At a slightly crooked table, outside a moderately disreputable tavern, an old man and an even older gnome sat and watched the world pass by, just as they had done for more years than either of them cared to remember.

There wasn't anything particularly special about The Goblin's Pancreas, but the old pair knew it well, and in general, they tended to like what they knew.  Plus, the tankards here were just that little bit bigger than those served at most taverns, and as far as they were concerned, an extra swig of beer was ample compensation for the somewhat questionable decor.  The most common question being, "What's decor?"

There was also the fact that The Pancreas was positioned directly opposite Vardun Ri's castle, and the two had found that their world-watching had become a lot more interesting, since the dark lord had moved in across the street.  They were all kinds of intriguing comings and goings, although if you were mathematically inclined, you'd probably notice that the comings tended to outnumber the goings.

The gnome, whose name was Bup, squinted at the line of armed guards arrayed along the entire street frontage of the castle.  "'Ere, what do you reckon that's all about?"

The old man took a pull of his beer, before replying.  "Nothin' good, I tell you.  Trouble's brewin', or my name's not Korbus Wo."

Bup considered this.  "Is your name Korbus Wo?"

The old man sighed.  "Course it is, you forgetful little bum-wipe, same as it's been for the whole fifty-somethin' years we've been friends.  You forgot  to take your memory pills, didn't you?"

Bup gave this further consideration.  "If'n I was s'posed to take memory pills but din take them pills, then how would I remember not takin' 'em?"

"You know, for a decrepit, little, wrinkly-arsed gnome, with mush for brains, you actually talk sense, sometimes.  Well, occasionally, anyway.  Here, have one a mine."

Bup swallowed the proffered pill, with the aid of a substantial swig, and smiled as his mental fog receded.  "Cheers, mate.  I was just startin' to wonder why I was sat at a table with a manky, unshaven, stupid-faced old geezer, who looked like he'd slit me throat to steal me socks, but now I remember that it's just me dear old friend, Korbus."

The old man shook his head.  "It's a pity charm don't come in a pill, too.  You're welcome, by the way."

Bup drained his tankard, emitted a far bigger belch than a body his size had any right to, and once again squinted at the guards before the castle.  "'Ere, what do you reckon that's all about?"

Korbus rubbed his temples.  Bup was his oldest friend, but he still had to regularly fight the urge to toss him in the privy.  "What it's about, you forgetful little geezer, is that we is subject to the despotic reign of a ruthless dictator.  If Vardun bloody Ri wants to parade them tossers up and down the street, displaying his aggressively authoritarian proclivities, then we, as the humble masses, are powerless to stop him.  It's tyranny, my friend."

"Hey, who you callin' molasses?"

"Masses, Bup, masses.  That's what we is."

"What, us two?'

"S'right."

"Blimey.  And me mum said I'd never amount to anythin'.  Now I'm masses."

"Not just us two, you great big, little gob-head.  S'everyone, ain't it?  We pays our taxes, we toes Lord Bloody Lardy-Vardy's line, but do we get a vote?  Do we get a say?  Do we get to exercise our inherent, inalienable right to self-determination?  Like bloody hell, we do."

Bup absorbed this, with great seriousness.  "Ain't you a bit old for that, mate?"

"Huh?  Old for what?"

"Self-determination.  I mean, if a man your age still got them urges, then fair play to you, but why don't you just pop into Madame Yo's?  She's only just down the street, and I can loan you a fiver, if you is a bit hard-up.  No need to take matters into, erm...into your own hands."

Korbus sniffed.  "I dunno why I even bother talking to you, when your mind's always in the gutter."

Bup signaled to the serving-boy, for another round of drinks.  "You talk to me 'coz nobody else will listen to you, particularly not wif all them big words you use.  And as for me mind bein' in the gutter, when youse my size, it's a bit hard to avoid.  When I'm walkin' down the street, I'm pretty much all in the gutter, mate."

"Well, that's as may be, but it don't change the fact that we're living in a totalitarian regime.  It's tyranny, I tell you.  Tyranny the likes a which Volanda ain't never seen before."  Korbus sat back and folded his arms, obviously feeling that his point had been made.

Apparently feeling otherwise, the gnome blew a loud raspberry.  "You call this tyranny, mate?  Pffft.  Folks today wouldn't know tyranny if it came up and bit 'em on the arse.  In fact, I've heard tell they like that, down at Madame Yo's.  But this tyranny ain't like the tyranny we had when I were a boy.  Oh, I'll grant you, that Vardun tosser is right piece a work, and he'd have your bits off as soon as look at you, but he's a fairy princess compared to his old man.  Now, Narvan Ri, he was a proper tyrant.  Bad as they come, plus he had the Blade.  He'd have your bits off even before he looked at you.  It wasn't half a relief when Mavis Qo lopped his head off, and we got usselves a proper Blade again."

Korbus tossed the serving-boy a coin, blew the froth off his freshly delivered beer, and took a thoughtful sip.  "I s'pose you might have a point," he admitted, grudgingly.  "What do you reckon happened to the last Blade, anyway?"

"The bloke, or the pointy thing?"

"Both."

Bup took a swig and gave his friend a wise look, although his froth moustache lessened the effect somewhat.  "Disappeared, mate.  Years ago."

Korbus rolled his eyes.  "Yes, I know that, you little git.  So does everyone else in Volanda.  What I means is, where did they disappear to?"

"Oh, right.  Dunno, mate.  Although I got a cousin who once tole me that he knew a bloke whose brother worked for a lass who met this gnome who was an apprentice to this carpenter and he tole her his boss got asked to make a box for a mage who was mates with the Blade."

Korbus briefly tried to work his way through this statement, remembered who it was he was talking to, and gave up the attempt as a lost cause.  "What the hell are you on about?"

"The box, mate.  Me cousin reckons it musta been a magic one.  You know, bein' made by a mage, and all."

"What, so you think this magic box magicked away the Blade?"

Bup snorted.  "Do me a favour.  A bloke'd have to be crazy, to fink that."

"Well, what then?"

The gnome leaned forward conspiratorially, and lowered his voice.  "Well, me cousin, he says the bloke said his brother said the lass said the gnome said the carpenter tole him that the mage was partial to cheese, on his sandwiches."

"Sandwiches?  What the hell do sandwiches have to do with anything?"

Bup took another swig, and grinned at his friend.  "It's obvious, innit?  That magic box musta turned the Blade into cheese.  Makes perfect sense, if you fink about it."

Korbus shook his head, slowly and sadly.  "Now I remember why I could be bothered talking to you.  It's so I don't have to listen to you."

Intent as they were on their conversation, the two friends completely failed to notice the arrival of a bright-red six-legged carriage, pulling up just a little way down the street from the Pancreas.