Brend tapped a well chewed pencil agents his cheep desk. His eyes scanned the news room. The old Nangolian building was depressing, the blinds caused the green mold on the wall into a uniform pattern of dark and light stripes. The old metal fan in the ceiling churned the humid air with a slow 'whoom'. Past front pages and awards plastered the far wall beside the chipped and padlocked door into the chief editors office. The desks abandoned to dust and old government-owned-starbucks coffee cups told the story all too well. The age of the newspaper was gone. Even in a backwards country like Naglegrad the people were using their laptops to browse the BBC website. Brends' eyes cast a glance at the rooms only 'computer'. The cardboard box was being looked over by the only other occupant of the room. Intern-photographer Jason once again had breached the dungeon like dark room and was attempting to convince himself the old TV box could be used to update his family on his ware-abouts. The poor soul had been trying to defect back to the real world ever since he woke up in Naglegrad. But no one leaves.
Brend leaned back in his seat and threw his legs onto the desk.
'We really are Hacks.' He commented absent mindedly. Jason nodded quietly to himself, still attempting to turn the computer on.
'I mean, since the paper was sued by the paper and then liquidated we haven’t had any stories....' He continued, uncaring of his audiences apathy in the subject.
'Then people got fired...'
Jason surrendered to fate and left the computer to itself. He dragged a stool from an abandoned desk over to the journalists desk. He lowered himself carefully and then sighed.
'You talk too much brend.' he announced. Brend cocked his eyebrows at the usually silent intern.
'We could do a story on the economy...' He continued hopefully. Brend waved his hand dismissively.
'Nangolian economy has always been shit.' He grunted. 'Communist ideals gone mad means all the cattle were killed last year in case of abduction my aliens. There’s no story there.'
Jason grimaced and looked at his feet. Brend sighed and looked back to the sunlight streaming thru the blinds. Behind them the faint sounds of the city could be heard...
'We could do a story on how people end up here!' Jason announced happily. The journalist grunted.
'Yeah, lots of people wake up in the docklands with no passport of id on em. We need to do some...err... Investigate reporting!' With his last words he stood up excitedly.
The chief editors door shook. The two froze and watched horror stricken as the door handle twisted. Finally the movement ended. The photographer continued quietly.
'We need to see our old colleagues. We must go see....'
'We need to see our old colleagues. We must go see....'
Suddenly a roar from beyond the padlocked office drowned out Jason. With a wild animalist strength the thing from beyond threw itself at the door. The portal to the unknown thing shook violently in its frame. Cracks snaked up the cheap wooden barrier. Brend, who had leapt at the roar, grabbed his colleagues wrist and tugged at him.
'Come on!' he bellowed above the noise. Jason nodded and the two quickly left the Times' offices, rushed down the stairs and were outside in the street.
Brend leaned on his knees and breathed hard, gasping for breath. Jason sighed and patted his shorter companion on the back.
The street was packed with people. Trucks running on clockwork engines clicked by, their cargos of fruit journing from the docks to the markets deeper into the city. A scorcion sausage vendor loudly proclaimed his quota was not met. People crowded the pigeon message boxes, dictating and reading messages to family or co-workers. And proudly marching up the street was a preacher of Bob. His bellows and bells added to the cochonony of sound that was Lower St. Jodies Street.
Jason sighed once again. The sights and sounds at once making him homesick and adventurous. It was strange he mused, that he could feel two conflicting emotions at the same time. He looked back at his stout companion. The journalist had fished a flask out of his coat and was drinking deeply. Jason would have been worried but he had learned long ago that the flask contained only water.
'Right.' Brend announced when he had emptied the flask. 'Where we going?'
Jason fingered the camera that hung around his neck.
'We gotta see the last guy to be fired from the paper.' He said after a short pause.
Brends eyes opened wide with shock. His mouth moved for a moment before his tongue caught up with him.
'The... the paradoxical ninja?' he whispered in almost reverend tones....
It was a short walk to the communal bus station on the corner of St. Jodies street and Proclamation Lane and from there a mere hour of travel time to Gorbechev-the-traitor Boulevard two blocks away. The intern and journalist stepped out onto the near deserted and rubbish strewn street and looked apprehensively up at the housing block before them. Even by the laid back standards of Nangolian civil upkeep the place was a dump. The building was one of those mass built, unattractive tower blocks. Dirty windows shunned what little light that ventured into this part of the city. Each window sported a small railed balcony where the occupants had hung their wash. The result was dark stains under each balcony. Inside was much the same, every room in every apartment was exactly two meters square, so the people 'wouldn’t become jealous of their neighbours'. Or at least that’s what the planning board had said when the five year plan started. Of course the black market in sledge hammers had people making their claustrophobic apartments into a liveable place and made the civic planners rich. But there’s only so many rationed potatoes you can swindle out of people before problems arise. Which is why this particular housing block, 'Kruskev Block', was condemned.
