Chapter 13: New Directions

Korwyn ran across the parade ground of the castle Llandoryn, littered as it was with broken barrels of the finest marching army food that the Dwarf provisioners could provide, with tiny dragons calmly feasting and drinking, ignoring the rushing human Lord running in one direction and the shuffling line of Imperial Guards going in the other direction, queuing up to meekly surrender their weapons to the Queen’s Guard before being allowed to wash, change and enjoy their first hot meal since their army had been routed two days previously. Korwyn reached the raised wooden platform where Goadrik’s captives had been held.

As soon as he climbed the ladder from the parade ground, he could see that the boy Prince Bydon had used his Dwarf sword to free the bindings of the other prisoners. Zyndyr was on her knees bent over the dying Goadrik trying to staunch the blood flowing from a severed artery in his thigh with her hands, while the king’s physicians stood helpless.

“Zyn!” Korwyn bellowed as he took three strides across the platform and kneeled beside her, “Are you all right, my love?”

She turned her lovely head to him and smiled warmly, “Hey you, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Yes, my love, I am fine now, unharmed if a little bruised from the rough handling when I was first taken, and my wound although painful was slight. I have sent some of your uncle’s fool physicians to find my pouch that was taken from me along with my bow, sword and lightening stick when I was captured. It would be ironic if this man, your uncle, died because he my healing webs away from me and is only vaguely aware of where he disrespectfully threw them!”

“Er, my er, Lady,” came a stuttering voice from above the pair of them, “would it be safe to use the web you placed upon my head earlier?”

Both turned to face the Undead Servant from Blearn Mountain, the Mad Sorceror’s aide, standing there looking uncertain, his ancient uniform tattered and torn, caked in dirt and dried blood, the powerful pungency of his long unwashed body odour, and worse, overpowering and enveloping the air around him.

“Of course!” Zyndyr leaped to her feet and felt for the web that had buried itself in the shoulder-long and tangled iron-grey hair, that had clearly been unwashed and uncut for years, probably since he was taken by the Black Dragon at Hawkshart Plain. She teased out a corner of the web and it soon relinquished the hold on its ‘patient’ and clung instead to Zyndyr’s hand.

She dropped to her knees and placed the healing web on the wounded king’s thigh, his leggings already cut away showing the gaping wound Bydon’s dwarf sword had sliced through to the bone. The blood was running freely now it was no longer staunched by Zyndyr’s hand pressure on the arteries and veins within the clean-cut wounds.

The healing web seemed to have a mind and reaction of its own as it spread itself around the two legs binding them together, closing the edges of the wounds, knitting together the cloven muscle and stopping the leak of blood from the king’s legs and began the process of repairing the join between the ends of the severed artery. The open weave of the web closed up until it obscured the wound from view, the blood no longer leaching from the fallen monarch’s wounds.

Zyndyr arose and reached out her hands to grab Korwyn in embrace, but a glance at her hands reminded her they were completely covered in Goadrik’s blood, both dried and crusted and glistening wet in places. She turned to one of the king’s physicians standing by open-mouthed at the process used by the Elf in sealing of the king’s wound.

“Water, please?” Zyndyr asked him, and the physician found a sponge from his doctor’s bag, dipped it into a pail of water nearby and proceeded to wipe clean the hands of the beautiful Elf, frequently squeezing away the excess and re-dipping the sponge for more clean water until the run-off flow from her hands lost its pinkness. She shook her hands of drops as she nodded her thanks with a smile, turned and gladly fell into Korwyn’s waiting arms.

It was while they hugged that the physician’s messenger returned with her discovered pouch, her elf sword, quiver and bow, and lightning stick, with a faltering interruption of, “Ma’am?”.

She kissed Korwyn lightly on the lips, “Excuse me, please, Korwyn, my love.”

She took one of the healing webs from the Spiders of Parsindyr Forest, that were stored in her pouch, and wrapped it around her waist, allowing Korwyn to see the dried blood from the wound in her back for the first time.

“It is nothing my love,” she reassured him, “our baby is completely unharmed.”

While she attended to her own wound, Korwyn turned to Prince Bydon standing by them. “Tell me, your highness, where the hell did you spring from? We thought we had left you safe and sound at home in the care of your mother and great grandmother?”

The Prince looked up at his hero and decided he couldn’t lie to him.

