2 – Recruitment Drive

Mr Red sat back in his plush chair, his legs stretched lazily under the table, and let the sights and sounds of Mountbasten's most expensive eatery wash over him, almost lulling him to sleep, his eyelids heavy. Almost. A thin smile danced on his lips. He was far too professional for that. Decorated cutlery, glinting as the heavy torchlight caught it, scraped against plates forged in the deepest, rarest dwarf mines, and the happy murmur of meaningless conversation buzzed from the well-fed, well-dressed clientele. The serving girls and serving boys, immaculately clothed themselves, darted in and around the tables with practised ease.

Far too much lavish wealth on display here, what? Mr Red thought to himself. Why, a concerned citizen should ease them of their not inconsiderable burdens, I do think. Of course, I'd ask first. Shame they always say 'no'. Oh well, that's life.

He glanced behind him, saw the diamond encrusted chandelier spinning slowly overhead, a veritable swarm of colour and light, and smiled, happiness bubbling inside him. Then again, he mused, he was always happy. Mr Red turned back to his fellow diner, looked at him from over the tip of his glass – he'd ordered sugared drinks, fizzing quietly beneath a limp slice of lemon - and listened.

"Everywhere I go it's the same," the ReDead was saying. "Everyone wants to avoid me. All I want is a little chat, maybe a cup of tea and a slice of cake, but is that what I get? Noooo…I just get screams, fainting, and the occasional scruffy layabout trying to drive a silver stake through my unbeating heart. I mean, honestly."

Mr Red, though inwardly tired of his friend's constant whining, kept his smile in place. "Old chap, I'd say it was because people aren't used to the dead, what?" He ran a finger around the rim of his glass. "But, chin up, eh? It's not that bad."

The ReDead's eyes widened. "Not used to the dead? Not used to the dead!" He slapped one undead hand down onto the table, making their drinks jump. "And who do you think are the majority on this world, hmm?" He smacked his chest. "We are! The dead! A somewhat silent majority, I admit, but a majority nonetheless. And, anyway, it's not like the rest of you aren't going to experience it as well. It just boggles the mind."

A serving girl, smiling despite the haggard look in her eyes, spotted their table, and honed in on them, dodging trolleys of food with an enviable grace. The ReDead, sensing the motion, slowly began to look up. The serving girl, not knowing what she was about to encounter, turned her head slightly to meet his gaze. Years of habit kicked in, and the ReDead's eyes sparked with a molten glow -

And in a flash of light, the serving girl turned instantly to stone. The two friends turned to look at her, saw her notescroll hanging limply from her fingers, saw the expression of half-bewilderment forming on her features.

Mr Red, closing his eyes, let his head sink into his hands. "I really can't take you anywhere, can I, old chap?"

The ReDead, his gaze on the floor and his undead cheeks blossoming rose, managed to look suitably sheepish.

"Anywhere we go, it's always the same result," Mr Red went on. "We can never get past the drinks before you have to go and petrify the hired help, what?"

"Sorry," the ReDead mumbled.

There was a plop, then a fizz, then a hiss.

Mr Red arched an eyebrow. "Your nose has just dropped into your drink."

"Sorry," the ReDead replied, fishing the said item from his sugared drink.

"I guess we should leave, what? Before these lovely people unwrap themselves from their own little worlds and actually notice what's happened."

"I'm a failure," the ReDead moaned, his shoulders sagging (and almost dropping off). "That's what I am. I'm no good alive or dead. I'd ask you to kill me, but it's already too late."

Mr Red, one of life's eternal optimists, patted his friend on his undead hand. "There, there, old chap, don't be so hard on yourself." He flicked his glass; it sang in response. "You know the difference between you and me, what?"

The ReDead shrugged, shedding undead skin as he did so.

Mr Red picked up his glass. Clear sparkling liquid sloshed mid-way. "You see this glass, old chap, and think it's half-empty." He smiled, and set the drink down on the table. "But me…I see this glass and see it as half-full."

