Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars

Next chapter of my Broken Sword novelization, enjoy.

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Now onto the story.

Disclaimer: I don't own Broken Sword or its characters.

An Unpleasant Task

Stepping back down into the market square I wrinkled my nose at the smell. It was coming from the kebab stand, no surprise since, in the still air, the smell hung around like bad smells do. It was then I saw it and felt even more grossed out. The horrific truth, the morose looking kebab seller was basting his kebabs, with the missing toilet brush. It may never have seen the inside of a toilet, but it was hardly appetising.

'Still, that's the brush I need, I need to get it back from him somehow.' I thought to myself as I approached him. "Hello sir, what's your name?"

He didn't answer my question, instead he looked up, slightly hopeful. "Hello, you buy kebab, yes?"

"Um no, I was just hoping I could ask you-" I began.

"Buy kebab, most good." He insisted. "Kam tureed?"

I realised quickly that, just like the carpet seller, I wasn't going to get anywhere, he was too focused on his wares.

"Um, never mind, I'll see you later." I said.

"Most good." He called after me.

I thought for a moment, I needed to think things through. So I was back to that old trick of asking around. So, without really thinking about it, I approached the American man I had seen earlier.

"Hi there, I was wondering if you could help me?"

He turned to me and smiled amiably. "Why sure son, always got time for a fellow American. The name's Henderson, Duane Henderson."

I smiled at that.

I was glad to finally he having a reasonable and normal conversation.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Henderson."

He shook his head, laughing. "Hell boy, I ain't in the office, call me Duane."

"Okay, hi Duane." I replied. "My name's George Stobbart."

I thought for a moment, considering a few things I wanted to know more about.

Just making conversation I started lightly. "You're a long way from home, Duane.

He shrugged, replying casually. "Yeah, could say the same about you George."

"Me?" I started. "Oh I'm just sight-seeing is all."

"Without a camera. Kinda lax to come all this way and not take pictures." He remarked. "Mind if I take a picture of you George?"

"Huh?"

He then did so and the flash was almost blinding.

"Ow, you coulda warned me." I complained.

"You don't mind do ya, the folks back home will be real interested."

I shrugged, letting it go and considered what to ask.

"Do you mind if I ask you a strange question?" I queried at last.

"Okay, but I might not answer it." He said.

So I asked. "Do you know the Templars?"

"The Knight's Templar?"

"Yeah, that's them." I confirmed.

He shook his head. "Nope, not a damn thing."

I quirked an eyebrow at that. "Well you know they were an order of knights?"

"What I know and what I say are two different things, George." Duane explained. "I haven't lasted this long in this business without knowing that."

"In this business?" I wondered.

"Sure, the greetings card business."

Oh puh-lease. So much for that.

Trying to find something, anything, recalling the image from the manuscript I asked.

"Do you think bulls have any significance around here?"

"Another weird question, George." Duane quipped. "But nope, don't think they have."

"What about Bulls Head Hill?"

"Where's that?" He asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know exactly, just know it's around here, I've been trying to find out."

"Bull's Head huh?" He mused. "I must remember that, sounds...scenic."

Deciding to allay some curiosity I then asked. "What exactly is it you do Duane?"

"Didn't I say?" He replied. "I run a greetings card company in Cleveland, Ohio, my wife Pearl writes the poems that go in them, you oughta ask her to recite some."

"Where is your wife, Duane?"

"Pearl, oh she's out looking for bargains." He said fondly.

That confirmed my suspicions that the woman I had seen had been this man's wife.

I smiled lightly. "How long have you been married Duane."

"Hell must be about thirty years now." He said with a warm smile.

I had one more question to ask. "Does the image of a knight holding a crystal ball mean anything to you?"

"Hell no, what would a knight want with a hunk of glass?" Duane countered.

"I don't know, that's the prob-" I stopped suddenly as it dawned on me.

"What's wrong son?"

"It's not a crystal ball." I realized.

It all came together in my head, what the conspirators had mentioned losing in Syria, the strange perspective of the manuscript.

"It's a lens." It all made sense, the lens Klausner had found. "S-sorry, got distracted, I have to go but we'll talk again later."

Duane nodded. "Count on it George."

With that we went our separate ways and I went and spoke to Pearl too; rather like Duane she seemed a little spacey at times, but she seemed to be more on board than her husband. It was from her I learned that they actually lived and worked in Akron, Ohio and that Duane had been medically discharged with shell-shock after a tour of Vietnam with the Marines. So now some of his strangeness made sense, including, Pearl warned me, believing he was a spy on a secret mission.

I made my way over to the junk stand, taking note a few things I hadn't noticed before, such as a bell on the counter, the type you'd see in hotel receptions, as well as an ugly looking brute of a cat who lay on the counter as if he owned the place. I tapped the bell, it rang once and the door next to the stand came out. A gruff looking Syrian man with brown hair, sharp eyes and clad in a red sleeveless top and patchwork pants emerged, pointed at the boy standing next to the stall and went back inside. After briefly embarrassing myself by trying to see if the boy spoke any common language to me, I learned that he was in fact fluent in his native Arabic, as well as English, French and Spanish.

After making that reveal the boy smiled. "My name is Nejo, welcome to my stand of quality merchandise."

"Nice to meet you, the name's George." I replied, then, unable to help my curiosity. "Is that your father lurking back there?"

