A Bridge of Words

Recently I was invited to appear on a podcast, with a twist. Writing to a prompt of ‘polite’ the two hosts of ‘The Tiny Bookcase’ and I would write a short story and read it out for the first time, on air. It was a fantastic exercise because, not only could I write something completely out of my usual ‘world’, but also the opportunity to ‘perform’ it was great fun!

You can listen to the podcast HERE, and if you would like to, the interview with me HERE (separate episodes). I also wanted to share the story as a written piece, just for fun, so below is A Bridge of Words, a tall/small tale about living in a society where manners are valued above all else, until interlopers and dangers strike. I hope you enjoy it!

“A person of your stature shouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of reaching up for your goods, Thorina,” Gladys said, as she bustled around the high counter. She could barely reach over the wooden ledge atop the baskets of cakes and breads on display either. “There now, you enjoy your lunch and I wish you a pleasant day, good neighbour.”

Her fingers traced over the label as she read it out. “Please take great care when eating this item of food, as contents may be hot.”

I should bloody hope so, Thorina thought, cold bacon and eggs were awful.

Gladys bobbed her beak-like nose and proffered the frilly paper-wrapped parcel then stuck out her other hand. “That’ll be thruppence and…” Her grimace widened to display an uncomfortable number of pointy teeth. “Whatever else you deem appropriate compensation for the personalised service you have received at Hoppy Bakery today.”

Thorina swallowed back a sharp retort. It was bad enough being a dwarf without everyone constantly feeling the need to comment upon it, or worse, make such allowances for shortness that her very independence was called into question. “Very thoughtful of you.” She rummaged in her pouch for silver coins with which to pay for the food, and the shiny green-hued Kindness coin Gladys was obviously expecting. With some reluctance, for it was rare Thorina herself was gifted such treasures, she dropped payment into the harpy’s hand and turned to leave.

Gladys trilled, “You’ll probably need to go the long way home, I hear the bridge is blocked.”

“Fuuuu…n times,” Thorina said, grabbing the door a little too forcefully and hoping the near-expletive had gone unnoticed. To make up for it, she swore under her breath as she stomped over the cobbled main street. Long way round be damned, she’d wade across the river if need be. Sometimes, the village’s politeness and tolerance overwhelmed her, especially when she was hungry. It took every ounce of restraint not to tear into the fancy package and rip into the brunch bap inside, but it wouldn’t do to eat on the street. Better wait until safely home, seated at her workshop table with the meal plated and ready to be nibbled upon in tiny evenly cut pieces with knife and forking-fork. Besides, simply to untangle the web of trussing around her treat would take all her engineering skills. Or a very sharp knife.

Resigned, she acknowledged to herself, at least the constant need to fancify everything provided an income. Fixing the villager’s elaborate but well-intentioned contraptions to make life more inclusive provided her with a steady stream of repair work. From hoists and wheelchairs to convey the less able-bodied, to sophisticated machines which could assess one’s capabilities and suitability to carry out labour – these were the bread and butter of her existence now.

As she neared the bridge, the idyllic calm of the quaint thoroughfare was shattered by laughter and derisive snorts. An assortment of people, varying in both creed and colour and representative of the diversity of Eldergrove gathered on the riverbank. They frowned and shook their heads while studying from afar the damage to the only way in and out of the village.

A cart had somehow tipped over, depositing cabbages in the middle of the hump as it had crashed into a shiny, but dented metal box on wheels. The collision left both vehicles wedged into the stone walls in such a way that neither could go forward or backward, effectively blocking the route. Along with a stench of burned rubber, an acidic smell lingered around the area, setting Thorina’s nerves jangling. An old man tottered about on the other side of the river, groaning as he bent to collect his cargo and seemingly impervious to the chaos and the queue of bored-looking traders clustered on the track behind him.

Below, the river babbled away with the odd cabbage; its soothing trickle amidst the lush green landscape completely ignored by the gaggle of unfamiliar youths clambering over the wreckage as if they had no care for the consternation their accident had caused. Thorina’s mouth dropped open as the interlopers began posing with stupid expressions, holding up handheld devices which clicked when tapped. They appeared entirely ignorant of the baleful stares of those on this side of the river. After a series of shots, they huddled, pointing and giggling at their images which Thorina saw flash over the screens of their devices.

Thorina approached a smaller group of village elders, passing a large sign stating the obvious: THREAT TO LIFE – UNSTEADY GROUND. OBJECTS IN THE RIVER MAY APPEAR CLOSER THAN THEY ARE. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. About right for once, Thorina thought, a trog of trolls was less intimidating than this bunch of bozos. Not to mention the gang of hoodlums dressed in almost identical black tops.

Despite nervous glances at their local Mrs Fix It Engineer lurking next to a sandwich board as big as she was, no-one offered her the customary greeting: “Welcome good Mistress, may peace and politeness surround you in the spirit of tolerance. Good health, good fortune, and good day to you.” Good, good, sodding good – it drove her mad, and merely saying it didn’t mean you truly meant it. No kindness coins for anyone today, but at least the severity of the situation had reduced the congeniality delays.

