Chapter 9: The Labradoodles (Part 1)

The first thing Andrew heard was the yapping.

It was a chorus of annoyance, a choir of harassment, a perfectly off-pitch refrain of pain. They were labradoodles and labradoodles never shut up. Yet Andrew couldn't find them too annoying. They were cute dogs. Cudly. Affectionate. He watched them play together in the field, watching from behind the tall, wooden fence. Clearly these were dogs of superior genetic breeding, and did not suffer from some of the genetic disadvantages of pure bred poodles or pure bred labradors. Andrew knew that labradoodles were well well suited for special work such as Assistance dogs, Hearing or Seizure Alert dogs, or Guide dogs. He had never known them to be effective guard dogs though...

His feet perched on the lower rung of the fence, Andrew stared out past the large green, over the fifty or so labradoodles, and into the stables. He did not see a shovel anywhere. It was must be inside the stables in some kind of utility closet, Andrew thought to himself.

He formulated a plan in his head. He would hop the fence, run as fast as he could, run through the stables, see if he saw the shovel, and run out. Then on his next pass he would run through and grab the shovel. Yes. This was fool proof, and would only require him to run quickly. These were two things that Andrew liked in a plan.

Just as Andrew was about to jump the fence, a trumpet sounded. He stopped, and hid behind a bush. Across the green he could see the gates open and, low and behold, the Goblin King trotted in on his horse. The yapping stopped in his presence, and the dogs sat, well behaved. Behind the Goblin King were his two menacing accountants: Matt Horn the human, and Harold the Ogre. In between the two was a shackled, hooded prisoner.

Seeing this prisoner, the labradoodles began to salivate. Andrew had failed to notice the gaunt look about their faces and their ribs poking out beneath the skin. These creatures were starving.

The Goblin King hopped off his horse and ran to the labradoodles. They jumped up and pawed at him and licked his face. One fuzzy peach colored dog gnawed at his hand and the Goblin King tossed him aside.

"Who's ready for meal time?" the King asked his dogs. They all barked in unison, the saliva dripping from their exposed canines. The King gestured to the prisoner. "Bring him."

The two accountants grabbed the man by his arms, dragging him forward. His heels dug into the ground as he screamed, "Nooo! Not the dogs! Not the dogs!"

Fifty pairs of labradoodle eyes snapped to him. They threw him to the ground. All at once they were on him. Andrew turned to look away, but not before he saw the first dog indulge into the pirsoner's jugular. He listened for another thirty seconds to the sounds of crunching and muching, then turned back. A black colored dog chewed on a femur. Another licked the man's clavicle clean.

The Goblin King turned to Matt. "Take a dozen horses to carry the gold to the Giants. Their price is steep, yes, but it's not my money!" The Goblin King laughed as the two rounded up the horses and left.

Andrew took a few deep breathes and promptly vomitted on his new shoes. He had just watched slash heard a man be consummed by cute puppies. After getting over this filthy act, Andrew grew angry for a myriad of reasons. First of all, he was angry that his plan would not work. These were not the cute cudly labradoodles he had imagined having around the house with his lovely future wife Eliza. They were not the labradoodles that would make good Seizure Alert Dogs. These were ravenous beasts that he could not simply run by. So, for one, he had to change his plan. Secondly, he had heard enough of the Goblin King's conversation that he knew his money was on its way to the Giants of Ostertagg. If the Giants got his money, it would be even harder for him to recoup the loan and return to his bank. Thirdly, he was still angry that he had vomitted on his shoes. They were nice shoes. He made a mental note to find Chris Hoshek and get another pair. Until then, Andrew would need to think of a plan to get into the stables and find that magical shovel...

