"Welcome back to Reel News, the first-stop podcast for all you hardcore movie-buffs out there, bringing you the film facts that matter, from the world's biggest blockbusters to the most obscure of independent gems. And joining me next on this week's episode is director Tommy Normous, a movie-maker who, I'm sure he won't mind me saying, comes very much from the obscure independent end of that spectrum. But if the hype circulating around his latest production—get ready for this, listeners—Wrath of the Cursed Child of the Demon Emperor of the Forgotten Kingdom of Krundlundfson is to be believed, that might just be about to change. Tommy, welcome to Reel News."

"Thank you, Sakura. It's a pleasure to be with you. Although, I hope you'll allow me to protest that several of my former works could hardly be classified as obscure. Take my latest release, Realm of Rubble 3: The Rubbellion, for instance. That movie alone is a multi-award winner and made the annual top 100 box-office list in quite a few countries."

"My apologies, Tommy. Although, and please correct me if I'm wrong, weren't at least some of those awards Golden Raspberries? And did not the countries in question include such locations as Tonga and Lesotho? Lovely places, no doubt, but hardly major movie markets."

"Ah-ha-ha, yes. It's true, the Razzies were quite generous with us this year. Such good fun. But seriously, we all know what a bunch of narrow-minded, mean-spirited, talentless wannabe hacks those guys are, don't we? No vision whatsoever. I can assure you we did pick up multiple genuine awards of merit, including a GARY, a Bonex and no less than two Trilobits. Very prestigious. And you'd be surprised just how keen on their movies the Tongans are. After all, with only one cinema in the country, they have to be pretty damn choosy about what they show."

"I can't argue with you there, Tommy. In any case, let's come to your current production, Wrath of the Cursed Child of the Demon Emperor of the Forgotten Kingdom of Krundlundfson. Phew, that's quite some title you have there. I'm sure you won't mind if, for the purposes of brevity, we refer to it as Wrath of the Cursed Child from here on?"

"I'd prefer if you didn't, Sakura. After all, you don't see people going around shortening The Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones, do you?"

"Uh, well...but that's because...I mean, no—"

"Precisely. And if hacks like Peter Jackson are afforded the courtesy of having the names of their assorted overblown snooze-fests stated in full, shouldn't I expect the same?"

"Well, Tommy, I don't know that there are many who would describe the Oscar-winning director of the most successful fantasy film trilogy ever as a hack. But very well, I'll be sure to refer to...your current work by its full title from here on. Seriously, though—Peter Jackson a hack?"

"Of course he is, Sakura. Any damn fool can churn out a blockbuster when they're given a bottomless budget along with the rights to the biggest and most popular fantasy story in history. It would have taken incompetence of truly spectacular level to mess that up. No, it's when the funds are tight and the story unknown—but truly captivating, as in my movie—that the real skill comes in. Skill the world will see for themselves when at last we release my masterpiece, my magnum opus—Wrath of the Cursed Child of the Demon Emperor of the Forgotten Kingdom of Krundlundfson."

"A little of that skill has already been seen though, hasn't it, Tommy? Over the last few weeks tantalising snippets of Wrath of...your upcoming movie have appeared online, wowing both fans and pros alike with the sweeping majesty on display in the epic battle scenes and the stunning reality of the CGI used to create your menagerie of fantastic creatures. Even more impressive given, as you mentioned, you are not usually a director blessed with the most generous of budgets."

"Oh, it's all about the quality of the spend, Sakura, not the quantity. And, of course, having the right connections. Working with the right people. Something spendthrifts like Jackson or that Spielberg fellow never had to consider. No, I make sure my backers get full value from every single dollar they invest with me, without cutting corners or sacrificing quality, as those mysterious and completely unauthorised internet leaks show all too clearly. I'll wager no other director could have produced anything of the calibre of the content of those clips without spending ten times as much as I have."