Still, she waited for their acknowledgement – it didn’t ‘do’ to force one’s opinion upon any given situation in Eldergrove; better to be invited to contribute by whomever was chairing the convention. Then, she realised the sorry truth: No-one seemed to be doing anything about the problem. They were all just watching. Passing silent judgment.

Minutes ticked by. Thorina wrestled to control the expletives which threatened to fall from her lips by thinking about the delicious brunch dangling from her fingertips, and how good it would taste… if she could only get home to eat it. Her jaw tightened with the effort and she was about to burst, when chubby Mayor Twickett stepped forward. In his prim, professional and most poncy voice, Twickett tucked his thumbs into his sash of office and announced, “I call upon thee, strangers but welcome to our land, to remove your cart so that those traders behind you can pass.”

A tall, skinny lad, presumably the leader of the gang of some four youths, mocked, “I call upon thee…” before dissolving into laughter. “For real.”

“What kind of a place is this, anyway?” Another jeered from beneath his hood.

“Trust you to flex too far and crash us in ‘ye olde worlde’, Tarq’s,” said another, rubbing a finger under his spotty nose. “Post the vibe, man and let’s bounce.”

Bewildered by their dialect, and intrigued by the picture taking devices they all were equipped with, Thorina stepped out from behind the sign.  

The tall lad pointed at her. “Hey look! A midget, man. An actual dwarf!”

“We in Hobbiton or sommin?! She don’t look like a proper dwarf, or a hobbit. Oh, Gandalf, where are you…” Spotty called. “Damsel dwarf in distress.”

Thorina balled his fists as the Mayor dithered on the river’s edge, mouth gaping like a carp.

The youth with a hood pulled over his buzz cut sneered, “Reckon she’s got a massive hammer hidden somewhere? That’s what’d make her a proper dwarf, innit.”

The fourth, dressed in trousers which seemed to stop below his bottom made a rude gesture around his groin, then said, “Gimli – he da GOAT! Don’t diss the Gim, man.”

It didn’t matter then who spoke, their nasally-toned laughter triggered Thorina. “Shut the fuck up, you disrespectful brats.”

She wasn’t named after the legendary character for nothing. As soon as her surprisingly loud voice rumbled across the river, the youths froze. She glared at them with all the seriousness which a person of slight stature could command, not daring to look at the doubtless shocked expressions on the elders’ faces. For a moment, Thorina thought she’d done enough to shock the thugs into submission. Perhaps then they could be reasoned with. Until….

“She speaks! Oh my days, the dwarf actually sounds like a dwarf,” the tall one jeered. “Go on, get grumpy on us.”

Thorina knew then that there was no reasoning with them. No amount of swearing or threats would work. But the problem remained, they and their vehicle blocked the way. Without the bridge cleared, her way home was impassible, and the village’s trade impossible.

“Why don’t you take yourselves and your contraption away?” Thorina growled.

The tall lad shrugged. “Dunno. CBA.”

“What do you mean, dunno? CBA?”

Pizza face answered, “He means, he dunno how to fix it.”

“Shuddup Tarquin.” The tall lad grunted. His back hunched and suddenly he didn’t seem so big anymore. “I can fix it, I just… CBA.” His eyes slid to the tangled mess on the bridge, then he studied the ground. His friends dithered, equally uncertain it appeared.

Thorina was not so old that she didn’t remember how awkward it was to admit when you didn’t know something. “CBA? Give me a clue. Help an old git out.”

“Can’t be arsed – CBA,” Buzz Cut offered. He swiped the hood back from his face, revealing ears which were a little too pointed for a human.

“Maybe I can help?” Thorina offered. “We need to get the bridge clear as a priority. I’m sure it’s possible, if we work together.”

The Mayor glanced at the other elders, then at Thorina. “We couldn’t possibly do that.”

“Why not?” Thorina asked as her shoulders rose. “There’s enough of us here to lift the cart free, then we can push their… contraption aside.”

“Well, there’s a proper procedure and process for recovery of vehicles, Mistress Thorina. We must follow it.”

Thorina pursed her lips, while the Mayor paced along the riverbank saying, “Not to mention we must assess the team’s suitability for each job, making sure we’ve thoroughly covered every eventuality in our risk assessment.”

Collectively, the youths snorted. Thorina glared at them and they stopped short of derisive laughter. “Couldn’t we just…”

Before Thorina could finish her sentence, the Mayor let out a squeal. Thorina whipped her head around just in time to see Twickett slip, then tumble like a bauble down the riverbank. A deep-sounding splosh confirmed he hadn’t followed his own signage. Thorina dashed to the bank – all that could be seen was the Twickett’s protruding belly as it floated towards the bridge!

