Release date: August 20, 2018
Subgenre: Humor, Funny Fantasy
About A Portion of Dragon and Chips:
When a battered old robot washes up on the shores of the Old Kingdom,
it signals the end of a fragile alliance amongst the four ancient
Houses. It turns out dragons are really tasty, and having filleted,
boned and baked their scaly allies to the very brink of extinction, no
single House can hope to win out against the other three.
Into this shaky impasse steps the mechanical man, impervious to crude weapons, magic, suspicious wedding feasts, poisoned wine, and fire of any colour, be it wild, angry or just slightly annoyed.
Each House stakes their claim to the mechanical marvel, convinced the mysterious creature will lead them to a crushing victory against the others once they teach it to fly. And breathe fire. And, you know, ignore the Three Laws.
It's just a pity none of them thought to ask the robot what it wants.
Featuring Clunk - the beloved robot from the Hal Spacejock series - as well as the oddball protagonists from The Desolator and Thonn!, this novel promises to bring you the biggest laughs of the year.
Into this shaky impasse steps the mechanical man, impervious to crude weapons, magic, suspicious wedding feasts, poisoned wine, and fire of any colour, be it wild, angry or just slightly annoyed.
Each House stakes their claim to the mechanical marvel, convinced the mysterious creature will lead them to a crushing victory against the others once they teach it to fly. And breathe fire. And, you know, ignore the Three Laws.
It's just a pity none of them thought to ask the robot what it wants.
Featuring Clunk - the beloved robot from the Hal Spacejock series - as well as the oddball protagonists from The Desolator and Thonn!, this novel promises to bring you the biggest laughs of the year.
Excerpt:
Hurm gathered the drinks and took them back to the table, where the
reception was less than enthusiastic. Runt sniffed his beer, tossed
the mint spring away, and took a tiny sip with his tiny mouth.
"I've drunk better ale from the bottom of a toilet bowl," he
remarked, after pursing his tiny lips.
Meanwhile, Father M fished a brownish slice of banana from his 'brandy' and held the glass to the light. He'd never seen brandy with a full head on it, but every land had their own local variety, and perhaps this fizzy brew would be the most memorable beverage he'd ever tasted.
It was.
Father M spluttered as the banana-flavoured ale hog-tied his tongue and administered two dozen lashes to his taste buds. They weren't the wishy-washy lashes you got from a lover with a whip fetish, these were the kind of lay-open-the-flesh and expose-the-bone lashes you got from a bosun with a bad temper and a thick right arm. To scour the awful taste from his soul, Father M fished around on the sawdust-strewn floor until he located Runt's sprig of mint, then chewed on the herb like fury.
He was so intent on cleansing his palate, he barely looked round as a group of men entered the tavern. Vaguely, he noticed one of the men was of generous proportions, to put it mildly, and was squeezed into a set of bronze armour which made him look like a metal-plated egg. The armour was immaculate, without so much as a scratch or a dent, and Father M knew instantly this man had never seen combat.
The men accompanying him were another matter. They were hard-faced veterans, with an impressive collection of scars, and they wore battered armour which was in complete contrast to that of their master.
"Make way for Sur Cumfrence!" shouted one of the men. He had a stern face, bisected by an ancient scar which ran from temple to chin, and his tone brooked no argument. His armour was of better quality than the others, his sword longer and more pointy, and it was clear he was the leader of the bodyguards. The tavern patrons obliged by clearing a path. A very wide path. "Barkeep, a keg of ale and twelve of your best pies."
"And what are the rest of you having?" called some wag from the shadowy depths of the tavern.
There was a sudden hush.
"Who said that?" demanded Sur Cumfrence. He spoke with a breathless, high-pitched tone, and he sounded like a petulant child. "Step forward this instant!"
Nobody moved.
"Half a crown!" shouted Sur Cumfrence. He delved into his generous purse and came up with a silver coin. "Half a crown to the man who identifies the trouble maker."
Still nobody moved. The bodyguards were growing restless, their hands on the hilts of their swords, their gazes roving the tavern as they sought out the wag ... or a scapegoat. One of them studied Hurm's huge muscled torso and gigantic two-handed sword, quickly moved on to Father M, then ... stopped on Runt. "There, sir. The tousle-headed imp sitting beside the circus performer. He has the look of a troublemaker, and no doubt about it."
Runt lowered his minty beer. "Me?" he said, aggrieved. "How could it be me? The voice came from the back of the tavern!"
Father M would have leapt to his defence, but he was still in shock at being called a circus performer, and the sprig of mint was making his tongue tingle in a most peculiar fashion.
Meanwhile, Father M fished a brownish slice of banana from his 'brandy' and held the glass to the light. He'd never seen brandy with a full head on it, but every land had their own local variety, and perhaps this fizzy brew would be the most memorable beverage he'd ever tasted.
It was.
Father M spluttered as the banana-flavoured ale hog-tied his tongue and administered two dozen lashes to his taste buds. They weren't the wishy-washy lashes you got from a lover with a whip fetish, these were the kind of lay-open-the-flesh and expose-the-bone lashes you got from a bosun with a bad temper and a thick right arm. To scour the awful taste from his soul, Father M fished around on the sawdust-strewn floor until he located Runt's sprig of mint, then chewed on the herb like fury.
He was so intent on cleansing his palate, he barely looked round as a group of men entered the tavern. Vaguely, he noticed one of the men was of generous proportions, to put it mildly, and was squeezed into a set of bronze armour which made him look like a metal-plated egg. The armour was immaculate, without so much as a scratch or a dent, and Father M knew instantly this man had never seen combat.
The men accompanying him were another matter. They were hard-faced veterans, with an impressive collection of scars, and they wore battered armour which was in complete contrast to that of their master.
"Make way for Sur Cumfrence!" shouted one of the men. He had a stern face, bisected by an ancient scar which ran from temple to chin, and his tone brooked no argument. His armour was of better quality than the others, his sword longer and more pointy, and it was clear he was the leader of the bodyguards. The tavern patrons obliged by clearing a path. A very wide path. "Barkeep, a keg of ale and twelve of your best pies."
"And what are the rest of you having?" called some wag from the shadowy depths of the tavern.
There was a sudden hush.
"Who said that?" demanded Sur Cumfrence. He spoke with a breathless, high-pitched tone, and he sounded like a petulant child. "Step forward this instant!"
Nobody moved.
"Half a crown!" shouted Sur Cumfrence. He delved into his generous purse and came up with a silver coin. "Half a crown to the man who identifies the trouble maker."
Still nobody moved. The bodyguards were growing restless, their hands on the hilts of their swords, their gazes roving the tavern as they sought out the wag ... or a scapegoat. One of them studied Hurm's huge muscled torso and gigantic two-handed sword, quickly moved on to Father M, then ... stopped on Runt. "There, sir. The tousle-headed imp sitting beside the circus performer. He has the look of a troublemaker, and no doubt about it."
Runt lowered his minty beer. "Me?" he said, aggrieved. "How could it be me? The voice came from the back of the tavern!"
Father M would have leapt to his defence, but he was still in shock at being called a circus performer, and the sprig of mint was making his tongue tingle in a most peculiar fashion.
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About Simon Haynes:
Simon Haynes is the author of the Hal Spacejock series, the Hal Junior
series, and the upcoming Harriet Walsh series, as well as several dozen
short stories. He is also the programmer and designer behind Spacejock
Software, and is responsible for popular programs like yWriter and
yBook.
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