(NSFW!) No Admittance - Short Story

[demidekidasu]

The next step in Ysabel de Bayonne's adventure in medieval Wales. This is set later in the same day of the last story, in the next town along the road.

 

This is a continuation of THIS STORY

 

The follow-up to this story is HERE

 

WARNING: CONTAINS VERY STRONG LANGUAGE, ADULT REFERENCES AND SOME GORY VOILENCE.

I apologise if it's a bit too nasty. I'll happily take it down if so!

 

 

 

 

 

NO ADMITTANCE

 

 

 

“Halt or your life!” yelled a voice from above.

 

“I’m halted then,” Ysabel replied, putting her arms out and looking for who’d shouted down from the odd-looking gatehouse.

 

“What do you want?” the voice asked.

 

“I wish a break from this shitty weather and to buy food for my travels.”

 

“Go and bother elsewhere.”

 

She finally spotted the man. He was trying to hide behind the crumbling merlons atop the funny-looking gatehouse. It looked like he was naked and unarmed. “I see you, you know,” she said.

 

“Bugger off!” he said, trying to keep hidden.

 

“Who are you, not-so-noble one?”

 

“I’m Dafydd, third Earl of Pembroke,” the man said. “Who might you be?”

 

“Ysabel de Bayonne. Did you claim you’re the Earl?”

 

“A princess are we? Sent by Aymer?”

 

“A princess?” said Ysabel, irritated. “Can’t you see the vomit soiling my hair? And who the hell is Aymer?”

 

“A prisoner in Germany, that’s who. And, since he’s a prisoner now, I’m the Earl in his stead. Bow before me or be run through!”

 

“Why should I bow to an unarmed man displaying his *censored* atop the queerest-looking gatehouse I’ve ever laid my eyes on? I say you’re no Earl,” she laughed.

 

“f*** off or I’ll have you run through. Last warning!”

 

Ysabel was in no mood to stand arguing all day. She stormed through one of the strange gatehouse’s many arches and banged on the rotten door with both fists. A little slat opened and an old man poked his pockmarked face through. “What do you want?” he asked.

 

“To cut your Earl’s *censored* off and shove them down his throat,” said Ysabel.

 

Dafydd shouted, “I heard that, you little French bint! I’ve told you to f*** off or I’ll have you run through!”

 

“Oh,” the old man chuckled, “don’t mind Dafydd up there. He’s an innocent one, just a bit...tapped. You know?”

 

“Tapped?” She’d never heard the phrase before.

 

“Aye,” said the old man, “tapped..Tapped in the head...Moon-gazing too often...A few jewels short of a crown.”

 

“Oh! You mean to say he’s daft?”

 

“Oh, aye,” laughed the old man, “completely! He fell from a tree once and bumped his head. Poor lad’s been daft as a brush ever since.”

 

“I see. May I ask the name of your town?”

 

“Tenby,” said the old man with a proud grin.

 

“Would you kindly allow me entry so I may buy food for my travels?”

 

“No admittance,” said the old man nastily and he slammed the slat shut. Dafydd started to sing the words at the top of his lungs.

 

Ysabel sighed and stormed away from the gatehouse. She picked up a fist-sized rock and aimed for the top of Dafydd’s head. She tossed it as hard as she could and it cracked Dafydd square on his forehead. He fell over and the annoying singing stopped. Thank the Lord.

 

“Hear me!” Ysabel yelled towards the town. “I hereby besiege this rotten town! Allow me entry and I’ll let you all live!”

 

Several voices echoed over the walls, “no admittance.”

 

She’d had enough now. She just wanted to buy food and be away from the place. She picked up the biggest rock she could and carried it to the door. “Final chance!” she yelled.

 

The voices echoed again, “no admittance.”

 

She shrugged and started bashing the door with the rock. At first it was having no effect but she kept-up and eventually it started to weaken. After a few more bashes, the door broke down.

 

Sweating and panting, she dropped the rock and looked through the cloud of dust hanging in the doorway. There was a crowd of about twenty lads gathered in the street, all naked and with little smiley faces drawn onto their chests with s***. She stood for a moment, staring at the bizarre scene.

 

A young lad with droopy eyes stepped forward and said, “is the siege over?”

 

“...I...Yes. The siege is...over,” she replied, completely baffled.

 

“Would you kindly leave now then?” the lad asked.

 

“Who are you folk?” she snapped.

 

“I’m Alun, third Earl of Pembroke,” the lad replied.

 

Another young lad stepped forward. “I’m Iestyn, third Earl of Pembroke.”

 

One-by-one they all stepped forward, announcing themselves as the third Earl of Pembroke.

