Chapter 6: The Pit of Terrible Curse Words

Andrew had taken forty-five steps through the darkness before heard someone call out, "Hey you, nerd!"

It was hard to tell exactly where the voice was coming from. "Hi, I'm looking for some sort of pit I have to cross?" Andrew said.

"The Pit of Terrible, Bad, Really Bad, Curse Words! I am its guardian, Kyle Mahoney, and you will soon be my prisoner!!!"
"Prisoner?" Andrew replied.  He took a step forward and tumbled down into a dirt hole. 

"Ouch!" Andrew exclaimed as he landed on a particularly pointy stone.

"Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" Kyle exclaimed as he danced around the hole. "Now I will make you listen to all sorts of awful, mean, feeling-hurting words!!!" 

"Well, alright," he said, as he crossed his legs and sat on the rock. "But if I'm going to be here for a while, do you think I could have some food and drink?" 

"No! You will suffer and be in pain!" Kyle said, dancing around gleefully. 

"Very well, get it on with it then."

Kyle circled the hole. 

"You're fat!" he said. Andrew stood and lifted his shirt up. He hadn't eaten well in at least a week. His ribs were showing.

"I am not fat," Andrew said. 

Frustrated, Kyle pointed down at him, "Fine, maybe you're not, but poop on you!"

"Poop on me?" Andrew repeated out loud. "Is that your idea of cursing?" 

"No! Meanie!" Kyle jumped up and down at this curse word.

"That's not very good either. For a pit of terrible curse words this is quite tame indeed."

"Well, do you have any better words?" Kyle asked. 

Andrew thought for a moment. "If I tell you some words, will you let me out and point me in the direction of the predatory lenders?" 

Kyle thought about this, then nodded his head. "But they must be truly awful curse words! Things that would make your mother slap you!" 

Andrew didn't want mothers to slap him, but he had no choice. "I'm a man of morals, so I dare not say them aloud, but I will give you a hint as to what they are. The first is a male chicken. The second is what happens when you cut your finger. The third is something that rhymes with a type of fowl." 

Kyle thought long and hard. A sneaky grin came across his face. He dropped a rope ladder down to Andrew. Kyle gave him a good, firm handshake. "The predatory lenders are deeper in the dungeon. Down the staircase to your left. Thanks for the words."
"No problem," Andrew said, as he he headed for the staircase.

"Now get out of here you... rooster! You... infection! You... puck!" Kyle gleefully yelled out his new curse words, feeling completely evil. "Watch out roosters! The pit of terrible curse words is cursing again! Now go infect yourself with a puck!"

NEXT TIME ON MEDIEVAL LENDER: The Predatory Lenders Prime! 

Chapter 5: The Path to The Shovel

The cell was lit by two torches. Andrew was seated on what appeared to be a futon. He wondered how Justin had managed to get the futon into the cell in such good shape. Perhaps he had bought it off a prisoner who was leaving. But then how would that prisoner have gotten the futon? Or maybe Justin had reupholstered the seat. It was a quite a conundrum. He would've asked, but Justin was occupied assembling trivial objects on top of the throw rug. It took Justin twice as long because he only had one functioning hand. Andrew didn't want to break his concentration. 

"This stick is the north corridor. This button, is the pit. That spec of blood is the search light that monitors the lenders. You keep going, eventually, the shovel," Justin said, pointing with his stubby, gruesome, nub of an arm at the hole in the ground they called a toilet, "is here." 

Andrew walked to the hole and looked in it for a good, long time. 

"I hate to break it to you, Mr. Weissman, but there is no shovel in this feces hole." 

"The hole represents the stables," Justin said. Justin waited a minute. Andrew didn't get it. "Whatever. Just go that way for a while, get past the pit of terrible curse words, navigate the predatory lenders, and defeat the labradoodles."

"All for a shovel?" Andrew asked. 

Justin's face grew red with fury.

"Did you unlock yourself from the forever hanging wall?! No! I set you free! You owe me, goddamnit!"Justin yelled. Flicks of saliva went on Andrew's face. "ALL I WANT IS ONE SHOVEL!"

Andrew sat up from the futon. Justin had a lot of pent up rage. Perhaps Justin had stolen the futon! Yes. That must be the answer.

"Now get! And don't come back without my shovel!" Justin yelled.

Andrew walked out of the cell and down the corridor. What had Justin said about some kind of pit? And predators? Oh well, Andrew thought to himself. If this is what I must do to see Eliza and recoup my charge-off, then so be it. 

He looked behind him. A drizzle of light still radiated from Justin's torches.  

