Friendship 4 – Earth – Paris 1932

“We don’t talk about politics or current affairs.”

“Surely you joke,” said Marcel.

“No never.”

“Then what do you talk about?”

“Oh, his past, the Boer War and his times in India and the Sudan. Soldiering. We have mutual interests.”

“Really, such as?”

“History, painting, whisky.”

“Amazing, and you know him because?” 

“Well actually I have known him since I was a child. My benefactor Lord Alphonso Stiletto, was an old friend. He took me with him to visit him just after the turn of the century, at his home in London. It was part of my training. He was also good friends with Napoleon.”

“Zoot alors,” gasped the Frenchman, and you met him too?”

“Certainly.”

Marcel was staring at his friend in wonder, amazed by these revelations. 

“But what of the danger?”

“Of changing history?”

“Mais oui!”

In the future we call it the Butterfly Effect after a famous short story. A man goes back to the time of the dinosaurs. When he returns to his own time the politic has changed, and he has a dead butterfly on the sole of his shoe.”

“But this is more than treading on the insect.”

“Yes, there are dangers. There are multiple parallel existences. I always choose one almost exactly like my own, but separate. Even then I am very careful.

“But you are an assassin, no? That is more like treading on an elephant.”

“That is why my training was so difficult. My own Master performed a hit that took out the future leaders of the Corp, but she never discussed the full ramifications with me.”

“And your old weapon’s Master, the one with no eyes.”

“‘Schripp, yes, I believe you have cooked many fine dinners when he has been a guest.”

“Has he not spent many years in the old West in America? Is that not also an elephant?

“In ‘Schripp’s case he didn’t need a parallel world. Believe it or not, the Earth that ‘Schripp grew up on was blown up by a pan dimensional psychopath.”

“Enough, enough,” cried Marcel, “I cannot cope with this madness. He refilled his glass with Pernod and water, watching the swirls of white as the liquids mixed. With sudden panic he looked up at his friend and employer. “But, we travel always through the time, are my family my family?”

“Of course,” Billy said smoothly, “this is your true universe, it is I who am the interloper.”

“How do you manage to keep it all together?”

“Many years of training, but then it was always easy for me. It is what I am best at. In many ways it is what I was born for.”

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2019



The Lift

Polly was late for work. Everything had been going wrong. She had slept through her alarm this morning. How could that happen. She felt grimy, because in all the rush she hadn’t hadn’t time to shower. She had laddered her tights, snagged on something on the tube. She had had to stand the whole way from Holborn.

Now she was waiting for the lift at her office building on Canary Wharf. A magnificent building that rose into the sky, floor upon floor, as it dominated this part of the London horizon. She was involved in the bizarrest of conversations.

“Believe me lady, you don’t want to catch this lift.”

“Yes. I do.”

“No Ma’am,” replied the smaller, compactor of the two, “not now, not this lift.”

“But this is my lift, I work here.”

“Not this lift Ma’am, try later, or that one over there.”

Polly wanted to scream, but she was still holding it together.

“Listen to me. This is my lift. I catch it everyday. I am very late. I am catching this lift.”

“Can’t let you do that Ma’am.”

“And stop calling me Ma’am. Are you Americans?” she asked exasperatedly.

“No Ma’am, we are adventurers.”

Polly paused for thought. They were two of the weirdest guys she had seen in a long time. It wasn’t the brightly coloured hair and beards or the alchemical symbols tattooed on their faces. It was their costumes. Like two guys from a SWAT team, but tie dyed instead of camouflage. Perhaps that was their camouflage. Both men carried large holdalls.

“Gentlemen, I am catching this lift.”

“Okay Ma’am,” replied the smaller, who now accepted that the persistent woman was going to share their ride. He had introduced himself as Walter. “And this is André,” he indicated his larger companion.

“Like the giant?”

“Yes, like the giant.”

“Weird,” she muttered to herself, “who are these nutters?”

“Not nutters Ma’am,” said André, in a voice that was decidedly silken for a man of his stature, adventurers.”

“Adventurers with supersonic hearing?” she muttered again embarrassedly.

“Yes Ma’am, it comes in handy.”

“On adventures?”

“Yes Ma’am, on adventures.”

Polly was saved from any more of this whack job conversation by the ding of the bell. The lift doors whispered open.

Standing either side of the door, the two mismatched, but identically dressed men bowed their heads and held out an arm, inviting her to enter first. With a few unexpected butterflies in her stomach, Polly stepped into the lift.

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar ©2017/18

Beano Grigio

Beano Grigio was a confidence trickster. He didn’t really know what he was doing here, because Beano Grigio moved on the edges of the underworld.

He knew enough about his host to know that he was one of the good guys. When he had received the invitation to dinner he had thought it was a joke. There wasn’t a great deal known about Lord Stiletto in the general ‘Verse, but there were all kinds of myths and legends about his fabled tech star, Sunshine, on the edge of the Horse Head Nebula, his incredible team of genius scientists and engineers, and of course his dinner parties. In truth there was virtually nothing known about Lord Stiletto, but in the dark fringes of the ‘Verse where Beano comfortably moved, there were plenty of rumours.

Beano was dying to use the bathroom. That was another one of those rumours. It was said that it was never the same one twice. It was said that when one entered, the room was selected from thousands. It could be an exact replica of a Roman bathroom, replete with senators communally sharing the other pots, a spotless iridium creation from some Nebulan designer, or the famous ceramic urinals from the lavatory of a public house in the centre of Liverpool.

Beano Grigio may be an interesting and questionable character, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t cultured. Still he was bursting. The reason for his reticence was that rumour said that the bathrooms weren’t fascimiles, but the real thing, and worse, anyone rude enough to disturb the harmony of Stiletto’s table, or unwise enough to try to turn the occasion to their advantage, would find themselves exiting their bathroom, and discovering they were in a cafe or a diner somewhere in the middle of nowhere, on the farside of some forgotten planetary system.

Lord Stiletto was observing his guest with interest. Beano needn’t have worried. The only guests at his table were very close friends or in Beano’s case those that were going to be. For Lord Stiletto was a Master of the space time continuum, and Beano Grigio had a very interesting future.

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2017

To Read Beano Grigio you can buy the eBook from Amazon. For a link to your nearest Amazon go to my book page.

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