Sacred Wind: Book 1
‘Quantum computing is…a distinctively new way of harnessing nature…It will be the first technology that allows useful tasks to be performed in collaboration between parallel universes.’
David Deutsch – Centre for Quantum Computation, University of Oxford.
‘There are vibrations of different universes right here, right now. We’re just not in tune with them. There are probably other parallel universes in our living room – this is modern physics. This is the modern interpretation of quantum theory, that many worlds represent reality.’
Dr Michio Kaku - Theoretical Physicist and Bestselling Author.
‘In infinite space, even the most unlikely events must take place somewhere.’
Professor Max Tegmark - Dept. of Physics, MIT.
‘This is a victory for life, a victory for common sense and, ultimately, recognition that consciousness is pervasive in our abundant and wonderful universe.’
Dr Lamb Dopiaza-Pilau Rice – following the 1968 legislation by the Welsh Parliament recognising curries as conscious entities.
Copyright © Andy Coffey 2014
The right of Andy Coffey to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patent Act 1988.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 9781310633089
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Illustrations by Joe Latham
[email protected] Copyright © Joe Latham 2014
Other books by Andy Coffey
Sacred Wind: Book 2
Sacred Wind: Book 3
Sacred Wind: The Complete Trilogy
Sacred Wind: The Appendices
Sacred Wind: Songbook
Sacred Wind – The Album
Possibly the finest debut album by a Welsh Viking Flatulence Rock band from an alternative reality… Available at all good download stores!
www.sacredwind.co.uk
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – There’s something in the air
Chapter 2 – The Cheese of Pleasant Dreams
Chapter 3 – Be good for Mrs Perriwinkle
Chapter 4 – That explains everything…
Chapter 5 – It may be linked to The Prophecy
Chapter 6 – Is there a bank around here?
Chapter 7 – I’m still getting dressed, darling
Chapter 8 – She may be the last of her kind
Chapter 9 – We’d like a room, please
Chapter 10 – Would sir like a cravat with that?
Chapter 11 – Metal and Curry
Chapter 12 – The name of vengeance is Sacred Wind!
Chapter 13 – My Sword is my Sword
Chapter 14 – Ooh, can I have your autograph, please?
Chapter 15 – I’ve heard your sausages are to die for
Chapter 16 – You allow them to enter if they pay a bond
Sacred Wind: Book 2 - Preview
About the Author – by Oldfart Olafson
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Chapter 1 – There’s something in the air
Baron Bartholomew Vincent Blacktie sat slumped on his sizeable gold and marble throne, scratching his chin. His bejewelled coronet lay slightly to one side on his head and he nonchalantly stroked his pet ferret, Velvet, who was sat on his knee. Looking out at the opulent great hall in front of him, he sighed.
He had been the Supreme Ruler of Chester and the surrounding areas of North Wales and the Wirral for a little over five years, and things had never been better. Tax revenues were high, the people were obedient, cheese production was under strict control, and instances of unauthorised flatulence were at an all-time low. But, irrespective of all this, he was troubled.
‘Pimple,’ he said to his Chief Courtier, who was standing in one of the decorative stone arches that surrounded the throne room, ‘am I a benign and noble leader?’
‘Only on Thursday’s, my Lord, after you’ve had a good helping of Ma Chesterton’s dumplings, a piece of Cheshire Blue and a goblet or two of port.’
The Baron shook his head, disconsolately. ‘Really, Pimple? Oh, I must make more of an effort. For I wish the people to love me, to be inspired by me, and to think of me as someone who has their best interests tattooed indelibly on his benevolent and egalitarian heart.’
‘I thought you simply wanted power and wealth beyond all imagination, my Lord?’
‘Oh, how little you know me, Pimple,’ the Baron sighed again. ‘Although my actions make it appear that I seek only omnipotence, subjugation of all beings before me and wealth beyond measure, do you not realise that I also long to be loved?’
‘Er, it hadn’t really crossed my mind, my Lord.’
‘Nevertheless, it is true, Pimple. I desire to exude bonhomie and joy, so that the people will wish to cling to my metaphoric breasts like suckling kittens.’
Pimple raised a solitary eyebrow and continued to listen attentively.
‘And, to be frank, I also want to exhibit a more positive image in the run up to the next election.’
