Plain Loopy: The Sequel to 'The Quest'

By Dale Osborne and Cavin Wright

The second and concluding book of the chaotic adventures that began with The Quest. The Warlock Netherspoon, and the Immortal Sid, find themselves trapped in the alternate world of Tharin. To their surprise, it is far more advanced than their own world. In this universe, the T'carthian Druids have conquered most of the planet and a race begins to track down Netherspoon's alternate self, the only man who may be able to help them get home.With the aid of the D.A.T.O (Dwarves against T'carthian oppression) and the S.A.S (short and stealthy) the two begin their long journey.
Emperor Vorden, despotic leader of the T'carthian Empire, unleashes his secret weapon, the THX 13 (the Verminator). A terrifying humanoid robot that is sent to destroy all rebellious elements within the empire, along with a few choice nuclear missile strikes for good measure. Overseeing this project is the dreaded Eric Von Lederhosen, head of the much feared Testapo, the man they simply call - the iron fist in the iron glove inside a tank surrounded by a herd of angry rhinoceroses. The answer is simple, Netherspoon must go forward in his time, which is in the past in the alternate universe, change history that has yet to happen and save two universes from utter destruction. Confused? Wait till you read the book!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Authors
• Release date: Jun 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781783330669

Book preview

damages.

Introduction

. . . And in a moment, lost in time,

It’s very clear for all to see,

Devoid of reason; lacking rhyme,

All things have changed, conclusively.

No longer ancient confort zone,

The olde ways no more manifest;

For lo! A new world-order grown,

Where profile kept real low is best.

For as the warlock Netherspoon,

Proved most astute to mention;

"We’ve crossed the parallel! We’ll soon,

Be focussing their attention!"

A universe, superior,

With lords T’carthian at its helm,

Revolt from its interior,

Now threatening to overwhelm . . .

Into this back-to-front impasse,

Our heroes tossed; the fray unto,

With weapons of much lesser class.

But lo! The warlock - brave and true . . .

Chapter One

Netherspoon stared inanely at the reception area in the alternate-universe T’carthian temple. Perhaps it was the CCTV cameras, or maybe the small switchboard behind the receptionist, or even the automatic doors, that told him things in this universe were a little more advanced than his own.

Good grief, hissed Sid, peering out from behind the surprised warlock. It’s a bit different to our Tharin, isn’t it?

That, managed Netherspoon, is something of an understatement.

It was at that moment the receptionist caught sight of them. Excuse me! she announced. Do you have an appointment?

The warlock was somewhat relieved that the language was not reversed like the signs. We . . . err . . . well, I, err . . . no! Actually, we appear to be lost; we’re looking for the nearest . . . ummm . . . supermarket?

The receptionist gave them an odd look. It wasn’t unusual for weirdoes to wander in off the street, and judging by the way these two were dressed they definitely appeared to have escaped from somewhere. Out of the door, turn left; there’s one down the end of the road, she informed them, as her hand hovered above the panic button, just beneath desktop level.

Grabbing hold of Sid, Netherspoon made for the door. Thank you very much, miss, he called over his shoulder.

Why do we want a supermarket? queried Sid, as the warlock propelled him out of the building.

We don’t, replied Netherspoon. It was just an excuse. He stopped suddenly, and looked down. Good grief! he exclaimed loudly. We’re standing on a pavement.

Sid gave him a quizzical look. And? he prompted.

If this is a pavement, he continued, then that black thing next to it, with the white broken lines has to be a road! He looked up and stared in disbelief at several large metal objects parked in a line. Pointing a shaky finger in their direction, he opened his mouth. Cars! he managed. They have cars here!

The doors behind them slid open and an officious-looking security guard stepped out. Right you two! he growled. If you’re with that lot at the gate, you can shove off right now! This is private property, so unless you have an appointment, get lost!

Netherspoon stared at the man in the crisp blue uniform - or more to the point, at what he very quickly recognised as a semi-automatic machine-pistol he held. Which direction is the gate? he asked swiftly, and in a tone he hoped sounded polite.

The guard pointed with his free hand. End of this road. Now scram, the pair of you!

Netherspoon needed no further encouragement, and with Sid in tow, he started walking briskly in the direction indicated. Once they reached the entrance, a CCTV camera picked them up, and the electronic gates swung open.

The scene outside came as another shock. A small band of dwarves were marching up and down with placards proclaiming slogans such as - Equality for Dwarfs and Brothers of the soil: Unite against tyranny.

A dwarf with an enormous black beard noted their exit with interest. Look brothers! Two more of the human oppressors, come to taunt us. What do we say?