One particularly capitalist resident had convinced his block mates to save their rationed potatoes and buy only one sledge hammer. And with the spare potatoes they would invest to build a swimming pool on the roof, to which they would charge other housing blocks to use. The plan went swimmingly until the secret police found out by an anonymous tip.
This dangerous circumnavigation of bribes and outright capitalist thought was swiftly put down and the people sent to a 'sunny resort town on the coast'. And so the block was sealed off from all.
The only person who lives there now... is the Agony Aunt....
Brend turned to Jason.
'She's the only one who would know where to find the...' He looked around quickly 'the ninja.' he whispered. Jason nodded solemnly and licked his lips. It was true he hadn’t been in Naglegrad as long as Brend. But he had heard the story. The Agony Aunt. One of the first to arrive. One of the few to deify Nagle...and live.
The portal into the Agony Aunts apartment was an unassuming little black door with a brass number nine hanging at head height found at the end of the third floor hallway. Brend nervously sucked his teeth and pressed his palms agents his coat.
'You've been here before?' Jason asked. The words rang out in the cold, narrow hall. Brends eyes flickered to his taller companion and back to the innocent looking door.
'Once...' He hesitated. 'The Agony Aunts column was late... I..erm.. Had to go...' he nodded at the door. A chill ran down Jasons spine. He turned to look. Standing in the doorway. Stood a short dark haired lady. Behind her horn rimmed glasses her eyes scanned the two men standing in her hall. She unfolded her arms and stepped back into her domain. She beckoned the two after her.
'Come on.' she said in a tone that suggested she was speaking to two frightened three year olds. Jason looked to Brend. The journalist was already following the woman. Jason looked into the depths beyond the doorframe. A soft sounding music played beyond the darkness. The intern gulped and boldly took a step. Then another. and another. He found himself in a small living room. The orange curtains filtered the light. The whole place seamed stuffy and slightly too warm. The occupant turned to her visitors.
'Welcome. I’m the Agony Aunt, but you may call me Becka, and that is Muzzlewup.' She said pointing to a large lizard lazing on a flat rock. She looked Jason up and down. An act that took longer than normal.
'You must be the new boy?'
'Hello Becka.' The intern repiled smoothly 'We're here to find out about the paradoxical ninja.'
Jasons words hung in the air. Like helium balloons. Becka stared at him thru her demonic horn rimmed focals.
'Do you know why they call me the Agony Aunt?' She asked finaly.
Brend sighed relief.
'Because you can answer any question.' He responded. 'That’s why you worked as the papers Agony Aunt.'
Becka nodded. Her eyes not leaving Jason.
'Yes. So you’ll understand when I say this: The Paradoxical ninja may not even egzist..'
Jasons face twisted into a mask of confusion.
'May not...?'
'That's right. He is the only one to leave Naglegrad, and as such either has power to rival the leader or is a figment of our imagination.'
The journalist nodded beside his continuously confused looking companion.
'So you cannot find the ninja. But he may find you.' Becka finished a small smile twisting her lips.
'Now come, you must have some tea.'
The two agreed and Becka lead them into the small kitchenette. A stout metal teapot whistled on the stove
'That was pointless.' Jason announced bitterly.
The warm day had disappeared while they were confined in the Agony Aunts abode, being replaced with a cool summer night. The street lamps flickered yellow light along the street. A long lean yellow machine glided past. The sounds of the famed Naglegrad nightlife could be heard in the distance.
'I dunno.' Replied Brend 'The cake was delicious.' He licked his fingertips. The intern groaned.
'We are no closer to finding the paradoxical ninja, or getting out of here!' He barked.
'No.' An unknown voice replied from the darkness. 'But you have found trouble.'
From the darkness appeared a pasty white face underneath which a black clad body followed.
'Its the Tour Guides!' Brend babbled.
'The what?' questioned Jason looking at his companion as if he lost his senses.
'The secret police! They're called the Tou-'
'Enough!' Bellowed the nosfaratu like policeman. 'You are under arrest!' Other dark shapes emerged from the shadows and advanced on the Journalist and Photographer.
'On what charges?' Demanded Jason. The policeman smiled. A rather chilling and disturbing sight.
'Conspiracy to use another travel agency.' He replied coolly.
It was this moment that brend struck. Squatting down and rushing forward he crashed into the nearest policeman. Jason brought his camera to bear on the closest and clicked. The bright flash blinded the man.
'Leg it!' Brend screamed from the middle of the street. Jason leapt over the coughing man brend had tackled and ran.
'Down here!' Brend bellowed. Standing at the top of the stairs leading down into the Nangolion underground. Jason rushed over to his companion. The two hurried down the stairs. Their shoes tapping on the tiles. Jason bound over the barrier in one smooth motion and stopped on the edge of the platform. Down the rail he could hear the train coming closer. Brend stumbled over coughing and gasping. He leaned on his friend and spat.