NEXT TIME ON MEDIEVAL LENDER: ANDREW'S PLAN TO GET PAST THE 'DOODLES

Chapter 8: The Stables (A brief diversion)

Before we return to Andrew and his quest to retreive the shovel for Justin Weissman so that he may stop the goblin, collect his money, and return to his fair love, a brief interlude:

CHAPTER 8: THE STABLES (WHERE THE SHOVEL IS)

The stables were originally located two miles to the east of the Goblin King's Castle at the far end of the ancestral hunting grounds. As a child the Goblin King resented the fact that every morning at 10am he would have to walk two miles to go to his riding lesson. When his father died of natural causes (or so they say), and no one could tell him what to do anymore, the Goblin King moved the stables to his most fun place: the dungeon. Here he could access them without much trouble, and prevent his horses from having fun without him.

By moving the stables to the dungeon, he also uprooted the utitility shed that serviced the stables. This was a small, brown box of a room filled with things like pick axes, shovels, dynamite, bricks, stone cutting blades, and cement. Most of these things had been there forever, and the stable hands preferred to just leave them there and never clean it out. The King never thought it was strange that the majority of the things in this utility shed had nothing to do with horses, but everything to do with masonry.

The truth about this utility shed was that it was where the masons who originally built the castle had kept their tools. Why had they never retrieved them? Well, for one, the castle was built over three hundred years ago. And, for two, the masons had been imprisoned in the dungeon by the Goblin King's great great great grandfather, where they had promptly died.

Now, these masons, they were no ordinary masons. They had been trained in the mountains of Sasafras, and studied under the tutellage of Greg the Fixer Upper, the most wise and sagely of all masons. With the death of the masons, a great construction drought fell over the land, and banks became flush with cash to lend, since there were no more commercial lending opportunities. The masons had but one daughter. Jennifer. Jennifer married a banker, a Ferdinand Weissman. These were Justin Weissman's great great grandparents. And there was a story the Weissman's passed down from wanna-be mason to wanna-be mason.

"The Goblin King killed our ancestors and took our shovel! We'd be rich now, Justin! Rich! If only we had the Gold Digger's Shovel..."

Yes, the Gold Digger's shovel. Every night before getting tucked into bed, Justin had heard about the Gold Digger's shovel. Rumor was that it would make older women with money fall in love with you. Others said that just digging it into the ground made gold appear. Further rumor insisted that it was not a shovel at all, but was actually made from the melted Philosopher's Stone, and that it's tip would turn anything it touched to gold.

Of course, Andrew knew nothing of the Gold Digger's Shovel. All he knew is that Justin would show him the way out if he retrieved it.

Andrew approached the stables. He could smell horse manure. He could hear the rabid labradoodles barking. Fear struck him like an ice pick to the heart. But he was wearing a good suit which made him feel confident. Perhaps he would survive this after all...

Chapter 7: Continued...

"Line eight hundred and thirty two..." Andrew said, flipping through the large contract. Hoshek sighed, resting his elbows on the oak table. Andrew pulled the candelabra closer and continued to read, squinty eyes and all. "Borrower shall have no less than thirteen button down shirts or the covenant will be null and void, rendering all clothes in the possession of the borrower to Hoshek."

Andrew looked up from the contract. "This line says that if I own less than thirteen button down shirts, you get all my clothing!"

"So..." Hoshek said, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s standard contractual clothing language.”

"Regardless, I want it stricken!" Andrew said, putting his hands to his hips.
"Fine."

Andrew smiled and took his red pen and drew a line through the sentence. He handed the pen to Hoshek who initialed the change. Andrew took the pen and initialed the change as well. He flipped the page.

"Very well, continuing on..."

This proceeded for the next five hours. Andrew's changes to the contract included removing stipulations regarding transfer of ownership of children, boats, farm animals, non-farm animals, pets, hunting ranges, dried fruits, and an assortment of bedding materials. And yet they had still not finished the contract.

"If you make one more change!" Hoshek threatened, rubbing his temples in a counter-clockwise motion.

"Sir -- Sir we are in negotiations. I read every line of every contract, and if you think, for one second, I am just going to sign this and-"
"PLEASE SHUT UP!" Hoshek yelled.

