Chapter 1: The Prize Task
Chapter Text
MR TASKS: Ostentatious greetings, wishes of a good evening, and welcome to Taskmaster of the Bazaar! We are Mr Tasks and we are the Taskmaster of the Bazaar. We have set five of the Neath's luminaries a series of challenges to test their spirit, their fortitude, and their willingness to follow arbitrary commands, all in the hope of winning the single most desirable object to be found in the deepest vaults of the Bazaar: a golden statue of our perfectly-formed head.
Please make the customary noises of celebration for… Colonel Molly!
COLONEL MOLLY: (sticks two fingers up at the audience)
MR TASKS: Grace, the Mercy!
GRACE: (ashes her cigar on the floor)
MR TASKS: His Amused Lordship!
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: (waves to the audience, face creased with joy)
MR TASKS: The Manager of the Royal Bethlehem Hotel!
THE MANAGER: (waves with eight fingers - no, twelve - twenty - more than you can count… no, the regular number of fingers)
MR TASKS: And the Notorious Civet!
THE CIVET: (waves, briefly, from under their cloak)
MR TASKS: But, of course, we are far too busy to oversee the completion of these tasks ourselves. For that, we delegate to our adjutant, who has spent several months with our contestants in the Taskmaster Manor, overseeing them in the Taskmaster manner. Please give the correct amount of applause for our assistant, the Efficient Commissioner!
GRIZ: (does not look up from her clipboard)
MR TASKS: What do you have for us, Commissioner?
GRIZ: Are you sure this is a justifiable investment of the Bazaar's time and resources? With the situation in the Elder Continent so tense…
MR TASKS: Silence! We have decreed that these games shall be held, and that is all that needs to be known! The first round of our contest is the prize round, in which our participants bring us offerings of tribute.
GRIZ: …that's right, they bring prizes according to a theme you've set, and whoever wins today will take home all five prizes.
MR TASKS: Must we really give them back their gifts?
GRIZ: It saves us having to provide a daily prize ourselves.
MR TASKS: An excellent point. That would be tantamount to - (shudders) - charity. What theme have we set them today?
GRIZ: Today, you asked the contestants to the best thing to take to the Shuttered Palace.
MR TASKS: Molly! What did you bring, and why would it be the best thing to present to the Empress?
MOLLY: Marsh-wolf, innit.
(on the stage: a very unhappy marsh-wolf, pulling at its chain)
GRIZ: Why do you think Her Majesty would enjoy a live wolf?
MOLLY: Well, I don't reckon she'd have seen one before, 'coz you only get them in the marshes and she only goes to very posh places like the opera. Also 'coz I hear it's bl--dy boring at Court and this would liven things up a bit.
MR TASKS: Perhaps it would. Grace! What is your offering?
GRACE: I brought the Empress something she'll need, sooner or later - a custom sarcophagus!
(on the stage: a Second City sarcophagus, redecorated with a crude rendition of the Traitor Empress's face; his Amused Lordship can be heard guffawing)
GRIZ: (leafing through her papers) Legally, I'm not certain we can suggest that she will in fact ever need any sort of funerary accoutrement...
MR TASKS: We don't care for this one at all. Take it away!
(the sarcophagus is removed by two burly Neddies under the supervision of a Special Constable)
MR TASKS: Now, Your Amused Lordship - as a regular courtier to Her Enduring Majesty, we hope you have something less distasteful to offer us.
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: (barely able to speak for wheezing) As it happens, I have a piece that once belonged to a fellow empress - a chaise taken from the private chambers of Catherine the Great!
(on the stage: a chair with carved _______, ornamental ____, and a pattern of _______ intertwined with ________ _____)
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP and GRACE: (laugh with such combined vigour as to set the chandeliers swaying)
THE CIVET: Blimey...
COLONEL MOLLY: Cor - it's got big willies on it!
MR TASKS: And this came from Russia, you say?
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: I had it imported from St Petersburg at great expense!
MR TASKS: We were sure we had seen it at the Parlour of Virtue... no matter! What would our next petitioner present to the Shuttered Palace?