He took a step forward and the darkness consumed him. There was no turning back.

NEXT TIME ON... MEDIEVAL LENDER: The Pit of Terrible Curse Words!

Chapter 4: The Dungeon Master

The grapes were sweet and plump. Andrew thought they would make a nice Chardonnay with some patience and knowledge. He held out his hand to Eliza. She took the grape and popped it in her mouth. The ice in the mountains had melted with May's weather and now, with June ambling through, the stream had become a river. Eliza lay back on the blanket, enjoying the sun on her face and the babble of the water.  Andrew gazed at her lovingly.

"Why don't we come here every day?" she asked Andrew, taking his hand in hers.

"We will," he said, admiring her green eyes.

"But how? You're in a dungeon in the land of the Goblin King." 

Andrew looked at her quizzically. "That's impossible I'm right here with-" 

"Open yer mouth!" the Goblin yelled, hurling two full ladels of slop at his face. Crappy pants, Andrew thought to himself. It was only a dream! The slop dribbled down his neck, less than half reaching its destination. He was hanging by his wrists in the dungeon.The goblin continued down past the other hanging prisoners, hurling food in their general direction. 

His thoughts returned to Eliza. Would he ever see her again? Would he ever tell her how he really felt? 

"You'll see Eliza again..." a voice said from the darkness. 

"What? How did you know I was thinking about that?" Andrew asked, amazed.

"This dungeon makes people lose their internal monologue," the voice responded. 

He's lying, Andrew thought to himself.

"I'm not lying!" the man said. "And if you want to get out of here, you'll have to trust me." 

Trust him? Andrew had just met this man. And the man could read his mind!

"I'm not reading your mind, you idiot. You're saying this all out loud." 

That couldn't be, Andrew thought to himself.
"Alright, I'm sick of this..." the man said, as he began to shuffle away.

"No, wait- I'm sorry! How will I see Eliza again?" 

"By doing exactly what I say." 

"Very well. Then tell me who you are..."

"I am," the man said, as he emerged into the light. "Justin Weissman." 

"Ok." Andrew stared at him blankly.

"We worked together. Remember? At the bank?"

Andrew shook his head.
"Seriously, you don't remember? Business Development. Justin Weissman" 

Andrew didn't.

"Whatever. I don't have time for this." 

Justin pulled a key from around his neck and unlocked Andrew's shackles. 

"I'm working on escaping. But I need a shovel." Justin said. "And you're going to get it for me."

A shovel, but where would he find one of those?

"In the stables, but it won't be easy," Justin replied. "They're guarded by ravenous labradoodles." 

"Labradoodles!? How bad could that be?" 

Justin lifted his left arm up and showed Andrew the end of it. There was no hand, only a festering stub.

Crappy pants, Andrew thought to himself.

"Crappy pants, indeed."

NEXT TIME ON MEDIEVAL LENDER: WILL ANDREW GET THE SHOVEL? HOW WILL HE NAVIGATE THE LABRADOODLES!? 

Chapter 3: Lon, The Goblin King (cont.)

Lon left Andrew in the great hall to attend to business. “I’ll return in five minutes,” Lon told him. And then Andrew was alone. He plopped down into one of the dark brown feasting chairs and set about admiring the room. There was clearly a lot of value left in this castle. The golden feasting horn would fetch at least 5 pounds of gold. The tapestries of the Goblin civil uprising, which took place, thankfully, before Andrew was born, would fetch another 10. The silverware was worth its weight in silver. But the real question wasn’t whether there was value left in the castle – it was whether Andrew would be able to get it from Lon.

The meal they ate was aged mutton with cranberry sauce and foot of the elf. Andrew had a bite of the mutton and swallowed, smiling up at Lon. It was the two of them, and then two of Lon’s “accountants.” To Lon’s left was his right hand man, Matthew Shorn, a fierce goblin accountant with an eye for value, literally. His right eye had been given to him by a Wharton financial wizard and allowed him to know the price of anything it gazed upon. His left eye remained viable for seeing and depth perception. Matthew glanced at a gold ring on Andrew’s finger.

“Nice ring,” Matthew said.

“Thank you!” Andrew said, picking up the elf foot on his plate and seeing if there was a good spot to bite into. Andrew could see Matthew opening his right eye to get a better look at the ring.

“Wait, never mind. It’s fake, not worth more than a few sheckles,” Matthew said, and went back to devouring the mutton.

To Lon’s left was his other accountant, Harold. Harold was an ogre. Harold had a large club in his hand. Andrew found himself intimidated by Harold. He also suspected that perhaps Harold was not an accountant.