"Well, now that's not very polite at all," Andrew said. "And we're nearly half-way through the contract. We'll make it. Now, line fifteen hundred and twelve-"

"No... no. No more contract..." Hoshek lamented, nearly at tears. "Please... just... the suit is yours. It's a gift. Just GO!"

And with this Hoshek threw the suit at Andrew, packed up his table and wares, and disappeared into the closet from which he came.

This dungeon just gets weirder and weirder, Andrew thought to himself as he slipped the suit on.

NEXT ON MEDIEVAL LENDER: THE STABLES, THE LABRADOODLES, AND THE SHOVEL!

Chapter 7: The Predatory Lenders

Andrew had particular tastes for his clothing. If food or drink spilled on a sleeve, he would immediately change shirts. If he sweat too much, he would immediately change shirts. If he felt that his shirt was the wrong color, he would immediately change shirts. At 12th Century Bank, he was often referred to as "the shirt mongerer" or "Superman," for his ability to seemingly change costumes in the blink of an eye.

Thus it was no surprise that when Andrew stumbled upon a table filled with clean shirts, he stopped to peruse the wears. His shirt was now drenched in sweat, caked in mud, and even had some of his own dry blood on it from that awful dungeon/torture scenario that the evil Goblin Borrower had put him in. "Grrr," Andrew thought to himself. "I'll get that Goblin!" But for now, he thumbed through the assortment of t-shirts, some with slogans like, "My brother died in the Goblin's dungeon and all I got was this stupid t-shirt."

No sooner had he taken the shirt in his hand when a man approached him. "You like what you see? You like what you see?" the man said, with a speed and guile that made Andrew practically have to respond, "Yes! I like what I see."

"Hoshek," the man said, extending his hand.

"Andrew." They shook.

"So. What can I do for you?" Hoshek asked, holding up an Armani button down with french cuffs.

"I was actually wondering if I could have a shirt," Andrew asked, holding up the t-shirt he had picked out.

"Oh, you don't want THAT shirt. You're a banker, right?"
"Right."
"Banker's gotta look baller. Banker's gotta show that they're rolling with the big shots. I know exactly what you want."

Hoshek walked off into the back closet. Andrew was continually amazed by the strange rooms and people that inhabited this dungeon. A clothing vendor with a closet? What was he doing here in the first place? Hoshek stepped out, holding a suit bag in his hands. He unzipped the bag, revealing a navy suit.

"Hugo Boss. Try it on."

"Oh, I couldn't," Andrew said. "Alright."

Andrew emerged from the back room in the suit. He inspected himself in the mirror.

"I look good," Andrew said, adjusting the silk tie.

"You look like a million bucks, you beautiful son-of-a-bitch." Hoshek smiled. "The suit was made for you."
"Excellent! I'll take it." Andrew reached for his pockets, but then he remembered he had been imprisoned in a crazy dungeon, and had no wallet or money to speak of.

"It seems I've misplaced my wallet... do you do lay-away?"

"Woah woah woah woah woah woah!" Hoshek said. "You belong in this suit. You don't have enough money to pay for it. But me? I'm a nice guy. I know you. You're a friend. A good guy. A reliable guy, right?"
Andrew nodded. He was good and reliable! This Hoshek sure knew him well.

"I'm gonna make you a deal..." Hoshek said, and pulled out a stack of papers. He held them up to Andrew. "Let's finance this purchase, huh? I can offer you a sub-prime tiered rate! It's like I'm giving you money!"

Andrew took the papers from Hoshek. It was a very nice suit indeed, but sometimes large contractual documents could lead to trouble. Hoshek handed him a pen, and pointed to the dotted line.

"So what's your answer? We got ourselves a deal?"

CHAPTER 7 CONTINUES... Will Andrew take the deal? Will he get the "shovel" that Justin Weissman has sent him to retrieve? Will he ever see his sweet love or 30 pounds of gold again?

NEXT TIME ON MEDIEVAL LENDER!