The Tower of Walgoth Episode 2

The following takes place following: The Tower of Walgoth Episode 1

The night was thick with mist as Havers and Steele trudged through the uneven cobblestone streets of the small town by Edron Lake. The fog clung to their coats and obscured the narrow alleyways, each corner revealing nothing but more of the same oppressive darkness.

Ahead, a dim light flickered through the windows of a dilapidated tavern, its sign hanging crookedly above the door. The wood was splintered and worn, the letters barely legible. Havers and Steele exchanged a glance, a silent agreement that this was the only option in the desolate night.

Inside, the tavern was a cramped, smoky space, filled with the murmur of low voices and the clink of glasses. The patrons turned as one to regard the newcomers, their eyes narrow and suspicious. Havers felt a shiver run down his spine, his moustache twitching, but Steele pushed forward, guiding them to a corner table beneath the gaze of a dusty chandelier that seemed on the verge of collapse.

They sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the room’s oppressive air. The bartender, a gaunt man with sunken eyes, approached with a deliberate slowness, as if measuring their worth with each step.

“What’ll it be?” he asked, his voice a rasp that seemed to scrape against the silence.

“We’d like a hot meal,” Steele replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

The bartender’s eyes narrowed. “A hot meal, eh? Do you have a permit?”

Havers frowned. “A permit? No... Why would we need a permit for a meal?

"It's the town rules. I don't make em."

"Well we've just arrived and we weren’t informed of any such requirement. We're quite hungry as we've travelled some distance. I'm the owner of Steele Manor, y'see. Kelvin Steele...Major Kelvin Steele and this is my associate, General Trenton Havers.”

The bartender shrugged. “That's very impressive, sir but if you ain't got no no permit, you aint' getting no meal."

"How do we get a permit?" Havers jumped in.

"You’ll need to obtain one from the Magistrate’s Office.”

“Where is the Magistrate’s Office?”

The bartender pointed vaguely towards the back of the tavern. “Through the kitchen, up the stairs, third door on the left. But you’ll need a key.”

“And where do we get the key?” Havers asked, exasperation creeping into his voice.

The bartender’s lips curled into a semblance of a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “The key is with the Registrar. He’s in the cellar.”

Havers sighed. “Of course he is. Thank you.”

As the bartender returned to his post, Havers and Steele stood, weaving through the tavern towards the kitchen. They passed the cooks, who eyed them with suspicion, and found the narrow staircase leading down to the cellar. The steps creaked under their weight, each sound echoing ominously.

The cellar was dimly lit and damp, filled with the musty smell of aged barrels and forgotten things. They found the Registrar, a hunched man with thick spectacles, sitting at a desk cluttered with papers.

“We need the key to the Magistrate’s Office,” Steele said, trying to keep his tone polite.

The Registrar looked up slowly, his eyes magnified to an absurd degree. “The key? You’ll need to sign Form 27B/6,” he said, shuffling through the papers. “And provide identification.”

Havers’ patience was wearing thin. “We don’t have Form 27B/6. Can’t we just—”

“No form, no key,” the Registrar said firmly, adjusting his spectacles.

Steele stepped forward, placing a hand on Havers’ shoulder. “Where can we get Form 27B/6?”

The Registrar smiled with a glint in his eyes. “Form 27B/6 is available at the Documentation Office, two streets over. But it closes in ten minutes.”

Havers and Steele exchanged a desperate glance. “We’ll make it,” Havers said, determination in his voice.

They hurried out of the tavern, into the misty night. The town’s labyrinthine streets twisted around them, each turn a potential dead end. The clock was ticking, and the oppressive fog seemed to close in, but they had no choice but to push forward.

They found the Documentation Office just as the clerk was locking the door. “Wait!” Steele called out, breathless. “We need Form 27B/6.”

The clerk eyed them suspiciously. “Form 27B/6? You’ll need to submit a requisition slip first.”

Steele’s frustration boiled over. “For Fuck's sake! And where do we get a fucking requisition slip?” he snarled.

The clerk pointed back towards the tavern. “The Requisition Office, behind the tavern. But they close at the same time as us.”

Havers ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Is there any way to get a hot meal without going through all this?”

The clerk shrugged. “Not without a hospitality permit. And you can’t get the permit without the form, and you can’t get the form without the requisition slip.”

“So we need a requisition slip to get the form to get the key to get the permit to get a meal,” Havers summarized, incredulous.

“Exactly,” the clerk replied, locking the door behind him and walking away into the fog.

Havers and Steele stood there, bewildered and defeated. The night had deepened, and the fog pressed in around them, as if the town itself were conspiring to keep them hungry and confused.