“Shiiiiit,” Tarquin the Spotty murmured, scrabbling along the wall to meet Thorina at the bottom of the bridge. “He ain’t gonna get a reboot unless…”

Thorina glanced up and met the youth’s eyes. “The sign. It’ll float.”

The tall lad clambered over the wreckage and joined them. “Hoodies, lads. Now.”

Impressed by his quick thinking, Thorina’s urge to swear disappeared as jumpers were pulled over their heads and tossed them to Tarquin, who began furiously knotting the sleeves together. The giant dragged the sandwich-board sign down to the river, flipped it open, then held it steady on the river edge.

Thorina eyed up the Mayor’s body, caught in the reeds growing underneath the bridge in the middle. “Objects in the river may appear closer than they are,” she said, mentally measuring the many perilous feet to cross.

 “I’ll go,” Tarquin said, dragging the hoodie rope behind him. “I’ve paddle boarded.”

“You’ll sink,” Thorina said, sounding more patient than she felt, but the lad clearly needed some tips. “Think this through.”

“I’ll stand on the board, haul the bossman up, then you guys haul me back.”

Thorina had to admire his spirit. “Good idea but, I’m afraid, flawed. What are you going to paddle with, plus it’s a thin piece of wood. Not enough buoyancy.”

The tall one said, “So, let me lie on it, like a surfboard then? Hands for paddles.”

“The board has a hinge in the middle, so no rigidity. Plus, you’re too tall.” Thorin drew in a deep breath. “The issue is also weight. Especially with,” she jerked her finger to the Mayor’s belly, “that on it as well.”

She dropped her brunch. “I’ll be back for you soon,” she told it wistfully, then tentatively knelt on the board. It wobbled but stayed on top of the water. “Tie my ankle,” she ordered. “We haven’t time for heroics. Anyone touches the bacon and I’ll show you the wrong end of my hammer, got it?”

Cautiously, she unfurled herself along the flattened board while Tarquin and Tall knotted a sleeve around the top of her boot. Then, once she was horizontal, she said, “Push me out, please.”

The lads shoved the makeshift board out, into the river, and Thorina paddled across to cheers from the two youths hanging over the bridge above. It was hard work, kicking and scooping against the current, but she managed to catch her fingertips on the Mayor’s belt and haul herself closer. A quick glance at the graze on Twickett’s forehead confirmed her suspicions – he’d knocked himself out. Leaning over his belly, she discovered the culprit which had saved him from being washed away. His sash of office had caught on a rock, pinning him under the bridge.

“Fuuu…”

Trousers-bellow-bum guy interrupted with, “Incoming!”

A penknife clattered next to her on the board. She looked up to see Buzz Cut Elf Ears grinning at her, his device pointed directly at her predicament. “Do you mind if I film this? Sorry, I should have asked your permission first.”

“Err, yeah,” Thorina said while folding out a blade from the penknife. She slashed through the fabric then, as the surge freed him, she caught the Mayor’s wrists. Shuffling backward, she dragged his body half onto the board. The dead weight kept wanting to slide back down, into the murky depths. Water poured over the sign, both Mayor and tide threatening to drag her in.

“This is sick, innit!” Buzz Cut exclaimed.

No, it’s fucking dark, cold and damp under here, Thorina muttered under her breath. Not to mention dangerous. She couldn’t feel her fingers for gripping so tight. Hefting someone three times her size and waistline was not in her sodding plans for the day. Neither was dying. But the river was incessant, yanking them both downstream. “Oh fuuu…”

Then, she felt a tug on her ankle. “Squad, lock in and heave!” Tall’s voice echoed across the river.

Thorina looked back; all four lads – saviours as she now thought of them – dug their heels in and clung to their hoodies. They staggered backward like a tug of war, pulling the board, the dwarf and the Mayor closer. All Thorina could do was shiver and cling on as the sandwich board buffeted this way and that in the waves.

“The pull is too much!” Buzz Cut grunted through gritted teeth. “Oi!” Tall shouted at the elders and assembled villagers. “Do you usually wait to be asked to save lives?”

Finally, the elders rustled over to assist, and together the team hauled Thorina and Twickett in. As soon as the raft neared the shallows, thin pale arms hauled the Mayor out of the water. By the time Thorina had defrosted enough to climb the bank, Trousers-under-bum was already performing CPR, as well as giving them all an eyeful.

“If we can sort that,” Tall said, wringing out his hoodie, “then lifting the cart should be no problem.” Behind them, the Mayor spluttered back to life. The lad handed over the frilly packet. “Safe and sound, bro.”

The smell of brunch immediately lifted her spirits. Thorina sat back on her haunches. “It can wait until I’ve re-fuelled. And, if you’re willing to show me how that picture gadget of yours works, I’d even go so far as to share my bacon and egg butty, if you don’t mind a picnic.”

Tall shook his head. “No ta, I’m vegan, innit.”

Thorina laughed. “Can’t please everyone.”