"Yes, yes, truly impressive, Tommy. And yet, your production is not without controversy, is it? There are rumblings of discontent from the areas around your principal filming locations down there in New Zealand. Reports of costumed extras stirring up trouble with the locals and rumours of accidents and injuries among your special effects crew. Might these issues be the result of a budget spread too thin, with an undue priority on spectacle over safety?"

"In our business a priority on spectacle can never be undue, Sakura. And those rumours are all nonsense. Or at the very least nothing to do with my production. New Zealand is a strange and mysterious land and I'm sure unusual...incidents were occurring long before my crew and I came along and will no doubt continue long after we've gone. I don't see why every bigfoot sighting or bump in the night should be attributed to us."

"Well, the latest bumps in question are not just confined to the night, though, are they? Just yesterday, reports emerged from the seaside village of Picton, detailing what witnesses describe as a group of imps running amok at a children's birthday party, devouring the cake, all the party food, a goodly proportion of the garden and making a play for the household cat before the local authorities intervened and managed to chase them away. Imps, Tommy? Definitely no connection to the Wrath of the Cursed Child shoot going on in the nearby Marlborough Sounds? No chance it may have been a handful of underpaid and overenthusiastic amateur extras, on a break and out for a good time?"

"Oh please, Sakura. Firstly, every single soul working on any site of mine is one hundred percent professional. Secondly, there aren't even any wretched imps in the production. We're not making a bloody pantomime. And thirdly, what was it you just called my film?"

"Why, Wrath of the Cursed Child, of course...whoops."

"Whoops? Whoops? That's the best you can do? I dunno, Christopher Nolan would never put up with this kind of disrespect and neither will I. This whole damn industry already knows I'm the next big thing, and once my movie drops, the rest of the world will know it too. I don't need this. This interview is over, Sakura, right now. Normous out."

"Uh...okay. And, with a literal mike-drop, there he goes. That was Tommy Normous, listeners, hot-headed and passionate director of the upcoming release, Wrath of the Cursed Child of the...King of Krunchyroll or something like that. Keep an eye out for it in your local cinema, particularly if you happen to live in the Seychelles. And joining me next in the studio, by a remarkable coincidence, is renowned director Cristopher Nolan. Hello, Chris. I do hope you weren't bowled over by our departing guest. We were just talking about you."

"Hi, Sakura. Really? And who's we?"

"Me and Tommy Normous."

"Tom who?"

"Tommy, Chris. Normous."

"Tommy Normous?"

"That's the one."

"Right. Never heard of him."

****

After handing over the dazed and thankfully docile Archduke to a waiting scrubs-clad reception crew, Fields and Peregrine found themselves in a top-floor office of SHAP's Australian HQ, looking out over the lights of Bundaberg as they emerged from the gathering twilight. Although immaculate and well-appointed, the room carried the unmistakeable hint of fresh paint and newly laid carpet on its crisp air-conditioned air.

Seated side-by-side before the imposing desk that formed the room's centrepiece, Peregrine gave Fields a nudge. "Kinda feels like being in trouble with the principal, huh?"

Having been the type of kid for whom a visit to the principal's office was pretty much an unthinkable nightmare, Fields could honestly answer he had no idea what that felt like. He had by now, however, garnered enough Peregrine-experience to realise the folly of admitting any such thing. "Yeah. No reason we should be in trouble, though. We brought in the Archduke, didn't we?"

"Yeah," acknowledged Peregrine. "Yeah, we did. Piece of cake. Almost too easy, really."

Fields gave his tender jaw a tentative rub. "Oh, I don't know about that."

"Oh, come on, partner. Yeah, you got a little punched in the face, but it's hardly the first time and you can bet it won't be the last. All in a day's work. Which kind of makes you wonder, why send us on what was basically a cakewalk? I mean, they could have sent any old idiots down to Tassie to get punched in the face and bag big, bad Baz."

Fields gave her a considered look. "Peregrine, did it ever occur to you that maybe—from their point of view—that's just what they did?"