‘But the next election is forty-five years away, my Lord, based upon the amendments you made last year regarding tenure.’
‘Ah, true, but I do so hate leaving things to the last minute. Time waits for no man, Pimple. You should remember that.’
‘I will, my Lord.’
‘And I need to ensure that all of the electorate are completely behind me. Do you remember what percentage of the vote I received last time?’
‘99% my Lord.’
‘And who received the other 1%? Was it not Lord “Goody-two-shoes” Nobleheart?’
‘It was my Lord.’
‘And have you seen him recently?’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘And…?’
‘He’s in the canal where you left him, my Lord.’
‘Ah, how fares he?’
‘Well, he’s lost a lot of weight, my Lord… and some life.’
The Baron looked forlorn, raised a weary hand to his forehead and continued to stroke Velvet. ‘Nevertheless, Pimple, I feel an obligation to convince this 1% of my subjects that, at the next election, they should allay their fears and cast their votes for me. I wish them to see that I am truly their humble servant and offer them succour in their time of need, and protection from our enemies.’
‘I’m not sure you’ll be able to achieve that, my Lord,’ Pimple said, taking a tentative step forward.
‘And why, pray, do you think that will be?’ the indignant Baron asked.
‘Because they’re in the canal with Lord Nobleheart, my Lord.’
The ceremonial fanfare of trumpets blared out and the ostentatious doors to the throne room opened inwards. A troop of armoured men, in full military regalia, entered and saluted en masse, the clang of steel arms on steel breastplates reverberating around the room.
‘My Lord,’ a weasel-faced steward shouted with an air of self-importance, ‘I announce General Ramases Darkblast, who seeks audience to inform you of progress regarding the Scouseland Crusades.’
General Ramases Darkblast, the Supreme Commander of the Knights of Flatulence, the Baron’s Imperial Guard, was an imposing man and a lifelong soldier. Altho
ugh he was dour and serious, to the point where any sense of humour he had possessed had long since headed off to seek a more fulfilling life elsewhere, he was loyal to the point of stupidity. It was this quality, plus his considerable prowess on the battlefield, that endeared him greatly to the Baron.
‘General Darkblast, your presence is most welcome,’ the Baron said, rising from his throne and depositing Velvet on the floor. ‘Pray, how did you find Scouseland?’
‘Still heavily populated by chip shops, my Lord.’
‘And the local populace, did they show any form of resistance to your incursion?’
‘Someone threw a kebab at us on one occasion, my Lord.’
‘And was your response measured and appropriate?’
‘Yes, my Lord, we threw it back.’
‘A wise move General,’ the Baron commented, ‘there’s no need for unnecessary violence at this stage of the diplomatic procedure. Tell me, though, did you attempt to converse with the indigenous people?’
‘We did, my Lord. At first we tried to parley with them in their own tongue, but we were met with blank stares. Our interpretation of their dialect still needs work, I’m afraid. So we tried an alternative approach.’
‘And this was?’
‘We sang them a medley of songs by The Bertles.’*
‘And was this demonstration of musical affinity well received?’
‘Not really, my Lord, that’s when they threw the kebab at us.’
‘However,’ the General added quickly, sensing the Baron’s growing unrest, ‘we did succeed in obtaining a few volunteers to join the palace guard. A sort of exchange deal, if you will.’
‘Excellent,’ the Baron responded, ‘and perhaps when we have instructed them in our ways they can be sent back as emissaries, to spread words of enlightenment to the masses.’
‘Indeed, my Lord.’
‘Or, of course, we could torture them, brainwash them and send them back as spies.’
‘Well, yes, there is that option, my Lord.’
The Baron walked clockwise around General Darkblast, in a manner similar to a cat circling an injured bird. ‘But enough of business in uncharted lands, my good General, I have needs of a more local nature that require urgent attention. Tell me do you know the whereabouts of Hob and Nob?’
‘Yes, my Lord, they were last spotted in Mold, disguised as Vagabond Acupuncturists.’
The Baron turned and walked slowly over to the large bookcase that stood against the wall to the right of the throne. He pulled out one of the great tomes from the middle shelf and gently stroked its dusty, leather cover. His eyes sparkled and a smile that contained no joy appeared on his lips. ‘Despatch some of your men to bring them to me,’ he ordered. ‘I have a task for them.’