There was a chorus of, Down with the fascist regime! Down with the T’carthian oppressors!

The warlock held up his hands in surrender. My friend and I are not T’carthian! he stated adamantly. I have nothing whatsoever against dwarves!

Blackbeard frowned. You’re not just saying that, so we won’t harass you, are you?

Netherspoon shook his head. We’re strangers here. We’ve only just arrived, and everything here is a bit of a shock.

Then what are you doing coming out of the T’carthian Embassy? demanded the dwarf. You’re a couple of spies, that’s what you are, sent out here to incite feelings of resentment, and stir up the brothers to take physical action, so you can call in the militia, and have us all thrown into gaol. We are exercising our right to peaceful protest, and refuse to be goaded.

Well said, brother, announced another dwarf. It’s high time we showed these T’carthian authoritarians we are a force to be reckoned with!

A peaceful and non-aggressive force to be reckoned with, brother, added the black-bearded dwarf.

We are not spies, protested the warlock. My name is Netherspoon, and this is Sid.

Don’t sound like T’carthian names, muttered a dwarf at the back.

Don’t have to be their real names, brother, argued Blackbeard. Could just be some cunning T’carthian ploy, to lull us into thinking they’re not T’carthian’s, when all along they really are, and they’ve come to stir things up!

Good point, brother Nerx, agreed the other. I hadn’t thought of that one."

That’s why I’m the official spokesman for the D.A.T.O and you’re not, Feneg.

Point duly noted, brother Nerx, replied Feneg.

Well I vote we peacefully, and non-violently, take them prisoner, and turn them over to the D.L.A for interrogation, suggested a dwarf with a smaller black beard.

Oh well done Grimp! groaned Nerx. Why not announce to two T’carthian spies that we have an affiliation with an illegal terrorist movement?

That’s alleged affiliation, brother Nerx. At no point did I actually admit to knowing a person, or persons, within the Dwarf Liberation Army. I merely pointed out a feasible option for our assembled concourse to follow.

I see your point brother Grimp, returned Nerx, and for the sake of avoiding any further discourse amongst our ranks, I put forward the motion that you shut up, before I give you a non-aggressive fat lip.

Well if that’s the way you want it brother Nerx, I put it to the vote that you might want to bring along some friends - that is, of course, if you have any!

Look! stormed Feneg, This is just playing into the hands of the socially despotic exploitive masses. They are causing dissention amongst us, and it’s only half past ten! Unity brothers, I urge we put aside personal feelings and stand together in championing the cause of downtrodden dwarves everywhere!

Concisely put, brother Feneg, allowed Nerx. I extend my sincere apologies to brother Grimp, and hereby retract my earlier statement.

I also would like to state, for the record, put in Grimp, that I also apologise to brother Nerx, and regret any displeasure he may have felt.

Netherspoon was looking at Sid, and Sid was looking at Netherspoon. It was becoming blatantly clear that whilst this universe was physically the same as theirs, that was about where the similarity ended.

We’ve been here ten minutes, and they haven’t tried to kill anyone yet, marvelled Sid. Six dwarves on our Tharin would constitute a war party.

Netherspoon nodded. Things here are very different to the Tharin we know. But I think we had better get used to it - we may be here for some time. In fact, in your case, being an immortal, it could be forever!

So then, Nerx was speaking again, if you’re not spies, what are you doing here?

It’s a very long story . . . began the warlock.

We come from . . . Sid started to explain.

We’re travelling salesmen, interrupted Netherspoon, before Sid could finish. We’re in the insurance game. Just trying to make a living, you know how it is?

Where you from, then? enquired Nerx.

Extralia, lied Netherspoon, hoping Extralia actually existed in this version of Tharin.

Nerx whistled. Long way from home, then? The Empire doesn’t even stretch that far. Come here to sell insurance to the T’carthian’s, did you? Take my advice and get on the next flight home.

There’s one small problem with that, answered the warlock. We have run out of money.

Oh dear, you are in trouble! Better make sure you have your papers and passes handy. If the militia catch you with no money, you’ll be charged with vagrancy and sent to the labour camp. Why don’t you contact your firm, get them to transfer you some money?

They went bankrupt whilst we were here, returned the warlock convincingly. So you see our problem? We also seem to have lost our papers.

Nerx stared hard at them. Lost your papers! he echoed in a shocked tone. What, all of them?

Freak gust of wind blew them into a river, offered Sid, who, truth be told, was not half the inventive liar Netherspoon was. But he got away with it, nonetheless.