“I returned with you back to the Dwarf Army hidden in the Giant Eagle’s net with Captain Unwynden, my Lord. He tried to dissuade me from coming, but I would not be denied my right to join my hero’s army and be part of what will be a story told by my people forever. To miss this March, this whole marvellous event, would shame me as a future king of the dwarves every day of the rest of my life. As it has turned out, I am totally unharmed, I have had the adventure of a lifetime and ... even you have to admit ... I have saved Zyndyr’s life and brought the King of Man to his knees.”

Korwyn sighed, shaking his head and picking his next words carefully, certain that he could hear The Spirit in his head trying not to laugh out too loud and being only partially successful. In exasperation, Korwyn wondered out loud, “How, my dear Prince, is it even possible that your mother hasn’t missed you this last week or so?”

Bydon coloured up in embarrassment, and Korwyn was surprised how red the normally rosy complexion of dwarves could get any redder than the boy in front of him now.

“My Lord, I have been studying witch magic with my great grandmother Queen Urmah for all of the months you have been away on your long March to the Land of Man. And, er, one of the spells my Witch great grandmother taught me was to use an eyelash and magic mirror to see whatever the mirror saw, wherever it was in the world. She demonstrated how it worked on a mirror of her own, made especially for the purpose, but she wouldn’t give me a mirror or even let me use her one, knowing full well I would use it to my advantage. But I looked through one of the old and unused bedchambers, one that was once used by my late grandmother, Queen Mother Urmah’s daughter, who died of grief when my mother was taken by the Orcs. One of the older palace servants had no choice but to answer my questions and lead me to the room that had been sealed for five years.”

“Your Royal Highness, you really must learn to temper the use of the power as Crown Prince that you wield among your people,” Zyndyr interposed. “Your loyal servants and your family, even your friends, like us, love you and want only the best for you. You must be honest and respect them and love them back.”

“Aye, young dwarf,” Korwyn continued where Zyndyr left off, “You serve your people just as much as they serve you, that I learned from my own grandparents. King Eldrondre was called ‘The Wise’ for a reason. If you had been lost in this war or badly injured, imagine how Captain Unwynden would feel by helping you into danger, your great grandmother for teaching you about using the magic mirror, and us, Lady Zyndyr and I, for inspiring your enthusiasm and curiosity.”

“We would all be devastated by your loss, as would be your whole kingdom,” Zyndyr added.

“I stand chastened, Madam, Sire,” Bydon really did look miserable under the weight of their words and, with a voice racked with emotion, said, ‘I just, I just wanted to be a part of the excitement of it all.”

Zyndyr pulled the child to her in a huge hug with Korwyn. “I know you’re a Prince and I’m probably breaking all kinds of royal protocols here, but you a still a precious child to me and Korwyn, and we can’t help but worry about you.”

Bydon hugged them both in return, “Have no thought of protocols, Zyndyr, you and Lord Korwyn outrank me in my heart above all except my family. You are both indeed a part of my family, you can hug me and chastise me and love me all you want, for without you I would be an Orc, a savage, with no free will and no direction or ambition in life.”

“You’ll be a great king, my Prince,” Zyndyr sniffed, “And we will visit you as oft as we can, won’t we, Wyn?”

“Aye, Bydon, we’ll visit and you must come to us too, we may have a small place, but we’ve a mountain to climb and a sea to swim and fish in and, with the help of your Gardener Militia, I’m hoping we’ll be able to put on a feast or two fit to feed a royal prince!” Korwyn laughed, “So, young Prince, what did you do to fool your family into allowing your adventure?”

“In my grandmother’s old bedchamber, long left untouched, and full of her junk, there were lots of magical artefacts, many of which I do not yet understand. But, I found a pair of little vanity mirrors, each with a hidden drawer within the frames, much as the Queen’s Grandmother had described to me in my lessons. I put one of my eyelashes in both the drawers and used a step ladder to screw one of them to the wall panels outside my chamber, so I can see in the small mirror I can summon and return to see who is at my door reflected in that distant mirror. Another trick I learned is to use a pair of tiny skin drums to vibrate and convey my voice through that mirror and I can hear sounds outside my door in an earpiece, even if my portable mirror is restored to that sealed bedroom. It is very poor quality and muffled, but it does sound very much like a voice coming from the other side of a doorway.”

“And your mother, has she concerns that she has not seen you in ten last week?”