A shadow fell across their table. The two friends froze. "While I, on the other hand," the newcomer said brightly, sweeping the glass up in one hand. "I see this glass and think: Are you not having this drink, then? No? In that case, can I have it?" He downed it in one gulp. "Thanks very much, mate!"

Mr Red almost fell out of his chair. "You!"

The newcomer grinned. "Me!"

"The Hylian!" For the first time ever in his life, Mr Red felt all his happiness and well-being drain from him like an upturned pitcher of water. Pure dread flowing through his veins, he whirled out of his chair, knocking the table over as he did so and then faced-

the point of the Hylian's sword. Azure eyes bore into him. "Hel-lo!"

How had he moved so fast? Mr Red staggered back, dazed, noticing that all conversation had stopped in the eatery and all eyes were upon them, then spun around, his back to the Hylian, and set his legs ready to-

The tip of a blade pricked his stomach. Mr Red gaped as he found himself face-to-face with the grinning, blond-haired Hylian madman once again.

"Now, now, mate," the Hylian said. "I was looking forward to a little happy reunion – a little sharing of the ideas, mutual back-slapping and the like, if you will – and I do hope you were going oblige and not make a rather hasty getaway. I mean, that would be pretty bad form, don't you think?"

A thud rang out from behind them.

"Sorry!" the ReDead called cheerily "No cause for alarm! It's just that my arm's dropped off!"

The Hylian frowned – and in that moment of distraction, Mr Red moved. He barged past the madman, leapt onto a table, Mountbasten's finest roast meat squelching under his boots, then jumped again, grabbing at the chandelier. He yelled as he swung across the dining room, a spider-web of cracks from the ceiling raining loose bits of masonry down onto his head. Letting go, Mr Red hit the floor in a roll, sprang to his feet, then burst out through the doors onto the street, almost slipping on a sludge of rotten fruit in the process.

He glanced left, saw the carriages rumbling through the uneven streets, their drivers cracking the air with their whips, then right, with the crowds of merrymakers walking this way and that, oblivious to his distress, and then finally he dived into a sidestreet. The torchlight was dim here, the walls stained with heaven-knows-what, and he had to weave his way through broken boxes and piles of garbage. Mr Red's mind raced – how had the Hylian found him? And, more importantly, what did he want? It wasn't everyday that the usually easygoing Mr Red felt a touch of unease, but at the moment his heart was gripped with the clammy hand of sheer terror.

Mr Red stumbled down the street, listening keenly and managing to only hear the distant bark of an agitated dog. He peered through the haze of smoke that slipped its way out from the eatery's kitchens – and then, all of a sudden, the windows that lined the walls popped open one by one and Mr Red realised that the housewives living in the adjacent building were planning to throw out their waste water.

"Hey, watch out!" one woman cried, her saggy cheeks wobbling, as Mr Red had to duck to avoid a bucketload of foul-smelling slop that went flying through the air, before splattering against the ground.

"What are you doing here, you scamp!" another shouted as Mr Red gracefully twirled away from more incoming muck.

Another window snapped open, another head appeared and: "Hel-lo!"

"AAAAH!" Mr Red cried, losing his footing, then careening against the wall. Head ringing, he slumped to the ground as the Hylian slowly stepped over him.

"Oh, I do hope you were not making a strategic withdrawal just then, mate," the Hylian said softly. "I mean you wouldn't want to hurt my feelings now, would you?" The Hylian grinned. "A little query, sunshine."

"What do you want with me?" Mr Red moaned, his head pounding and his vision blurred.

"You happen to be the best Trapsnapper in all of Hyrule, are you not?" the Hylian went on. "You know what I mean, I'm sure – all those deserted little underground getaways that are boobytrapped to the hilt. You can open those legit, right?"

Realisation dawned in Mr Red's mind. "I'll never help you!"

"No?" the Hylian replied.

