Traps, Trebuchets & National Treasures

The following takes place some time after: Reg's Reckoning

Traps, Trebuchets and National Treasures

It was a sunny afternoon in Waldobury, and the Master was enjoying some much-earned peace and quiet, catching up on his paperwork in his office at the Council HQ. After the chaotic, apocalyptic arc of last season, Widdlington had finally returned to a semblance of normality. The tranquility was a welcome respite.

Suddenly, a rock came crashing through the office window and landed squarely on his desk. It had a note attached, scrawled in messy handwriting:

"The Masta is Dutch...

— WF"

Before the Master could react, a pair of wooden clogs sailed through the shattered window and struck him on the snout. He snarled in pain, rubbing his face as he rose to his feet, shaking with rage. Storming over to the window, he was met with yet another surprise—a massive boulder came hurtling through, obliterating the rest of the frame and half the wall, and slammed him violently across the room, pinning him against the far office wall.

Dazed but furious, he gritted his teeth and heaved against the boulder. As it rolled slightly to the side, he noticed the surface was etched with dozens of nationalities and ethnic groups, scratched haphazardly into the stone. A single note was stuck to it:

"Also."

The Master surveyed the wreckage of his freshly renovated office. Completely Trashed. Snarling, he turned back to the window and looked out over the council lawn.

There, parked in the centre of the grass, stood a massive, medieval trebuchet. And in the distance, a small green figure was scampering across the lawn and climbing up into a tree.

The Master roared, voice echoing across the grounds:

Master Devlin: "WIDDLE FRUNKUT!!!"

A distant voice, sing-song and infuriatingly cheerful, echoed back:

wF: "YES?"

Without hesitation, the Master hurled himself through the gaping hole in the wall and charged across the lawn. But just as he reached the base of the tree, a hidden net trap snapped up around him, yanking him into the air and suspending him upside down.

Perched on a thick branch above, Widdle Frunkut waved creepily and flashed a smirk.

wF: "Well, well, well. What have we here? Too fat and hairless for an Ewok... A Rancor, perhaps? You there, Rancor! Do you know the way to San Francisco? Speak quickly, and we promise to eat only one of your limbs..."

Master Devlin: "Widdle Frunkut, let me out of this stupid trap immediately or I swear, I will peel your skin off."

wF: "Goblins don’t have skin. Just layers of rubber..."

Master Devlin: "Then I will pull your rubber off."

wF: "Hmmm. Fine..."

With a flick of his knife, Waldo sliced the rope, and the Master plummeted to the ground in a tangled heap.

wF: "...But you owe me, Pazlow!"

Mayuri steps out of the cottage to call for Waldo to come home for his lunch. Waldo promptly scampers off to fetch his chicken tendies.

Meanwhile, the Master storms up to the Walvers’ cottage and bangs on the door.

Mayuri: Oh hi, Senpai! You're just in time for lunch! Come in, come in...

Master Devlin: Thank you, Mayuri, but I must focus your attention on my office—which your husband has apparently decided to trash.

Mayuri glances outside and sees what looks like the aftermath of an explosion: a blown-in window, shattered glass, and crumbling masonry.

Mayuri: Oh dear... Goberin-san! Have you been naughty again??

Master Devlin: Where is he? I must discipline him most severely.

The Master enters the cottage and finds Travers sitting comfortably at the dinner table.

Travers: Hellooo, Master Devlin!

The Master halts.

Master Devlin: Ohhh. Travers. Hello...

Travers: Come to see how my campaign is going, no doubt? Well, it's going quite well, thank you. Travers is way ahead in the polls—thanks in no small part to my lovely wife here. The public loves her...

Mayuri tilts her head sweetly and offers a humble, eyes-closed smile.

Travers: But mostly they love me. Travers. National treasure.

Master Devlin: Indeed. Well, until Waldo fixes my office, I’ll be staying here at the cottage.

Travers: Oh? Fine, fine. You're more than welcome to the couch. Just be sure to wear pants, please.

Master Devlin: It’s a three-bedroom cottage. You can make up the spare room.

Travers: Well actually... Goblin Slayer and Ermintrude are staying there at the moment.

Master Devlin: Then I’ll stay in the other room.

Travers: That’s the campaign war room...

Master Devlin: I don’t care. This is a council-owned house. Waldo has trashed my office. Waldo’s actions are your responsibility, therefore I expect you to make me feel as comfortable as possible.

Travers: Why am I responsible for Wal—Ah! Ermintrude! We were just talking about you.

Ermintrude appears, looking far better than she did before—bright-eyed, colour in her cheeks once more.

Master Devlin: Hello, Ermintrude. You’re looking well.

Ermintrude: Oh, hi Master Devlin. Thank you—I feel much better. And thank you for... well, everything. You’re my hero.

Master Devlin: Don’t mention it.

Ermintrude: Well, Goblin Slayer needs his chicken and cheese. I’d better take this upstairs.

Mayuri: Here you go, Ermie! Tu tu ru~!

Mayuri hands Ermintrude two plates and gives her an affectionate pat on the head.

Ermintrude: Thanks! This looks delicious. Well... goodbye!

Master Devlin: Farewell!

Ermintrude heads upstairs.

Travers: Isn’t that nice? You’re not really going to put the poor girl out, are you?

Master Devlin: No, I’m not. But you are going to move your campaign room downstairs. And you’re going to pay for the repairs on my office. So chop chop...

Travers: I can't imagine how you can hold this household responsible for Waldo. That’s madness, Master Devlin! It really is... Isn’t he still in the mansion?

Master Devlin: No. He lives here. And you are both married to the same wife.

Mayuri looks up.

Travers: Hahaha... Oh Master Devlin, you joker! You say the most absurd things...

Mayuri quietly slips out the front door to avoid being drawn into the discussion.

Master Devlin: I do not joke. I can also evict you at any time. This was Waldo’s home—as janitor for the Master’s Council. Not yours, Travers. But I’m willing to look the other way. Let’s just say you’re... tolerated, given the circumstances. So... room. Now, Travers.

Travers: Oh, Master Devlin... You’re speaking out of turn. But fine, fine. I ain’t got time for this—I’ve got a campaign to run.

He shouts up the stairs:

Travers: Ermintrude! Make up a bed in the war room! Master Devlin will be staying with us!

Ermintrude (upstairs): Yes, Mr. Travers!

Season 6 continues in The Race Begins