Master Devlin: “Travers, put that book down and help me paint this wall. You’ve done nothing since you got here!”

Travers: “It is happening again, Master Devlin…”

Master Devlin: “What is?”

Travers: “The Edverse stuff!”

Travers waves the book at the Master. The Master puts down the paintbrush and takes it from him. It’s The Edverse Chronicles, Vol. IX.

Travers: “I was thinking we should go into town for a meal, but now… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Master Devlin: “Where did you get this?”

Travers: “It was over there by the door.”

Master Devlin: “I see… HERBERT!”

A few moments later, an elderly butler enters.

Herbert: “Yes, Master Steven?”

Master Devlin: “Please dispose of this book. And if you find any other Edverse books around the house, I want them also disposed of…”

Herbert: “As you wish, sir.”

Master Devlin: “Oh, and bring Travers something to eat, will you?”

Herbert: “Yes, sir. And what would the young Master Travers care for?”

Travers: “Hmm… how about a hamburger, Herb?”

Herbert: “American food for the American… Very good, sir.”

The old man hobbles away.

Master Devlin: “Now get on with your painting, Travers.”

Travers: “Fine… But I think it was a bad idea to throw away the book. Just saying…”

Travers grumbles, picks up a brush, and begins painting.

The Master supervises for a few moments, surprised to see that Travers is actually doing a competent job for once. He walks across the room, checks his own section of the wall, and resumes painting.

Travers has gone into a zen-like trance, painting in smooth, steady strokes. Some minutes later, the Master’s peace is broken by an old woman’s cry.

Mavis: “Good heavens!”

The Master turns to find Mavis, the head housekeeper — who has worked in the manor for three score and five years — gasping in horror at the wall.

The Master looks over and notices that, in his trance, Travers has painted a surprisingly impressive ten-foot-tall mural of topless women. On closer inspection, he recognises them: Ermintrude, Helen, Debbie, Linda, Chantelle, Joyce, Buffy, Sarah… and Queen Mayuri. Some are suggestively eating ice cream cones.

They are all kneeling among clouds, and in the centre sits Travers himself — on a golden throne, wearing only an open shirt, a crown and heart-patterned boxer shorts, with rays of heavenly light shining down upon him.

The Master scratches his head in bewilderment. He had no idea Travers was a talented artist. Also, he only gave him one colour to paint with… so where did he get the rest?

Travers, still in his trance, is adding finishing touches while Mavis begins to hyperventilate.

The Master puts down his brush and ushers Mavis out of the room. He looks back up at Travers’ mural. Though undeniably impressed by the artistry, he is outraged that Travers has defaced his wall.

Without a word, the Master picks up a bucket of water and tosses it over Travers, snapping him out of his trance. Travers flails and splutters on the floor, dripping wet.

Master Devlin: “Care to explain why you’ve graffitied my east wing dining room?”

Travers looks around, angry and confused — then his eyes land on the mural.

Travers: 😮 “Travers did this? It’s marvellous! 😃 Travers, you never cease to amaze… a national treasure indeed…”

Master Devlin: “Be that as it may, why did you do it?”

Travers: “I dunno… I have no memory of painting it.”

Master Devlin: “Hrrm… Well, it’s not appropriate for my dining room, so I’m afraid it will have to go.”

The Master moves to paint over it.

Travers: “NO! Master Devlin, be reasonable! We must preserve this masterpiece! I implore you! I couldn’t possibly recreate it. In fact, I reckon we could fetch a handsome price for this wall. Travers has no doubt just doubled the value of this here real estate.”

Master Devlin: “I have no intention of selling this place, so market value means very little… But very well.”

The Master calmly pulls out a chainsaw and begins cutting the wall free in a stylish, curving pattern.

Master Devlin: “Here. Have a wall.”

He yanks the cut section free and hands it to the little goblin — which drops straight down, pinning Travers flat in true cartoon fashion. The Master then props iron girders under the main wall for support, while a squashed Travers slowly wriggles out from beneath the still-vertical cut-out mural.

Travers: “Hey, thanks!”

Guthrie walks in.

Travers: “Intruder! State your business!”

Guthrie: “Hi, it’s Guthrie here.”

Master Devlin: “Ah, Guthrie. Great to see you.”

Travers: “Master Devlin, you really need better security. There’s a lot of valuables here — can’t just let homeless hippy vagrants wander in. He’s after my wall, no doubt! Well, you can’t have it, bub… get your own!”

Master Devlin: “Settle down, Travers. I clearly know this man.”

Travers: “Well, I’m not sure I like the look of him… Get a haircut, you Ed-damn hippy!”

Travers snarls at Guthrie.

Guthrie: “She’s a little precious, isn’t she?”