Mr Red stiffened as the Hylian reached into a green hat perched atop his head. A bead of sweat ran a path down Mr Red's forehead, and his throat dried then tightened. Fear opened his eyes wide, to the point that they ached. The Hylian rummaged about a bit, then – pausing for just a heartbeat, just to torture him Mr Red was sure – he brought out a small glowing orb.

"No," Mr Red whimpered. "Not-"

The orb shuddered, unfurled, then: "Hey!" it cried. "Listen!"

"Please!" Mr Red cried.

The Fairy, a blur of pure light and fluttering wings, zipped down to hover beside one of Mr Red's ears. "Hey!" it cooed, before flying off to his other ear. "Listen!"

"Nnnnnnnnn!" Mr Red groaned, his teeth clenched.

The Hylian, his cloak trailing in the dust behind him, trotted off to the mouth of the street, whistling to himself all the while.

"Hey!"

"Mercy!"

"Listen!"

"Please!"

Standing looking out at the main street, the Hylian folded his arms, then blew against the tips of his fingers, smiling at the people walking past who, noticing his expression and the cries flying out from the darkened sidestreet, huddled together and walked quickly onwards, not daring to meet his gaze.

"Hey!"

A young couple, either freshly wed or still courting, slowed down as they approached, their eyes widening.

"The pain!"

"Listen!"

"Yes?" the Hylian said, smiling sweetly as the couple came to a stop.

"The pain!"

"There…erm…" the young man began. Carriages trundled through the cobbled streets behind them, their wheels sloshing through the puddles of a previous night's rain.

"Hey!"

"Aaaaah!"

The girl squeezed his arm, tightened the shawl around her shoulders, and then glanced up at the Hylian, concern shining in her eyes. "I think," she said, her voice hushed.

"Listen!"

"AAAAH!"

"I think," she went on, emboldened. "There's some sort of commotion back there."

The Hylian grinned. "Good heavens, really?" The crazed look on his face dared them to answer 'yes.'

"No, no," the young man replied, pulling his reluctant sweetheart away. "Our mistake. Come along, dear, leave the man to his business."

"Hey!"

"Alright, alright! I'll do it!"

The Hylian peeled himself from the wall he was leaning against and then sidled his way back to Mr Red, carefully stepping over loose debris, his footsteps ringing out in the dark. "Thanks, love," he said, nodding at the Fairy. He lifted his hat, and an arrowhead of light darted back in.

His chest heaving, and his eyes bloodshot, Mr Red glared up at his captor. "You fiend!" Then, miraculously, his face softened into a smile. "But a jolly nice man, what?"

"It's all for a good cause, mate, don't you worry."

"A barrel of laughs, I'm sure," Mr Red said, now completely and utterly in a state of ecstasy. "Sorry for the melodramatics, but it was awfully exhilarating."

The Hylian, familiar with the peculiar manners of the esteemed Mr Red, only smiled some more. "There's a sport, mate." He beckoned at the fallen man. "Come, come, haven't got all day." He paused for thought. "Oh, and bring the ReDead with you." The Hylian looked up, his gaze fixing on the dark, imposing form of Mountbasten Cathedral looming over the city as the shadows of birds encircled the spire. High above, the Hylian spotted a small shape shuffle onto a ledge. Eyes narrowed, the Hylian rubbed his chin. "Hmmmm."

2

Simon DeLance stood on the very edge of the granite ledge, sweat dripping down his face, the wind whipping at his silver hair, and peered down at the vast chasm of the world beneath him. His heart pounded against his chest, making his ribs vibrate and threatening to tear through into the cool night air. Craning his head forward slightly, Simon dared to take a peek. The city of Mountbasten stared back, all blurred lights and muddy coloured buildings. A crowd had formed at the foot of the Cathedral, and they gazed up, hands over their eyes, mouthing words that Simon couldn't hear.

DeLance flung himself back against the wall, his trembling fingers scrabbling for the cool touch of granite behind. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes. "Remember the pain," he gasped, his breaths short and sharp. "Remember the injustice. Yes, the injustice." His voice thickened. "Remember why you need to do this. End it all, yesiree, end it all today."