'I think we... oh man.... I think we lost em.' Brend managed to proclaim thru his heavy breathing. Jason looked over his friends shoulder. The tall thin Tour Guides were taking their time. They stood beyond the barrier smiling. Slowly paying the toll.
'Great reporting Brend.' Jason muttered. The train was getting closer. Jason looked to the arrival board. It was broken. He scanned the station. On a bench sat a man reading the paper. A door at the end banged shut. A cat hissed from an overturned bin. The Tour guides were just thru the barrier. The light reflected oddly on the tiles. The train arrived. Opposite the companions the doors slid open. Jason grabbed Brend. He stood there. He could hear the footfalls of the Tour guides.
Closer.
Closer...
Closer. The doors began to slid back.
Jason pushed the journalist first and threw himself in behind him. The door clicked behind them. With a whoosh the train continued its journey. Brend collapsed into a seat. He began to breathlessly laugh. Jason collapsed agenst the doors.
The sound of laughter filled the rocking compartment. Jason pushed himself up. At the end of the train sat a manically smiling man. He clutched his sides and laughed louder. A giggling sound that was frightening. Finally the laughter faded. The man sighed and rubbed a tear from his eye.
'Now where was I?' the strange man asked. Brend looked to Jason. Jason continued to stare at the grinning traveler. The man jumped up and stared at the two companions still smiling. The lights in the compartment flickered. The strange man rubbed his hands together.
'You hear about the man-pon?' He asked suddenly.
'Your him!' Brend croaked 'Your the... ninja!'
'The Paradoxical Ninja.' Replied the grinning man.
Jason took a step towards him.
'We need to ask you some questions.' He nearly whispered.
The ninja cocked his head to the side.
'No you don’t know the right ones yet. You don’t even know what that thing in the chief editors office is. Brend gimme a sweet.' The journalist reached into his coat and retrieved an oval wrapped confectionary and tossed it to the grinning man. The ninja unwrapped the sweet and popped it into his mouth. The sound of his teeth crunching the thing echoed.
'So what is it?' Brend prompted after a moment. The ninja swallowed.
'When the paper was sued by the paper. It created an alternate reality. One where there is no Scoricio. No St. Jodie. Not even a Nagle. Or at least... Not as you know him...'
'You mean....the chief editor....' Brend stammered. The ninja nodded.
'He's not really Nagle. He's that worlds Nagle. That’s why people keep waking up here. That reality keeps throwing people here. Trying to balance itself again. And the only way it'll do that...is when it finds the Nagle....'
The sounds of the train rushing down the track, previously in the background heirthro became much more noticeable. The two companions stood quite dumbstruck by this revelation. Possibilities rushed to each of their minds.
'How do we know you’re not lying?' Demanded Jason. Brend groaneloudlyly.
'He only speaks the truth Jason! No one knows why.' He snapped.
'Then how do we fix it?' Jason jumped in. His eyes hardened and stared at the still grinning man.
'Why don’t you fix it?'
The ninja laughed.
'You don’t get it!' The ninja wheezed between giggles. 'I don’t care how many people get stuck here!'
'Why tell us?' Brend asked.
'Can I go back!?' Jason spat. Brend eyed his colleague, wondering if he would become unhinged. The Ninja smiled a particularly mischievous grin.
'I can do it... but it'll be much more fun to watch you try...heh.' The ninja paused as he saw Brend gently grab his friends arm.
'There is a man. He might help you. He defended the paper when it was sued, he also acted as the plaintiff but that’s justice for you. Find him. You'll be heroes, you know. bringing Nagle back. But you never cared for that anyway. You just wanted a story and you just want everything back to normal.' The ninja said pointing to Brend and Jason in turn. Brend gulped audibly, his mind racing with the consequences of such an action. Jason on the other hand stared defiantly at the grinning ninja.
'You two have fun now.' The Ninja announced and with that a puff of smoke engulfed him. When it cleared the ninja was gone. The effect was somewhat tainted by the fact the Journalist and Intern could clearly see him in the next train compartment wearing a fake mustache.
The train began to slow. The intercom crackled some incomprehensible static.
'We'd best get off here.' Brend said following the announcement. Jason nodded solemnly. His mind already racing for the name of the blasted barrister. Brend lead the Intern out of the compartment. Through the station. Up the stairs and out onto Lower St. Jodies'.
'Tommy.' Jason said quite simply. 'That's his name.' Brend nodded. Tomorrowow.' He replied. Jason turned as if to fight this. 'It's been a long day. We need to get back to the office.' The journalist pre-emitly struck. Jason sighed and followed Brend into the Times building. They climbed the stairs to the fourth floor where camper beds were kept. Laying down Jason’s mind raced.
Soon, he'd get to go home.
the end...
The Tuesday Edition, coming soon!
