Chapter II is now up! celebrates by dancing to Psy (actually that's not a celebration, that's torture...) Thanks to Savannah Silverstone, Dash99, Sleeping Kangaroo, Icestorm238, Blackpanther101 and Xayhra for reviewing the previous chapter, cookies for you :)

Thanks for your suggestion Xayhra, I like it :D

Martini watched with narrowed eyes, his arms folded across his chest as the young wards slowly filed into the room, they narrowed even further until he could hardly see as they formed a shambling line, 'Alright yew 'orrible lot!' he roared at the top of his lungs, 'Git yurselves in proper 'eight order and jump to it!'

Martini watched with obvious satisfaction as the teens scrambled to do his bidding. Martini was a short man and didn't cut a very impressive figure but what he lacked in height and stature he made up for in voice.

Horace being the tallest stood at the top of the line with Alyss next to him (who, even when just standing, managed to look irritatingly fantastic). Next came George who was 469/1000ths of a head shorter than Alyss (he'd measured the difference two days ago). Which left Will and Jenny.

The two stood there for a few moments eyeing one another. Not daring to break eye contact. Not daring to move. Jenny's eyes narrowed. A muscle jumped in Will's cheek. Horace, George and Alyss leaned forward slightly in anticipation. Even Martini looked fascinated by the mental battle taking place.

Eventually Jenny leaned in closer to Will, 'I'm taller,' she said through gritted teeth.

Will's throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously, 'Right,' he squeaked, his voice coming out several octaves higher than usual, 'you're taller.'

Jenny nodded slowly, 'Yes, I am aren't I?'

Will breathed quiet sigh of relief as Jenny retreated to the line, sometimes it was best not to argue with her, she usually kept a hardwood ladle somewhere about her person and to provoke her to reveal it was certain doom.

'Right then you lot,' bellowed Martini, back in charge, 'I will not have any lollergaging or slouching in the line, straighten yerselves up and stand to attenshun'!'

'I really don't think that is necessary Martini.'

It was Baron Barald who had spoken. He had snuck into the room through a series of winding passageways and secret doors before appearing in his chair which ascended through the floor using a clever system of pulleys. To add to the effect a puff of sparkly smoke filled the area where he was sitting. This provoked a coughing fit from Baron Barald who had inhaled some glitter (let this be a lesson to us: inhaling glitter is bad for your health).

At this dramatic appearance from Barald, Martini leaped to attention, 'Candidates at the ready sir!' he said, a little too loudly for Baron Barald's taste.

The Baron sighed deeply and rolled his eyes which were a little lost under his bushy eyebrows. He had a long, flowing and voluminous beard which, it was often rumoured, he used for storing various food items.

'Candidates are awaiting the craftmasters sir!' roared Martini, Barald winced as the volume set his ears ringing.

'Right then,' he rose to his feet and flung out his arms, 'BRING FORTH THE CRAFTMASTERS!' he bellowed dramatically.

'Sir, yes sir!' said Martini clicking his heels, the volume he managed to muster was quite impressive and drew a few admiring glances from the wards. As Martini marched over to the door and seized hold of the handle the Baron said quickly, 'Please don't bellow at them,' his previous secretary had made that mistake and had promptly found himself lying flat out of the floor with a Sir Rodknee-sized fist shape on his chin.

Martini looked a little worried, he was aware of what had happened the previous time and was also aware of the rumours that Lady Pauline wore stilletos and was trained to use them in combat. He was also aware of Chef Chubby's ladle skills. And of Nigel's tendency to get irritated and talk someone half to death. He glanced warily at the door and then cautiously pulled it open, wincing as it creaked.

In soft, hushed tones, he addressed the assembled men and woman, 'The Baron is now ready,' before hastily pulling back and retreating to the far side of the room.

[Desciption of Craftmasters and their physical appearance etc. which I can't be bothered to do happens]

'The craftmasters are ready sir,' whispered Martini once the group were assembled.

Baron Barald nodded patiently and walked over to them, 'GOOD MORNING!' he boomed, he turned to Lady Pauline, 'How's it going?' and then the men, ''Sup guys?'

There was a general muttering of "sup" from the men accompanied by the shuffling of feet and a smile and curtsey from Lady Pauline who was more "with it" on occasions such as this.

'Okay then,' said Baron Barald turning to Martini with a swirling of his robes, 'shall we do this thing or what?'