"Oh yes, a most roaring fellow, Ayub is his name."

"Doesn't sound like you respect him much." I mused.

Nejo quirked an eyebrow. "Don't I, not only do I respect him I rather like him, for all his bluster we get on well."

Okay, a little strange but I continued to make conversation with Nejo, asking about the Templars, knights, Ultar, Duane and Pearl, and even about some of the items I had in my pocket. It turned out Nejo didn't have much information about the Templars or knights, or a high opinion of Ultar. He mused that while Duane seemed odd, he got the feeling Pearl was brighter than she let on, it was true she seemed a little flighty, but he might have a point. But then I asked about the kebab seller.

"That is Arto, sir." He told me.

"He doesn't look very happy." I noted.

Nejo shook his head. "He never is, day in, day out, face like a wet Wednesday...whatever one of those is."

"Does he speak any English?"

"Not cogently no." Nejo admitted.

I sighed, so much for that. I spoke about a few more things, Nejo seemed surprisingly impressed by the red ball I got from the juggler, despite his obvious intelligence, he was still a kid it seemed.

I decided, since no one else seemed willing to help out, that maybe I could ask Nejo.

"Listen, Nejo, this is gonna sound strange but, I need Arto's brush."

"What?" He gasped, looking at me strangely. "The brush he bastes his kebabs with?"

I nodded and he shook his head. "Let me find some dirty postcards for you instead?"

"Nejo this is serious, Arto stole that brush from a friend and I have to get it back." I told him.

His expression changed again, this time becoming thoughtful. "Perhaps I could help you, maybe..."

"Perhaps what, maybe what?" I asked.

"I don't wish to seem mercenary, but I am a merchant and merchants trade." He told me.

I shook my head in disbelief. "Merchant, this isn't Sears and Roebucks here."

"Well, if you're going to be disagreeable..."

"No, no." I said quickly. "What do you want?"

He made a show of being thoughtful, a little overdone to be honest. "I seem to recall you had something that could alleviate my boredom, a globe of delight, a rubicund sphere of-"

"You mean the ball don't you." I said. "If you want the ball just say so."

"Could I have the ball please, mister."

"Okay, here you go." I said with a slight laughing, giving it to him.

"Thank you sir." He said. "Now, the brush, all you have to do is be polite to Arto. It brightens his day, makes it worthwhile for him again."

I sighed. "How can I be polite to the guy if I don't a word of Syrian?"

"Arabic."

"That's what I meant."

Nejo nodded. "Just memorise this phrase. 'Il a'kl kalb'."

"Il akl kalb?" I repeated.

"Close enough." Nejo told me. "Now go and delivered these honeyed words into Arto's delicate ear and he won't be able to do enough for you."

"Really?" I wondered.

"Really."

I nodded and turned around, hopeful.

I approached the kebab stand again.

"Hello again sir."

He looked up, again that hopeful look in his eyes. "Hello, kebab, mmmm, yes?"

I cleared my throat. "Um, Il akl kalb?"

To my shock his face contorted into an expression of pure rage.

"Filthy, bad, bad." He roared. "I kill you!"

"Whoa calm down I..." I saw that reason wasn't going to work. "Feet, do your thing."

So it was I ended up running from Arto as he came after me with the knife he used to slice his kebabs. I knew he'd stopped pursuing but I didn't stop, not until I was back in the club Alamut. I found myself breathing heavily, the heat wasn't making this easier. What the hell happened there, that wasn't what Nejo claimed would happen. Feeling suspicious I turned to Ultar.

"Excuse me Ultar."

He smiled at me. "Ah, hello again, possible future client."

"Well, maybe." I remarked. "What does Il akl kalb mean?"

"Who teach you that?" He asked, suspicious.

"Nejo told me to say it to Arto."

"Nejo, ha, Ayub's boy, is too big for sandals that one." Ultar replied. "You said that and Arto came after you with big knife yes?"

I stared, incredulous. "Yeah, how did you know?"

He chuckled. "I know Arto, you tell him in bad Arabic that his kebabs made from dog meat."

"I said he was using dog food." I gasped. "No wonder he went crazy."

"No, Ultar not mean meat for dog." Ultar told me, shaking his head. "Ultar mean meat of dog."

"Oh...ew."

It was worse than I thought. Grimacing I left the club and made my way back down to the market square. Apart from giving me the evil eye, Arto didn't do anything thankfully.

I made my way back to Nejo's and glared at him.

"What the heck Nejo, I-"

"Patience sir." He said calmly.

But I was anything but calm. "Patience, PATIENCE? I've been chased by a homicidal kebab seller and you expect me to be PATIENT!?"

To my surprise, Nejo smirked. "But consider sir, while you were running from the irate Arto. The irate Arto wasn't using the brush."

"Hold on, are you tell me I've been used as a diversionary tactic?" I realised.

Nejo then held it out. "Your brush sir."

I took it from him, shaking my head. "I can't believe you put me on that kebab seller's death list, for a toilet brush."

"The ends justify the means sir."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, well I noticed it wasn't your butt that was on the line though."

"They also serve who only stand and wait sir." He said by way of reply.

"Oh spare me."

So, turning back I began to head for the club, now that I had the missing toilet brush.

End of chapter, so things have gotten a little strange, if somewhat comical and we've met my favourite Broken Sword character of all time Duane Henderson, anyway, what happens next, we'll have to wait and see, read and review please.