 

Ysabel stopped paying attention and looked around the town. Everything seemed normal with no obvious signs of witchcraft or other interference. She pushed a couple of the lads aside and walked through to the other end of the crowd, keeping an eye out for anything odd.

 

She carried on walking up the street until she reached the church. Outside stood a pretty young lass with her arms crossed wearing an expensive white dress, looking quite out-of-place and fixated on the ground for some reason.

 

“Who are you?” Ysabel asked.

 

The lass looked up. “I’m Cerys of Narberth. Who might you be?”

 

“I’m Ysabel de Bayonne.” She circled around Cerys of Narberth, watching her every move and eyeing up her outfit. It wasn’t cheap at all and even featured hundreds of tiny black gems sewn into the hems. “I’ve another question for you, miss Cerys of Narberth.”

 

“Certainly, miss Ysabel de...Bordeaux, was it?”

 

“Bayonne,” said Ysabel, still circling. “Who the f*** are you and what’ve you done to the lads of this town?”

 

“I’ve done nowt,” Cerys of Narbeth said with an innocent smile.

 

“You lie. You’re a prostitute of Satan aren’t you? Or, perhaps a demon’s little flirt?”

 

“You aren’t an ordinary one, miss Ysabel de Bayonne.”

 

“No, I’m not. I specialise in slaying your ilk. Now, tell me, is it but a demon or Satan himself?”

 

“I’ll tell you nothing. I’ve done no harm to these lads. They tried to harm me, though. I could’ve ripped their limbs from their torsos if I’d so pleased. Instead I made them all the third of Earl of Pembroke and happy as can be. Don’t you at least find it amusing?”

 

“Listen to my words, prostitute,” Ysabel said, drawing her sword, “I’ve got the nastiest hangover you could imagine. I only came here to buy food for my travels and I’m not in the mood for your little games. Return their minds and I’ll kill you quickly.”

 

Cerys of Narberth giggled and shook her head.

 

“If only you had an idea how many of your kind I’ve killed,” Ysabel said. “I’ve killed demons and witches by the dozen. I even f***ed a demon once and killed the abomination I mothered. I’ve seen it all. There’s nothing you can do to surprise me or catch me off guard and my sword here can cut you in two faster than the blink of an eye. Are you sure you want to play? If you do then by God, I’ll make you suffer, girl.”

 

“I thought you’d be trouble,” said Cerys of Narberth.

 

“Oh, believe me. I ‘ll be trouble.” Ysabel readied her grip on the sword and took a fighting stance with the blade held out to her side. “Tell me his name, prostitute. Now!”

 

“It matters not if you call him by his name.”

 

“Satan himself then, eh? Good for you. You’re about to spend all eternity f***ing him!” Ysabel charged with the sword and swung it upright.

 

Cerys of Narberth vanished in a little flash of white flames before the blade even made contact. Ysabel balanced herself and looked around. The prostitute was nowhere to be seen nor heard and the crowd of young lads seemed no better off. She was still alive and somewhere close.

 

Ysabel glanced down a narrow street between two blocks of tightly-packed buildings. She spotted the smithy’s house at the far end with the furnace burning away. On the ground next to it was a stack of bare timber.

 

She ran to the furnace and tossed in a piece of the timber. When it caught flame, she pulled it out with the smithy’s tongues and lobbed it onto a roof. The thatching ignited instantly. She did it again with another piece and slung it onto another roof. She’d burn the *censored* out.

 

The whole town eventually caught alight and Ysabel stood in the town square amongst all the peasants that’d fled from the blaze. She kept scanning for any sign of Cerys of Narberth.

 

She felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck and swung around with the blade. It cut a gash into the air and made a loud, ‘swoosh’ sound with a faint, high-pitched ‘clink’ half-way through the swing. The crowd of peasants gasped and became as quiet as death.

 

Cerys of Narberth’s head dropped to the floor and her spasming body toppled like a fell tree, a fountain of blood pumping into the air from her neck-stump. Ysabel picked the head up by its hair and looked into its shocked eyes. Blood dribbled onto her boots and the eyes looked right back—she hadn’t died yet. Good.

 

“I win, little prostitute.” Ysabel said.

 

The eyes blinked and tears formed.

 

“Now go,” said Ysabel, “f*** your master in Hell so I may buy some food and begone from this s***hole.”

 

 

Edited June 21, 2013 by demidekidasu

[Lisnpuppy]

Again..love it. The only issue I see is possibly some ambiguous pronouns. Other than that...well done. Can't wait to see her sans hangover. :)

[demidekidasu]

The only issue I see is possibly some ambiguous pronouns

Thank you, I definitely appreciate your honesty and it's very helpful :)