Simon opened his eyes. In the distance one of the famous Mountbasten Dragons glided through the night sky, its sleek form spearing clouds drenched with moonlight, before majestically swooping straight up, wings flat against its hide, as though it were an intricately carved arrow. A dark silhouette of the dragon, tail unfurling lazily, danced over the moon for a heartbeat, then was gone, at one with the night. Even a sight as breathtaking as that couldn't sway Simon DeLance from his destructive thoughts.

He looked up, saw the hanging jaw of a stone gargoyle watching him impassively as it crouched over him, then looked to the left, the stained glass windows of the cathedral dull with its myriad colours unable to bloom without sunlight. Simon stood up straight, set his jaw, and steeled his bubbling nerves.

This is it, he vowed as he took a great lungful of air, this is the end. Forgive me, all I wanted was-

"Hel-lo!"

"WAAAA!" Simon said in response, his feet slipping and his arms swinging wildly. A great gasp erupted from the crowd below, punctuated by one or two shrill female screams. Even as his mind raced to save himself, Simon felt a selfish smudge of satisfaction that he'd managed to affect a pretty young girl – at least he hoped it was a pretty young girl – in such a manner. With every ounce of his strength, DeLance threw himself back against the wall once more, eyes shut tight and head spinning.

Who in the blue blazes had said that?

Simon dared to open one eye. There was someone else standing beside him. Someone nonchalantly lounging against the Cathedral wall, arms folded, and smiling lazily. A fluttering midnight blue cloak wrapped itself around a dark emerald tunic topped off, Simon couldn't help but notice, by a pair of pointed ears sticking out from under a mass of blond hair and a rather silly green hat.

"I," said Simon DeLance, his shuddering voice desperately trying to regain control, "am going to throw myself off this ledge."

The blond man stared back, a serene expression now accompanying an ever-present smile. "Lovely night for it, mate."

Simon's lip curled. "I know why you're here, oh yes I do," he said. "You're here to talk me out of it, aren't you? You're going to pretend you're my friend and don't really want to save me and all that la-dee-dah, when really you just want to convince me to change my mind." He puffed out his chest, as though offended. "Well, you won't. Let me tell you right here. You won't make me change my mind. No, siree."

"Perish the thought, mate," the other man replied with a dismissive wave. He gazed out over the city at night, seeing a curtain of blazing stars spill light onto the world, the moon nothing more than a buttercream orb enshrouded by clouds. He held out his hand. "Name's Link –" A roar from one of the dragons momentarily drowned out his voice "-Shadow Lord of Castleton. Pleased to meet you."

Simon blinked, then gingerly raised his trembling hand to Link's. "Castleton?" he said softly. "You're not in Castleton now."

"Am I not?" Link replied, an amused glint in his eye. "Oh dear."

Simon's mind raced. "Castleton's in the North. You've got no jurisdiction here, none at all."

"Shocking."

Clearing his suddenly dry throat, Simon went on. "My name's Simon DeLance," he said. "And I'm going to throw myself off this ledge."

"So you said," the Shadow Lord replied, deciding to examine his nails at that precise moment. "And why is it, pardon my curiosity, that you're wishing to engage in such a dire undertaking? Broken heart, is it? A little strumpet turned down your crumpets, shall we say?"

Simon leaned his head back against the wall, a look of disdain flooding his face. "Nothing so crass, I assure you."

"Oh, jolly good," Link replied, genuinely pleased. "Do tell me your tale of woe."

A gust of wind sprayed Simon's silver hair over his face as he took in a deep breath. Loose stones skittered off the edge of the ledge. He ran one hand through the untangled strands of his hair. "The truth will set you free, they say. Ha!" Bitterness engulfed his voice. "Did you know that in distant Klitchdonesia they pay the natives tuppence to make those excuses for clothes – latest fashions they say! -

worn by the youth of Mountbasten? All my idiot 'friends' wore them. Our horribly ignorant populace pay thousands for that trash! And you know those special running sandals? You know, I'm sure you do, the ones with the funny squiggles that all the little 'uns beg their parents for even though they cost an arm and a leg? You know that slave workers in Calatia sit in horrid conditions for over twelve hours a day to make those things? It's just unbelievable! The sheer brutality we inflict on others just to satisfy our desire for worthless little trinkets! It makes me want to throw myself straight off this – here, have you fallen asleep?"