Andrew smiled politely and put down the foot of Elf.

“So, I love what you’ve done with the castle,” Andrew said.

Silence.

“Why are you here… banker?” Lon said. He said “banker” as if bankers were cockroaches, and Lon’s boot was six inches off the ground, ready to squish.

“Well! I am glad you asked, glad you asked…” Andrew said, chuckling nervously as he smoothed out his delicate mustache and toyed with his fake ring. “You see… I was expecting a payment on my 50 pound gold loan!” Andrew waited, staring at the three of them.  “I never got the payment.”

“When were you expecting the payment?” Matthew asked him.

“Six months ago,” Andrew said.

“And what makes you think I’d pay?” Lon asked.

“You signed this agreement letter,” Andrew said, fishing it out of his satchel and holding it up to them. Lon took the letter, glanced at it, and then handed it to Harold. Harold then ate the letter, staring angrily at Andrew as he chewed and swallowed.

Andrew shook with fear. He stood and offered his hand to Lon. “Always a pleasure seeing you – I’ll show myself out.” Lon gestured to Harold.

“Not so fast. Take Mr. Cranston to the dungeon.” Harold nodded, and proceeded to lift Andrew up and throw him over his shoulder.

“You’ll regret this Lon! I work for a very powerful bank! I’ll get my money back!!!” Andrew yelled as he was dragged off.

“No, Mr. Cranston. You will rot in my dungeon with all the other creditors as I use your money to assemble the largest army the City of Century has ever seen,” Lon said, smiling at Matthew. “You see, once I control this kingdom, it won’t matter what my credit score is!”

All Andrew could hear was Lon’s deep, goblin laugh as Harold dragged him down, down, down into the darkest depths of the Goblin dungeon.

TOMORROW: Will Andrew Die in the Dungeon? Who will he meet there? Will Lon’s credit score go down!? On…. ANDREW CRANSTON: MEDIEVAL LENDER!

Chapter 3: Lon, The Goblin King

Andrew ran his hand against the tall granite walls of the Goblin castle. Granite of this type could only come from the mountains of Ergu, to the north. The shipping costs alone would’ve accounted for a third of the 500 pound gold loan he had made to Lon, King of the Goblins.

“Hey you!” someone yelled from atop the wall. Andrew brought his hand above his eyes to block the sun, craning his head to see who addressed him. It was a young Goblin, no more than eight or nine, but already thick and strong like a bull. “What you doing down there?” the Goblin asked.

“I’m from 12^th Century Bank!” Andrew yelled back. “I need to speak to Lon!”

The Goblin gave him a cockeyed look. “You want to speak to Lon? Lon the Terrible? He who ravages and pillages with disregard for human life!? He that eats whole children at Sunday Brunch? He who’s bowel movements cause the earth to quake?”

“Yes, exactly! I need to talk to him about his HELOC,” Andrew said, waving a thick green credit file up in the air. 

The Goblin bit off a piece of leather and chewed it in his mouth. He swallowed and disappeared from Andrew’s view.

“A curious Goblin indeed,” Andrew thought to himself. Andrew also wondered if that Goblin’s salary had been listed on the payroll sheet he had spread a month a earlier. Another minute passed. Were they going to let him in? He stared at the giant oak doors. He heard the thumping of feet, then grunting. The doors opened. And then Andrew saw him. The eater of children. The horrible of horrible. The creditor who knew no fear. It was Lon, King of the Goblins.  

“Mr. Cranston!” Lon exclaimed, his baritone voice filling the dry morning air. Lon was a few inches shorter than Andrew, but his hands were twice as large. Andrew noticed a small piece of brown meat between his crooked teeth. It was almost enough to distract from Lon's body odor and slug infested scalp. “Come in. Come in. We have much to discuss.”

“We do indeed!” Andrew said. Lon gestured for Andrew to follow him. As Andrew walked into the castle, past the battle axes and cross bows, the spears and broad swords, the cauldrons of oil set atop stacks of wood, ready for boiling, a foreboding chill crept up his spine. Perhaps there were other non-accrual loans he could’ve called on first. Harold the armless owed him 50 pounds of gold, and Gretta the mute 25 pounds. Yes, perhaps he could go visit them!

But before he could act on this thought, the doors locked behind him. Andrew wasn’t going anywhere.

Will Andrew get his money back? Is there any value in this castle? Is Lon going to war!? You’ll have to wait until the next installment of…. ANDREW CRANSTON: MEDIEVAL LENDER!