Martini paced along the line of wards, a wolfish smile on his face, 'Now then,' he grunted, 'which of you sorry lot is first?'

Sir Rodknee raised his eyebrows, he was beginning to wish that he'd considered Martini for Backside-Kicking School, he would have made a fantastic drill-master.

There was another general shuffling of feet and embarrassed coughs throughout the room as the wards all darted nervous glances at one another.

Will, staring intently at the ground suddenly became aware of a strange sensation, it was as if someone was watching him (or it could indigestion, it was sometimes hard to tell). Looking up he found himself staring into the eyes of [pause for dramatic effect] Halt the Granger.

Will gulped. Halt was a mysterious, shadowy figure, tales of sorcery surrounded the grangers and Will had believed some of them. Halt was an unnerving character, he had a tendency to appear when you least expected [urm...yeah...I could write a few things about that but I won't...]

The young man wondered why Halt was here today (a moment of foreshadowing here) as far as he was aware the Granger wasn't one of the crafmasters and he hadn't attended a Pick An Apprentice Day before now.

Abruptly, Halt's gaze cut away from him, it was as if a light had turned off.

Looking up, Will saw that ye olde 60e watte light bulb had one out.

Baron Barald frowned and muttered something uncomplimentary about lightbulbs under his breath before turning his attention back to Martini who was still prowling along the line of wards, preparing to single one out, 'Hows about we go for the first in line man?' he suggested.

Martini paused in his relentless movement and nodded slowly, 'Of course Baron,' he moved over to Horace and in a lot meanancing voice said, 'looks like your first sonny, get your backside outta the line.'

'Language,' sighed Baron Barald, momentarily forgetting his string of curses uttered earlier.

'Oh...right,' said Martini shooting a slightly embarrassed glance in Pauline's direction.

Horace shuffled forward out of the line.

The Baron eyed him for a few moments, 'Name dude?'

'Horace Antman, sir.'

'And what preference do you have Horace?' asked the Baron, though he could guess.

'Backside-Kicking School sir,' said Horace firmly.

The Baron looked momentarily deflated, he'd put Horace down as a cooking person.

Rodknee was studying Horace thoughtfully, assessing how suitable he would be for Backside-Kicking School.

'Backside-Kicking Master?' asked Baron Barald.

Sir Rodknee stepped forward to look more closely at Horace, his chain mail clinking, spurs clanking, helmet clonking, sword jangling. Rodknee's eye narrowed, tall, athletic, strong, nice-hairdo; he made a mental note to find out where Horace got his hair gel.

'He looks strong enough,' the knight said, 'I can always use new trainees,' he paused to scratch his armpit thoughtfully, 'Do you ride?'

A look of panic crossed Horace's face and he collapsed to the ground, 'No oh great one, but please I beg of you...'

'No matter,' said Sir Rodknee, seemingly oblivious to the grovelling teen, 'it can be taught easily enough.'

Horace froze, 'Oh,' he said quietly and hastily scrambled to his feet.

Sir Rodknee looked at the Baron and nodded, 'Very well, my lord, I will him for Backside-Kicking School, subject to the usual three-month probationary period.'

'Righto then,' responded Barald then paused, 'What does probationary mean?'

Rodknee looked a little puzzled, 'I dunno,' he looked around at the other craftmasters for help.

Ulf shrugged, Chubby was stroking his ladle and not really paying attention, Halt didn't look as if he could care less, Pauline sighed quietly wondering at the lack of education some people were receiving these days. Help came from Nigel who cleared his throat, 'Probationary (pr-bshn) coming from Old French probabation, from Latin probatio, from probatus, past participle of probare, to test; means a process or period in which a person's fitness, as for work or membership in a social group, is tested.'

'Oh, right,' said Barald looking somewhat bamboozled, he blinked then turned to the delighted looking Horace, 'Congratulations,' he said, 'report to Backside-Kicking School tomorrow morning at eight o' clock (GMT) sharp.'

'Thank-you oh great one,' Horace said reverently and bowed slightly to Rodknee.

The knight smiled and let out a low (slightly evil/demented) chuckle which filled the chamber, 'you don't know what you are in for...'

A/N Yay! I've finally finished the chapter! I was going to combine chapters two and three originally but I was taking so long to write out Chapter two that in the end I decided not to bother...

So all that remains for me to say is [takes a deep breath] RRRRRRREEEEEVVVVVIIIIIIEEEEEWWWWWW!