Link's eyes snapped open with a start. "What cucco!" he shouted incomprehensibly.

Simon's jaw dropped open. "You did! You fell asleep!"

The Shadow Lord's eyes darted here and there guiltily. "Didn't!"

"Did!"

"Didn't!"

"Di-" Simon sighed, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this. Nobody understands. This is exactly why I want to jump. Nobody cares. Nobody." He gazed out over the smoking rooftops, a wistful look on his face. "It's not like this in the Onimushan Empire," he said. "The Land of the Setting Sun. Those are people who know how to live. Not this crass buy-buy-buy life we have here, no. Over there, they have culture, traditions, spirituality. They treat each other with respect, they do, their kawaii girls calling you san and everything. They're the salt of the earth, they are, oh yesiree."

There was a heartbeat of silence. The wind swept more stones from the ledge. Then: "You haven't actually been to the Onimushan Empire, have you, mate?"

Simon's face fell. "No."

"In reality you have absolutely no clue what it's like there, do you?"

Simon looked miserable. "No."

"You've just read something in a book – or perhaps a play - and are desperately trying to imitate a culture - that you'd be completely lost in if you'd ever went there - just to make yourself seem different, aren't you? Just so you can feel a tad superior to the rest of us, eh, mate?"

Simon's head snapped up and he glared at the Shadow Lord. "If you're trying to convince me not to jump, you're not doing a very good job, you know that?"

Link shrugged. "Never said I was, sunshine."

Irritation hooked itself into Simon's heart and it wouldn't let go. "And why is it," he went on, his words soaked in anger, "that you're so irritatingly calm up here? It's not exactly safe you know. You could fall, oh yes!"

The Shadow Lord grinned, musing. The winking lights of the city below – a thousand flickering torchlights – blurred into one shimmering incandescent wave. "Because…"

"Because?" Simon snapped, finding Link's smile far too aggravating.

"Because, mate, I learned long ago that all the troubles in my head were just that – in me head. All those what-ifs, what-would-happens, and I-really-hope-it-doesnts – none of them ever actually happened, and if they did, they were never as bad as I'd imagined them to be. Now I just…trust."

Simon arched an eyebrow. "Trust in what?"

Link's mouth pursed into a thin smile. "Just let yourself go and trust, mate." He glanced at Simon. "Although in your case, you being in such a rather precarious position, it might be better if not let go at all, if not for your sake, then for the little audience you've built up down there."

As if on cue, a voice floated up from the throng. "Hurry up and jump will you?" came the irritated shout. "I paid a pound to watch this and it's getting a bit chilly!"

Eyes widening, Simon's face flushed red. "They're paying money to watch me jump!" he cried. From somewhere above came the familiar creak of dragon wings slicing the air. "What kind of sick people do we have here? They're insane!"

"The kind of sick people," Link muttered under his breath, "that think jumping off a ledge is equally insane."

"What? What did you say?"

"Nothing, sunshine," the Shadow Lord replied smoothly. "You know what's wrong with people today?"

"What?"

"Too wrapped up in their own little dramas, mate," Link said, rubbing his hands as his breath left his lips in wispy trails of steam, the easy familiarity in his voice giving the impression that he'd had to deliver this explanation many times in the past. "Think their slight knocks and the thwarting of their petty ambitions is a cause to weep over."

"Exactly!" Simon said, brightening at once. "That's precisely my point!"