“She’s called at my door twice and I’ve sent her away, the first time because I said I was sleepy and the second time I told her I was getting ready to go out for a riding lesson. She bought my trickery both times. My great grandmother’s magic lessons are one day a week, so she will not be looking for me until the morrow.”

“Really Bydon?” Zyndyr gently scolded the prince, “Lying to your mother?”

“I know, she’ll kill me when she finds out.”

“Well,” Korwyn grinned, “we must be practical about this. We’ll send your mother an Eagle with a message, soon, telling her where you are and that you’re safe. Be prepared to be grounded for the rest of your childhood! So how were you captured?”

“Another spell I learned was how to ... make one of the Giant Eagles stay close to me and come back when I needed her to ride. I have been hiding with the Regiment from Dharibia since I arrived and we arranged ourselves in squares to defend ourselves against overwhelming odds. When the battle started my comrades in arms urged me to escape, persuaded me that I, could do little but tell their families of how bravely they fought and died and to go home safe. I summoned my waiting eagle to ride above the battlefield to witness the sacrifice of my people. When Lady Zyndyr was wounded and captured, we flew to her defence but my eagle was killed and I fell to the ground next to the king, winded an able to recover quickly. I could not hold a sword as well as hold onto the eagle, so I was unarmed. I was immediately held and restrained by ordinary soldiers so I waited until Goadrik was alone and close enough to strike before summoning my sword from where it was stored in Dharibia. It was rather dramatic, I think.”

“Well, then well done, Bydon, your trick with the sword was quite impressive,” Korwyn laughed, “but please, never again. You should wait until you are a full-growed adult before putting yourself in such danger again.”

“It was a good trick with the sword, I will admit, but not, my dear Lord Korwyn, as impressive a trick as the dramatic entrance of your Flying Dragon Army!” Bydon giggled, “I would love to know how you managed that, but even that trick is beyond anything Queen Urmah can ever teach me!”

Jolstone Electronics occupied an impressive and distinctive 1930s factory that must have been a model example of its type in its heyday. Recently, the walls had been freshly repainted and presently the building gave a very good impression to visitors at the outset of their visit, with its grand sense of style. As Brock had explained in the relatively short car journey from central London, the company had been based there almost from the company’s earliest days and was the company’s first big expansion after being founded as a small manufacturing business in the early 1920s.

It was a shame, he thought, that when the factory was originally built on the main London to Bath road, few workers had cars, but now the forecourt was bustling with constantly parked cars throughout the day, spoiling the look of the building, even though all the signage was discreet and in appropriate period design. Inside, two of the interior walls in the reception area boasted its long history as well as that of the present international owners.

The factory beyond the three storey offices, Clive thought, was less impressive. On the way from the stairs to the third floor boardroom they passed through a corridor that once must have been an open balcony overlooking the factory, but had more recently been enclosed by a wall of single pane glass, through which the noisy activity from the factory permeated with little resistance.

Immediately behind the front offices, the large factory was split into various departments by stud walls which did not extend all the way to the inside of the roof so, from the third floor of the offices, which were occupied by boardroom and director’s offices, and the main open-plan administration office, had an overview of all bar the stores section all the way at the back of the factory.

Immediately below the offices, was the large assembly area to the right, crowded and full of bustle, mostly bench assembly of small components, mainly carried out by women workers, as well as a couple of assembly lines where components and body were being put together mostly by men using noisy pneumatic tools. Most of the women working on the benches were wearing ear defenders, large old fashioned “cans” rather than the more subtle buds, which he noted some of the younger women wore, no doubt connected to their phones.

To the left of the area below the offices was an area of old milling machines and lathes, Clive assumed, machines no longer in use he gathered as most were covered in dusty sheets. From the amount of dust, even a few autumn leaves blown in and lying on the sheets, he assumed they were quite old and had been redundant for years rather than months.

Behind the assembly area, going all the way back to a floor-to-roof height wall, was the area where the noisy metal bending took place in a number of pneumatic and hydraulic presses, using unpainted sheets of mild steel or possibly aluminium. This was the main source of the cacophony permeated the single pane of glass separating office from factory. There were two sets of rubber double doors in the back wall leading from the bending area through to what must be the paint shop, stores for raw materials, parts and storage of goods awaiting despatch, as well as a packing and dispatching area, all unseen from where Clive stood momentarily.

