Glenda screamed. She had never screamed before, not in a proper way, straight up from the bottom of her terror. Cutting her finger while using the knife carelessly didn't count and almost certainly would never have been so loud. The scream echoed along the passages, bounced into the cellars and made the undercrofts ring.
Glenda screamed a second time and, as her lungs had got into practice, she managed to make this one even louder. There were hurrying footsteps from both directions.
That was reassuring.
She was not certain how reassuring was the little clink and sliding of metal that suggested a chain had broken.
The creatures went into an instant panic, trying to take wing at once. They were as clumsy as herons and got in one another's way.
'And don't come back!' she yelled as they disappeared back into the dark. Then she turned to Trev, her heart thumping, and said, 'What is an orc?'
'I dunno. I think it's some kind of old bogey man,' said Trev.
'And what were those things?'
'I know it sounds silly,' said Trev, 'but we saw one of them the other night, and he seems to think they're, like... friends.'
Butchers, bakers, butlers and bledlows came hurrying out of the dark corridors and one of them was Bledlow Nobbs (no relation), who was inexplicably wearing just his official hat, a string vest and a pair of shorts, far too short and far too tight for a man the size of Bledlow Nobbs (no relation).
He looked at Glenda and then glared at Trev. People like Trev were, as far as Bledlow Nobbs (no relation) was concerned, an automatic enemy. 'Did you scream? What's been going on?' he said.
'I'm sorry, I made an improper suggestion,' Trev said. He looked at Glenda, his expression saying, 'Help me out here.'
'I'm afraid I let my girlish modesty get the better of me,' she said, cursing him with her eyes.
'It must have been a pretty strange suggestion,' said a baker, who seemed to think that an extremely long loaf would have been a suitable aid to combat, but he was grinning¨Cand grinning was good.
If this ends up with no more than sniggering and grinning then we'll all be happy, Glenda thought. Hard to live down afterwards, but still good.
'But what's that bloke chained to that bed for?' said the bledlow.
'Yeah, what kind of improper suggestions go on around here?' said the baker. He really was having fun.
I am going to kill someone before the end of all this and it might just have to be myself, thought Glenda.
'Isn't that Mister Nutt?' said the bledlow. 'We're supposed to be in training in five minutes.'
There was another clink behind Glenda and Nutt's voice said, 'Don't worry, Alphonse, I often do this trick. Dynamic tension you know, helps build up the muscles.'
'Alphonse?' said the baker, looking incredulously at the bledlow. 'I thought your name was Alfred, Alf for short. Alphonse is a Quirmian name if ever I've heard one. You're not from there, are you?' That was an accusation as much as a question.
'What's wrong with Alf being short for Alphonse?' said the bledlow. He had very large hands that might have troubled even Mustrum Ridcully in a game of pat-a-cake. Also, his ears were going red, never a good sign in a man of his size.
'Oh, I never said it wasn't a nice name,' said the baker, belatedly using his loaf. 'But I would never have figured you for an Alphonse. It just goes to show that you never can tell.'
'I am an orc,' said Nutt quietly.
'Actually, Alphonse is quite a nice name,' the baker went on. 'The phonse spoils it a bit, but the Alf I quite like.' He paused and turned to Nutt. 'What do you mean, "orc"?'
'An orc,' said Nutt again.
And away in the distant central heating pipes there was a scream of 'Awk! Awk!'
'Don't be daft, there's no such thing as orcs any more. They all got killed off hundreds of years ago. Bloody hard to kill, too, I read somewhere,' said a butler.
'In the latter part of your statement you are substantially correct,' said Nutt, still chained to the couch. 'However, nevertheless, I am an orc.'
Glenda looked down. 'You told me you're a goblin, Mister Nutt. You told me you're a goblin.'