"Yeah, but..." Peregrine blinked. It was not often Fields saw his partner nonplussed. He tried hard not to enjoy it, but as a serial non-plussee par excellence, failed miserably. "Son-of-a-bitch," she breathed. "Surely..."

Although nominally her equal, Fields was well aware Section F was Peregrine's show and had been for more years and partners than he'd ever been able to determine with any real accuracy. And while technically answerable to the Agency's director, it was a show in which she was used to calling the shots. It was clear even the possibility of being a mere pawn—a bit-player—did not sit well with her.

Her ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of a broad-shouldered man of late middle-age in a navy blue suit, sweeping into the room from a side door. He took a seat behind the desk and glanced at the each of the three monitors arranged before him before acknowledging his guests with a cursory nod. 

"Agents," he greeted them. "I'm Crass."

They exchanged a look. "Hey, don't beat yourself up about it," replied Peregrine, apparently having recovered her sangfroid. "I'm often pretty forthright myself."

Although the unsmiling features did not budge, there was a significant pause before their host replied. "Benjamin Crass, Agent Peregrine. Formerly Major Benjamin Crass, British SAS. I've been placed in charge of our little Australian shindig. And just so we're clear, let me state here and now that I was against bringing in outside people for this operation. There is no place for amateurs in our business."

Peregrine gave him her sweetest smile. "Well, its seems your higher-ups—you know, the people who know better than you—think otherwise, don't they, Benji? So, here we are. Might as well get along, is the way I see it."

"And the Agency might not be the SAS but its training is no joke," protested Fields. "We're hardly amateurs."

"Oh, but you are, Agent Fields." Crass leaned back in his leather chair. "In the realm we're dealing with, the realm of superhumans, of those gifted—or cursed—with extraordinary abilities, you and Agent Peregrine are the rankest of rank amateurs. I realise you have some alleged experience with strange creatures and extra-dimensional shenanigans and so on, which is no doubt why some fool thought it reasonable to bring you on board, but trust me when I say you will survive far longer in this game if you accept yourselves for the raw nobodies I know you to be."

Fields bristled. "Raw—?"

"Nevertheless, as Agent Peregrine pointed out, for better or for worse I'm saddled with the pair of you. So, despite my better instincts, we may as well attempt to make the best of things—to put whatever skills you possess, such as they are, to some sort of practical use."

Fields could think of several tempting and very practical uses to which he could put his skills right at that very moment, but fought down the urge. "We brought back the Archduke, didn't we?"

"Yes," Crass conceded. He did not seem particularly pleased about this. "I'll grant you that. Somewhat to my surprise, you did." 

"Of course." Peregrine smacked herself in the forehead. "It was a test, wasn't it?" Grinning in delight, she looked very much as though she'd like to give Crass a playful punch in the arm, but given he was out of reach, settled for punching Fields instead.

"A test?" queried Fields, rubbing his arm. "And ow."

"Yeah," said Peregrine. "To see if we're up to scratch. They give us a milk run before trusting us with the hard stuff. Sound about right, Benji?"

"That's Crass, Agent Peregrine."

"Do you think so? I thought it was quite perceptive."

"My name is Crass."

"Yep, got that the first time around, Benji."

The older man glared at her. "Yes, Agent Peregrine, the Tasmanian venture was indeed a trial of sorts. The Archduke appeared the simplest and safest recruitment on our list and I thought it appropriate to see whether you messed that up before moving you onto the more challenging assignments."

"Well," said Fields, "as much as we hate to disappoint, we didn't mess it up."

"Yeah," agreed Peregrine, "so I guess your just gonna have to challenge us up, Big B. Who's next?"

"Oh, you will be challenged, believe me. And as it turns out, your next recruitment target is actually located here in Bundaberg. Right around the corner, believe it or not." Crass glanced at his watch. "Or at least she will be in an hour or so," he added, pushing a folder labelled 'The Spinster' across the desk. "Which will give you plenty of time to see just what you have in store."