"In fact," the Shadow Lord went on, his voice trailing off at a tangent. "Some of them are wallowing so much in their self-pity that they have to tell everyone about it, as though we were all begging to hear about all the juicy details or something. People wrapped up in themselves always make small packages, that's what I say. I mean, bleeding heck, some of them even tell stories about how miserable they are, and then sit around waiting for someone to hold their hands as though they were-"

Simon politely cleared his throat.

Link started. "I'm terribly sorry, I do apologise, I just got a little carried away there," he said, grinning. He reached under his hat, rummaged around a little, then pulled out a small bottle with crimson liquid sloshing from side to side. Pulling the stopper, the Shadow Lord offered the bottle to Simon. "Drink?"

Eyeing the bottle suspiciously, Simon frowned. "Is that alcohol?"

"Nothing of the sort, mate," Link replied, looking aghast. "Just a little tonic. Steady your nerves for your big drop, innit?"

Simon took the bottle from him, hesitated, shrugged, then took a sip.

"By the way, mate," the Shadow Lord said casually as he eyed Simon closely. "I heard that you were quite the dab hand at finding buried treasure. I wouldn't happen to have been misinformed in that regard now would I?"

His head buzzing, Simon smacked his lips and handed the bottle back. This stuff was good. "No, you're not wrong, not that it ever helped me much," he replied. "Why?"

The Shadow Lord of Castleton grinned –

then shoved Simon DeLance off the edge.

"WAAAAAAAA!" Simon cried for the second time that night. The crowd gasped, screamed, then as though they were all one person, took a large step back.

Link grabbed onto a wooden beam, then swung himself back through an open window into the Cathedral. He sprinted for the stairs, bats squeaking out of his path with a hiss and a flutter of leathery wings. Bounding down the curving staircase, each wooden step shuddering under his boots and coughing up spouts of dust as a result, the Shadow Lord of Castleton ran, keeping his ears open for the tell-tale-

There was a sickly dull thud from outside. Link froze.

Voices drifted in. Hushed voices, laced with fear.

"Is he…?" said one.

"I think…" said another, "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Look…he twitched…I'm sure he twitched!"

"That's it? I spent a pound for that? I missed the whole thing! He could've shouted before he did it or something! Bleedin eck!"

The Shadow Lord's mouth split into a grin. "Lovely!" he cackled. He slid down the last few steps, darted across to the main doors, then burst out into the open. "Out of the way!" he cried, pushing his way through the huddled crowd.

"'Oi!" said one man. "Can I have my money back?"

Simon DeLance lay slumped in the middle of the throng in a heap, managing a twitch and a groan here and there; the shocked onlookers, faces pale, some biting their knuckles, noticing the deep crack he'd made in the ground. Link crouched, his cloak pooling at his feet, then reached into his green hat. A moment later he held a bottle that sparkled like a star and, pulling the stopper with his teeth, he released the Fairy. The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed as the little incandescent woman curled ribbons of light around Simon's crumpled form. Her job done, the Fairy flew into the night.

There was a heartbeat of hushed silence – and then Simon jumped up, his silver hair ruffled and a little unsteady on his feet, but otherwise without a single scratch. The crowd shrank back, gasped once more, then burst into warm applause.

A voice called out: "If I give you ten pounds, would you do that all again?"

Link took Simon by the arm, then led him away from the people. "How do you feel, mate?"

Simon wobbled, his eyes rolling. "Light…at end of tunnel."

"No, mate, that was just the Fairy Dust."

Finally, Simon's eyes focused. "Hey!" he blurted. "You pushed me!"

Link sniffed, glanced over his shoulder to make sure none of the crowd was following them, then turned back with a smile. "Did you perchance enjoy that merry experience?"

DeLance shook his head.

"Would you, mayhap, want to do it all again?"

"No!" Simon cried.

The Shadow Lord of Castleton grinned his ever-present grin. "Well, now that we've got that out of your system, we can go meet up with Mr Red and his compatriot, as there's a little favour I need to ask from all of you…"

A/N: Oh, and did I forget to mention that this was a sequel to 'Shadow Lord's Bane?' How remiss of me...