The Master chuckles.

Travers: “Shut up, asshole! You’re the one with girl hair! And you’re not taking my wall…”

Master Devlin: “That’s enough, Travers. You’re being very rude to Guthrie.”

Guthrie: “I’m really not interested in that wall.”

Travers enters into a kung fu stance, guarding his “boobie mural” wall segment.

Travers: “Yeah, yeah… sure you’re not…”

Guthrie: “Can I have a sandwich?”

Travers: “No! I suggest you try the town a mile down the road. But you’ll need a permit to eat.”

Guthrie: “What is he talking about?”

Master Devlin: “I have no idea anymore. Ignore him. Of course you can — in the pantry. Help yourself.”

Guthrie leaves the room.

Travers: "Yeah, that's right… Run away! Lousy beatnik…"

Master Devlin: "Not really the behavior of a supposed national treasure."

Travers: "I'm sorry, Master Devlin, but there's something about that guy that just bugs me. And I'm too tense to pretend otherwise."

A voice echoes from the mural:

Voice: "It's probably because you are spawned from Waldo, and Waldo hates Guthrie…"

They turn to find Evil Ed stepping out of the wall segment.

Ed: "Hello!"

Master Devlin: "Oh... Hello, Edward."

Ed: "So, this is Devlin Manor, eh?"

Master Devlin: "Why are you pretending as if you don’t know?"

Ed: "Literary effect…"

The Master glances down, noticing Travers in a worship pose. Ed pats Travers on the head.

Ed: "Good dog…"

The Master grabs Travers to his feet.

Master Devlin: "Get up."

Ed: "So the studio was wondering… where is this plot going, exactly? The executives are anxious… the audience loves Widdlington. Not sure about this place..."

Master Devlin: "As Editor, I’d expect you’d tell me?"

Ed: "Actually, it's your friend, the co-ed, that seems to be steering this ship at the moment."

Master Devlin: "Well, you’re in my home, I suppose I should offer you something. Water? Tea? Butter?"

Ed: "No… thank you. I’m actually just passing through. I’m heading over to Walgoth Monastery to troll the monks who worship me. Every 100 years or so I like to mess with them. Which is like every 10 days in my time, but you don’t need to know that…"

Master Devlin: "I see."

Guthrie walks in, holding his sandwich. 🥪

Guthrie: "Ahh, Edward."

Ed: "…"

Guthrie: "Nothing to say to me, huh?"

Ed snaps his fingers. Guthrie’s face suddenly contorts in disgust. He opens his sandwich to find the cheese and pickles replaced with dog shit.

Ed: 😏

Travers chuckles.

Master Devlin: "That wasn’t very nice, Ed."

Ed: "He had it coming. Besides, someone had to do something funny around here… Anyway… later, bozos…"

Ed vanishes.

Travers, distracted by laughter, fails to notice his wall toppling forward, crushing him and breaking into many pieces.

A few moments later, a heartbroken Travers emerges from the rubble. He picks up a fragment of the mural with a pair of breasts — Chantelle’s, clearly, the only black ones in the mural. It then crumbles to dust in his flippers.

His inner goblin rage flares. In fury, he lunges at Guthrie, savagely clawing at him. Guthrie screeches as Travers scratches his face. The Master is momentarily stunned; he’s not used to such savage violence from Travers.

The Master rushes over, grabs Travers, and rips off his moustache. Travers freezes in shock.

Guthrie is left bloodied and bewildered.

Travers, still dazed, picks up his severed moustache, puts it in his pocket, and wanders around aimlessly like a soldier who just lost an arm.

Mavis walks in, sees the chaos — bloodied Guthrie and moustacheless Travers, and faints.

Master Devlin: "Well, of course, this has been a fucking disaster."

Herbert the Butler enters, looking around.

Herbert: "Master Steven? May I be of assistance?"

Master Devlin: "Yes, Herbert. Can you take Guthrie to the kitchen, clean him up, and make him another sandwich?"

Herbert: "Very good, sir. And Mavis?"

Master Devlin: "Oh… um… just leave her there."

Herbert: "Very good, sir."

The Master approaches Travers, sitting calmly and staring into space.

Master Devlin: "Travers? Are you alright now?"

Travers: "What? Oh, yes, thank you. I would like to use the bathroom, if I may…"

Master Devlin: "Which one? We have several."

Travers: "Whatever is closest."

Master Devlin: "Nearest one is down the hall."

Travers: "Thanks. I wonder if I might borrow some scissors and a razor? I wish to remove these hairs."

Master Devlin: "There should be some scissors and a razor in there. Tweezers too."

Travers: "I see… Well, if you'll excuse me…"

Travers exits the scene.