Clive, Brock, and Deidre were called into a large boardroom and introduced to a couple of dozen local people, mostly directors, department heads and union representatives. They were sat down and supplied with refreshments before given a presentation of the plans for the immediate future of the company on this site as part of the Acme group, including removing and scrapping all the old lathes, creating a new department of 3D printing machines for producing components, expanding the mechanical assembly line, and enlarging the bench area for hand assembly.

After the impressive presentation they were escorted around the noisy factory, dominated by the high-pitched squeals of the pneumatic tools on the main assembly line and the deep base vibrations of metal pressing machinery.

Clive noted that all the metal fittings used were quite small, mostly self-tapping screws or nuts and bolts, and didn’t really need the big pneumatic tools, probably a hand-me-down from when the plant once assembled far larger or more robust products. Because the women were all wearing ear-defenders, there was none of the good-humoured chat and banter which he was used to in his previous work experience.

In the debrief afterwards, Clive asked the directors why they persisted in the excessive use of heavy pneumatic tools, quoting the unhealthy noise and the trip hazards that the air pipes presented on the ground.

“Using light battery-powered screwdrivers, which are lighter and easier to handle, means no problems with trailing cables or pipes as trip hazards and are cheap to buy and replace. If a battery charge only lasts half a shift, then have sufficient spare batteries on charge to avoid production delays. I would also build sound insulation around the metal bending operation, it is too distracting for the hand assembly staff. The noise reduction would mean you wouldn’t need the ear defenders, the noise in the office up here would be manageable and, I assume you presently have high absenteeism among the assembly staff?”

“Yes,” one of the supervisors, a woman with her arms folded, stood up and said, “we do have more absenteeism than normal among the assembly workers. We’ve mentioned the reason being the isolation of the staff, unable to communicate means that teamwork suffers, but the management do nothing about it.” She sat down again.

“A happy workforce,” observed Clive, “is where workers can talk and pass the time while still carrying out repetitive tasks without any fall-off in production, because good conversations keep people alert and interested, they are more lively, energised and they look forward to get to work at the start of each shift, if only the tell the rest of the team about their baby talking or walking for the first time, or talk about their new washing machine or ask advice about their daughter’s first crush. Can’t do any of that with uncomfortable headgear on. I bet you get longer personal breaks during the day and a general fall-off as tiredness sets in, or they complain that their ears are uncomfortable.”

“Yes!” the same woman stood up again, “the ear defenders supplied by the company are cheap and uncomfortable, so only the older and poorer women put up with them, the younger girls bring in their buds, but some of the shift supervisors don’t like them listening to music so they make them take them out. The sassy ones even wear their buds under the supplied ear defenders. But this man’s right, women don’t like working here because the work is boring and the noise is uncomfortable. They miss the banter that they can enjoy elsewhere.”

“Well,” Brock said, “it looks like this is worth looking into. Anything else you’d like to add, Clive?” He turned to Clive with an encouraging smile.

“Yes, I have.” Clive responded. “Look, you have a beautiful and stylish old building here and you’ve recently smartened up the front of the building, with fresh paint, and new very appropriate signage. The building looks beautiful, but the front view of the building is spoiled by all the cars parked in front for the office staff. Now, out the back of the building you do have a sizeable car park for the factory staff, but there is still a large patch of waste ground leading down to a stream at the back, completely covered in long grass, weeds and shrubs and a rather rusty and partly broken down chain-link fence. There is also a lot of rubbish, old oil drums, broken wooden pallets and even some rusty old machines dumped on that waste ground. I would suggest clearing out all that rubbish, tarmacing or covering half of it with grasscrete for additional parking, thus freeing up all of the parking out front and perhaps grassing over the area at the back near the stream for a patch of lawn, maybe some flowering shrubs as wind breaks, provide some benches with umbrellas, somewhere for staff to have their lunch in the fresh air. Separate from the car park by a low wall or white picket fencing, make it an attractive feature that will be used by staff during breaks in good weather. Got to be good for staff well-being. Then, in the front of the building, once the cars are removed, maybe leave a few short-term car spaces for visitors’ convenience but lay the rest of the parking area down to flower beds, a lawn or even a couple of small trees, allowing the attractive facade of the building to dominate the scene, which is a real asset that you should be proud to show off to visitors and potential customers. Photographs of the uncluttered facade would go a long way to show a good impression on publicity material, online and through trade publications, attracting new customers and ensuring a continually happy workforce.”