Grimp, who had been watching the road, gave a sudden warning. Militia! he hissed, as a black armoured car pulled across the end of the road.

Run for it! yelled Nerx, Meet back at the desert camp . . .

The small gathering started running in all directions, as troops from the armoured car began piling out. Netherspoon grabbed the bemused Sid and followed Nerx, who ducked down a side street, then into an alley that led to a bridge over a railway track.

Nerx was too busy running to notice his two new shadows, close on his heels. He finally stopped on an open piece of waste-ground and dived for cover behind an abandoned tin shed.

Netherspoon and Sid followed suit.

What are you following me for? stormed Nerx. You’ll have the militia on our backs! Go away! Go on, shoo!

We don’t have anywhere to shoo to, protested Netherspoon. Besides, do you own this piece of land?

No!

Then we have as much right to be here as you do. I think the militia were too busy chasing your friends to worry about us, anyway.

Alright, let’s ’ave your ‘ands where I can see ’em! demanded a new voice. It was attached to a militia trooper with a levelled machinegun, pointed directly at them. No funny business, or you’ll be very sorry!

I’m already very sorry, grumbled Nerx, lifting his hands above his head.

Now then, let’s ’ave yer papers out, so I can see what desperados I’ve collared. Nice and slow now, no sudden movements.

The warlock was about to explain that he and Sid did not actually have any papers, when another totally unexpected shock occurred.

Had it not been that the trooper offered a nice soft landing, Morlock Stickbender could have seriously injured himself. Plummeting out of the sky, with no prior warning - and yelling blue murder - he landed in a crumpled heap on the now unconscious militiaman. Scrabbling to his feet, he simply stared at Netherspoon - who in turn, stared back.

Nerx was staring at both of them in turn, with a bemused expression on his face.

Netherspoon was the first to recover from the initial shock. How did you get here? he demanded.

Morlock sat down heavily on the ground, and removed his glasses to see if they had been damaged in the fall. Satisfied they were still intact, he replaced them. Where are we? he asked, peering cautiously around. I don’t recognise any of this. Where are Rizla and the others?

Never mind them! stormed Netherspoon. How did you get here?

Morlock thought for a moment, and then remembered. The box! he exclaimed. It must have been the box. The others had gone to the castle, with the device thing, and I was waiting on the hill. The next thing I know is that damn box rampaging towards me! Before I could get away, I’d been swallowed. I remember tumbling about in a very dark place, and then I ended up here. Where is here, exactly?

Netherspoon took a deep breath. You’re in a parallel universe, Morlock - and as trapped as we are!

Morlock looked shocked, which was hardly surprising. So, you were swallowed by the box as well? he deduced.

No, answered the warlock, Sid and I came through one of the parallax timeline convergences by mistake, and now none of us has any way of getting back.

I knew it! muttered Nerx, edging his way back. You lot have all escaped from somewhere!

Netherspoon sighed deeply. Look, all we want right now is to get away from here. You mentioned the desert before. Is that far away?

I can’t take three loonies back to our secret base! exploded Nerx. You find your own secret base! You’re not even dwarves!

Look, frowned Netherspoon, either you get us out of here, or all three of us will start shouting the place down, and have more militia troops here than you can shake a stick at! Your choice.

You wouldn’t!

Netherspoon opened his mouth and took a deep breath.

Okay! Okay! You win, acceded the dwarf. There is a secret tunnel, not far from here. He poked his head around the corner of the shed to make sure there were no more troopers in the immediate vicinity. We’ll have to make our way to the outskirts of the city.

What about him? asked Sid, nodding to the trooper.

Netherspoon reached into his pocket and pulled out his tazar; used it. He won’t wake up for a few hours, he informed them, putting it back in his pocket.

And so, dwarf, warlock, immortal and guide, left the still-twitching and faintly-glowing trooper, and made their way stealthily through several grubby backstreets.

Exiting a side alley, they were forced to cross a main thoroughfare, just as a car came round a corner. Morlock screamed, and threw himself to the ground. Dragon! he yelled.

Grabbing him by the collar, Netherspoon pulled him, whimpering, to his feet. There is something else you should know about this place, he hissed. It all runs on black magic!

Morlock looked mortified, but did manage to stop whining long enough to take the information on board. All of it? he managed.

All of it, concluded the warlock. So get used to it.

Nutty as a nut cake, muttered Nerx, leading then into another alley.

It’s a big place this, isn’t it? commented Sid. We’ve been walking for half an hour now, and we’re still surrounded by houses. I don’t think there is anywhere like this, on our Tharin."