****

Travers returns some time later, having cleaned himself up. The last traces of his moustache are gone, and he looks twenty years younger.

Travers: "Hello, Master Devlin..."

His voice has changed too—less Mars Attacks Nicholson, more Chinatown Nicholson. Master Devlin is taken aback by Travers’ appearance and demeanor.

Master Devlin: "Umm… Travers, are you alright?"

Travers: "I humbly request your forgiveness for my past behavior... I wasn’t myself. But I feel much better now."

He picks up a paintbrush and returns to his work, unusually quiet.

****

Some time later, the Master makes another routine check of Travers’ work to make sure there are no more obscene murals. Surprisingly, Travers has made good progress.

There’s a knock at the door. Without a word, Travers heads into the main hall, opens the front door, and can be heard speaking to someone. The Master decides to investigate himself, not trusting Travers to behave appropriately as a representative of Devlin Manor. As he hurries to the front, he nods reassuringly to old Herbert — anxiously trying to make his way from the kitchen at the far end of the building.

The Master reaches the door to find Travers softly speaking to a couple of busty blonde women wearing bikini tops and short skirts. He interrupts, hoping to rescue them from whatever perverted things Travers is no doubt attempting to proposition.

Master Devlin: "Hello?"

Travers: "Ah, good, here he is. Ladies, this is Master Devlin, the head of the household I was telling you about. Master Devlin, this is Hilda and Greta, students from Germany. They're hoping to plan some sort of party tomorrow night, just down by the lake..."

He hands the Master a flyer they gave him. They appear to belong to a German religious women’s college that worships the Editor. They’ve come to celebrate their Lord and Master by throwing a beach party in his honour under the shadow of the Walgoth Monastery Tower.

Hilda: "Guten Tag. Pleased to meet you, Herr Master. Ja, tomorrow night the full moon shall shine behind the Valgoth Tower. It vill be fantastisch. Ve vish to honour this majestic moment by bathing nude in the moonlit shadow of the tower vile giving praise to ze almighty Editor."

Greta: "Ve vill also be having beer und BBQ... Ve vould very much love for you to join us. Having some boys always makes party more fun, ja?"

Travers: "I’m sure it is, but as I already explained, ladies, we have a lot of work to do here — redecorating. It’s a big house. And, besides, that spot of land you want to party on is Master Devlin’s property..."

Hilda: "Decorating? Ve could help? In exchange for letting us use your land? Fair deal, ja?"

Travers: "Well, I’ve got a lot to do just now, so I’ll leave you to discuss it with Master Devlin. Good day, ladies..."

Travers starts to walk away. The Master is very confused by Travers’ restrained behaviour.

Greta: "Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Travers! Ve very hope you change your mind..."

Travers only gives a nod, then heads back to the dining room and begins painting again.

Hilda: "So, Herr Master. Vould it be okay to have our party?"

Master Devlin: "Umm… excuse me a moment, I must go have a word with my associate. Please come in and make yourself at home. I’ll be back shortly."

The Master charges over to Travers and picks him up by the scruff.

Master Devlin: "Travers… Who are those women and why are they really here?"

Travers scowls at the Master.

Travers: "Are you out of your fucking mind? I’ve never seen them before in my life." I just met them for the first time a minute ago!”

Master Devlin: "Don’t try that scowl at me — you no longer have a moustache. It looks weird. And don’t give me that bullshit, you are up to something."

Travers: "What are you talking about?"

Master Devlin: "You are being incredibly shady, Travers."

Travers: "Whatever. I’ve got painting to do."

Master Devlin: "You expect me to believe these women just show up and you don’t know them?"

Travers: "Believe what you want. The fact is they don’t know me, and I don’t know them. Go ask them if you want."

Master Devlin: "Fine then. I will."

The Master drops the goblin and heads back through to speak to the German girls.

Master Devlin: "I’m sorry, ladies, I was just wondering if you are acquainted with Mr. Travers? Have you met him before? He didn’t summon you here, did he?"

Hilda: "Nein... ve just met him zer for ze first time ven ve knocked on ze door."

Greta: "I hope everything is okay? Ve haven’t caused trouble? Ve just vant permission for party."

Master Devlin: "No, no, it is fine. It is not any trouble from you I am worried about. But anyway… yes, you may have your party at the lake. Just clean up after yourselves."

Hilda: "Danke, Herr Master! Of course ve vill."

Greta: "And ve hope to see you both zer."

Master Devlin: "Yes. Perhaps... Have fun."

The Master closes the door and returns to his painting. He expects Travers to gloat and demand an apology, yet Travers says nothing. He simply paints in silence.

The Waldoverse continues in The Tower of Walgoth Episode 3