valroma. They were illuminated by the morning sun and the shadows that form at dawn. I struggled to make sense of what I had just witnessed and as we reached the top of Butterfly Street I could see Leli the stadium janitor up his ladder again. He was painting the red painted walls blue again. I shouted up...

     "The owners change their mind again Lel?"

     "Yes now dey want it blue again…no problem I paint it blue"

   Hunt-Fawshaw looked up at Leli recognising the San Pedrian accent and as he passed the bottom of the ladder kicked it sending poor Leli plummeting to the ground covered in blue paint. Without even a glance back Hunt-Fawshaw sneered

     "I have had enough of San Pedrians today"

   I was due to go to San Pedro the next day to report on The Rams versus Imperial Purples I hoped The San Pedro faithful wouldn't be reading this report.

FEATURE: Butterfly Street Blues pt.4

Day One (part 4)

by Juno Lister

   So with the spiked ball incident still stuck in my head, (at least it wasn't stuck where the poor fellow we brought in had it) we resumed our patrols in Butterfly Street. We stood on a corner watching the good and bad people of Valroma go about their business. I looked up at the top of the Street, the tall looming bloodbowl stadium dwarfed the buildings that lined either side of Butterfly Street. It was getting dark and at the top of the road the gas-light lady was busy turning on the street lights. With each gas lamp that was turned on the buildings hugging it were illuminated. Butterfly Streets buildings seemed to lean in, their upper floors always looking as if you could jump across into the building opposite, and it hasn’t been unknown to see the odd rat do precisely that. As she brought her little ladder towards us to light the lamp near us Hunt-Fawshaw shouted “Evening Miss Estata!”

   The little plump gas lighter, Aquarian by birth came over to us. She was dirty from her work her jet black hair matching the colour of her overall she could only been about 20 she smiled at the Guard “Evenink Guard Unt-Fawshaw”

   She also had some bandages on her forearms and on closer inspection she wasn’t plump at all but done up like a mummy in bandages

     “How are you feeling today Faye? Nasty old business that last week” Hunt- fawshaw remarked in a concerned kind of way.

     “Ooh issa not so bad…issa nice a place.” As she lit the gas lamp and closed its housing she moved on to the next.

   Hunt-Fawshaw explained that Faye had recently gone to Dave’s Tandoori before work and had one of his tuna and green bean specials. Three lamps into her round she broke wind as she was lighting a lamp and was engulfed in flames. She would have been putout quicker if it wasn’t for a tourist party of San Pedrians who thought it was fireworks put on in their honour and stood their shouting as poor Faye swung her arms and rolled around. It was indeed Guard Hunt-Fawshaw who came to her rescue and put her out. He even waved the citation he gave her for unlicensed street entertainment. It goes to show that behind every guard there is a man with a heart.

   So whilst standing watching the world of Butterfly Street go by I found out through conversation with Hunt-Fawshaw that Guards sign up for 30 years. At the end of which they either retire or stay on until they drop, on yearly contracts. Some retire and get jobs to keep them busy in their old age. One of the top jobs a retired guard seeks is a consultant at Attard’s Far-Q Ask Hole.

   The Far-Q Ask Hole is a citizen’s advice bureau. It is as it says on the tin. A queue so long, the end is far far away and the place is a hole. You can find it in a little entrance  just past La Madam’s, in fact the queue is so long and slow it has been known that you could join it, then as you reach La Madam’s dip in’ do what you have to do and come out, back into the queue a few yards further down. When you eventually get to the end of the queue you are met with a round shaped red wooden door which is open. Once inside you are confronted with a huge dark hall. A small goblin in a brown waistcoat and suit trousers meets you at the door and holds you there until a consultant is free. You’ll find that most people/creatures in Butterfly Street will be very smartly dressed. It’s been said that it helps counteract the seedy reputation the street has around the city. This particular goblin had a green slime smear on his trousers a button missing from his waistcoat and what appeared to be mould on his off white shirt.  The consultants are behind a long counter separated into little booths, it’s dark, it’s dingy, smells of cabbage and urine and is generally quite dull. The murmur of voices can be heard as the consultants pass on their knowledge for which they have just bartered a princely sum before gracing the customer with their knowledge .The murmur is shattered momentarily as a second goblin who monitors the cubicles screams out a number. As a satisfied customer leaves (ok ...when a customer leaves they are rarely that satisfied!)  the ‘cubicle goblin’ shouts out which cubicle is free and ‘door goblin’ lets the next person in. This operation opens up at six in the morning and closes at 10 at night. The goblins do not move from their posts, this probably accounts for the urine smell. The cabbage? Well, as stated the consultants are old boys, in fact the tea boy is 90 which kind of explains a lot. Rumour has it he starts off with his trolley at breakfast time and morning tea arrives around closing time.

   On this day by sheer coincidence a disturbance could be heard coming from the Far Q Ask Hole. I hurried behind Hunt-Fawshaw as he pushed his way past the queue as we entered the hall. The dark bottle green walls made it difficult to see what was going on. As my eyes adjusted from the street lighting, at cubicle 17 there was a man ranting!

     “I paid a fortune, for that!”

   Behind the counter was an old boy clutching his face, blood was seeping through his fingers as he tried to stop his bloody nose from ruining his pearl white shirt. He saw that Guard Hunt-Fawshaw was present and in a very well to do voice shouted

     “Guard this man has punched me after his consultation, could you commence a jolly good kicking please there’s a good chap”

   Hunt-Fawshaw ignoring the consultant asked the man who I now know to be Phil Zupdapool what his question was to the consultant.

     “I own the Valroma Swimming Baths and the water pressure is very low at the moment due to the water shortage. I have many many swimmers coming in to do their lengths and I haven’t enough water so I queued here all day, paid a princely sum for this imbecile to suggest I close lanes 7 and 8.  So I hit him when he wouldn’t give me my money back”

   Hunt-Fawshaw shook his head put his hand on Phil’s shoulder turned him around so he was facing an old faded sign on the wall saying.

        NO REFUNDS FOR UNWANTED ADVICE

   Whilst Phil was still looking at the sign Hunt-Fawshaw took his sword from his scabbard and with the heavy pommel at the bottom of the hilt drove it down on the back of Phil’s head. Phil dropped immediately to the floor. The consultant stood up looked over the desk and looked back up at Hunt-Fawshaw.

     “It wasn’t like that in my day, he would have been danced on by the guards clog dancing team by now”

   Hunt-Fawshaw walked away leaving Phil out cold and filling the floor with a little pool of blood. He turned to the consultant and said

     “Because of the barbaric ways in your day, you have made our job now so much harder!”

   We made our way back to barracks, it was the end of Hunt-Fawshaw’s tour of duty, he was off to his dorm, knowing he had done his bit to keep society safe. After the goodbyes I walked home along Butterfly Street. There I saw the night guard watching over the street. La Madam’s was in full swing revellers were out singing, puking and relieving themselves against shop windows. I reached the top of the Street and I saw Leli the San Pedrian Stadium janitor with a red can of paint painting over the light blue he had started that morning.

     “Another decision from the owners eh lel?”

   Leli nodded enthusiastically “No problem. I paint it red they want it red? I give dem red”

   I finished writing my report; I couldn’t wait for the next day, where were my adventures going to lead me with Guard Isaac Hunt -Fawshaw? What was I going to witness tomorrow?