The warlock nodded his agreement. I’m beginning to have serious doubts about my chosen profession, he admitted. If this is what happens when technology is allowed to run riot, I’m not sure I like the results.

The air smells funny, added Morlock. Like something has gone bad.

There’s a rubbish tip not far from here, explained Nerx. That’s what you can smell.

What’s a rubbish tip? asked Netherspoon, his interest growing.

It’s where people dump their rubbish of course, returned Nerx. Don’t they have rubbish dumps where you lot come from?

No, answered the warlock.

So what do you do with your packaging and plastic waste products?

We don’t have any.

Nerx laughed. So you’re trying to tell me that where you come from, in the middle of the twelfth century, you don’t have plastic?

That’s about the size of it, returned Netherspoon.

The tunnel is just over here, Nerx informed them. Moving to a manhole cover, he removed it.

The three humans took a swift step back. That’s not exactly a tunnel, is it? queried Netherspoon. I think it’s more like a sewer inspection cover.

Sewer . . . tunnel . . . same thing, really, replied Nerx, peering into the depths.

May the gods deliver us from pedantic dwarfs, muttered Netherspoon.

There was a look of sheer horror on Morlock’s face. Rats, he said meaningfully. Rats live in sewers. And I hate rats.

Suit yourselves, offered Nerx, but this is the safest way to reach the desert. The militia will be watching all the roads out of the city, so if you want to take your chances with them, be my guest!

Netherspoon sighed, and took a step closer. It would appear we have little choice, he informed the others.

But it will be dark and there will be rats! protested Morlock.

Nerx reached inside his jacket, producing a torch. I always carry this if I come to the city, he said. Never know when you may have to use the tunnels.

Sewers, corrected Netherspoon.

What’s that thing for? asked Morlock, staring at the torch in Nerx’s hand.

It’s more black magic, so I suggest you prepare yourself.

The small band began climbing down the thin metal access ladder, into the gloomy depths below.

It smells bad down here, complained Sid, wrinkling his nose against the stench.

Don’t smell that bad to me, replied Nerx, waving his torch at a concrete platform that ran a foot or so above the sewer. There’s the walkway, he declared happily.

Ah! exclaimed the warlock, At last, something this universe has in common with our own!

Sid stepped down onto the walkway and peered at the warlock in the half-light from the dwarf’s torch.

The dwarves, explained Netherspoon, may be far more advanced, brain-wise, than ours are, and able to utilise technology, but put them in a dark foul-smelling hole, and they’re just as happy as our own are.

Do the rats here know how to use black magic, do you think? asked Morlock, casting furtive glances up and down the tunnel.

Hardly likely, Netherspoon reassured the worried guide. I should think rats are rats, in any universe.

Half an hour later, and much to Morlock’s undying relief, they exited the sewer. There had been some ominous scurrying and scratching noises, but for the most part, the dreaded rats had shied away from the dwarf’s torchlight.

A short distance away were the first traces of desert landscape.

Should be safe now, Nerx informed them. The patrols hardly ever come out this far. Not unless they’re tracking someone, anyway.

The warlock sat down on a nearby rock and massaged his forehead. Nothing in his own universe, he decided, could possibly have prepared him for this. But here they were, and unless he could find a way back, here they would stay. Even if they did manage to get back, what then? His own universe would be trapped in a temporal paradox, going round and round in a never ending time-loop. It was then that something occurred to him, and he looked at Morlock with something akin to panic.

You came through before the loop started! he cried. Good grief! Sid and I were outside the loop, but you . . . he let the sentence trail off.

Morlock became concerned. He momentarily, even forgot about the rats. This is something bad isn’t it? he managed.

Netherspoon nodded glumly. In approximately five days time, you, or rather, the parallax paradox you, will be swallowed up by the box, and dumped into this universe.

Morlock frowned. But I’m already here, he argued. How can I be here and get swallowed by the box again?

Because you’re already part of the paradox, explained Netherspoon. You were lucky the trooper was there to break your fall. In five days time, the next you will probably not be so lucky.

Morlock was looking more and more confused. The next me? he asked, his frown deepening.

Sid, who was well able to grasp what Netherspoon was saying, looked shocked. The first few will probably get squished, he added, but after that, the others will have something soft to land on.

Precisely, returned Netherspoon. "There are 400 days in a year, and one Morlock every five days is eighty Morlocks a year. In ten years, there will be eight hundred Morlocks roaming this planet. Of course, some will die off with age, as time goes on, but the input volume will well overtake