THE MANAGER: I am, in fact, returning something that came to me from the Palace.
(on the stage: a Hollow-Eyed Servant, in last year’s fashions)
GRIZ: That’s a person.
THE MANAGER: They are one of the silent and invisible myrmidons whose labours keep Her Majesty's linens as stainless as her chambers are lightless. They came to me suffering from the most dreadful maladies - caused, it seems, by an excess of turning around. Happily, they’re now exactly as right as rain, and ready to return to their duties in the royal household.
(the servant trembles, their scarf falling aside to reveal a cluster of pulsating somethings, born of sacrifice motivated by fear and not hope)
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Good gad, what on Earth are those?
THE MANAGER: It is a bushel of deferred dreams. With due care and attention, it might be induced to hatch.
MR TASKS: Let us speak no more of the toiling masses. Civet, can you trump your rivals' potlatch?
THE CIVET: Were I to visit the Shuttered Palace - which I'm not saying I ever have - this is what I would bring.
(on the stage: a grapnel, a set of kifers, a sack, and a calling card stamped with the image of a furry creature - possibly a mongoose)
GRACE: Do you imagine Her Maj to be in want of hessian?
THE CIVET: Oh, I'd take most of it away with me. They can keep the card - so they know I've visited.
MR TASKS: Enough! The time for scoring is at hand.
GRIZ: (taking diligent notes) Who gets one point?
MR TASKS: Grace can take one point and she can thank us for it.
GRACE: Oh, b---s!
MR TASKS: Two points for the tools of larceny; they were not in the spirit of our little game.
THE CIVET: (shrinks in their cloak with a noise of displeasure)
MR TASKS: We are finding it difficult to decide between the bearer of the alleged dreams and the wolf... they can both take four points.
GRIZ: (twitches) So no-one gets three points... fine, fine...
MR TASKS: And we don't believe it has the provenance you claim but it does seem an appropriate gift - five points for the chair!
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: (stands up, waves to the audience with both hands, and roars joyously)
Chapter 2: Task One
Chapter Text
MR TASKS: What a peculiarly rapturous beginning. Now, I believe our contestants have already made attempts at a number of other tasks?
GRIZ: Yes - we've had London's finest cinematographic artists capture their attempts and prepare them for display in the form of a short film. With your permission, our projectionist shall roll footage.
MR TASKS: (claps its claws) At once!
(the flickering light of moving picture appears, resolving into the grounds of a large house on the edge of the city, apparently illuminated by moonish light (but, in fact, by a number of powerful glim-lamps, placed out of view). A candle flickers in a single high window. His Amused Lordship enters, singing cheerily to himself)
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Another beautiful day... hulloa! What's this? (he plucks up a folded letter and breaks its seal with a silver opener) 'Write a message to the Taskmaster's Assistant on the writing-paper provided...' Writing-paper? (he glances at objects set out upon a small tea-table) Ah! Writing-paper!
GRACE: 'Your message must be no fewer than ten words in length.' That's it? I just have to write a sentence?
COLONEL MOLLY: 'Your time starts... now.' (she snatches up the paper and pen and begins frantically scribbling)
THE CIVET: (finishes writing, holding the paper close to prevent any onlooker from reading it) Finished. (they look around) Where is Miss Smith, anyway?
(in the studio, Mr Tasks turns to its adjutant, and two lights flicker beneath its hood like dying suns)
MR TASKS: Yes, where were you? We expected better of you than shirking of your duties.
GRIZ: (with a grimace) Naturally, our contestants had to do more than simply write a ten-word note - we know they're all capable of that.
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: It's true! We are!
GRIZ: So let's take a look at the second part of the task.
(on the projection screen, a liveried footman disappears out of shot as the Manager opens the seal on a second task with a lapis-handled blade)
THE MANAGER: 'Communicate your message to the Taskmaster's Assistant. The Assistant is at the top of the Folly and is wearing a pair of heavy earmuffs.'
COLONEL MOLLY: Why's she wearing those? ...so she can't hear me if I shouts! Clever...
THE CIVET: 'Your time starts now and ends when the Assistant has received your message. Fastest and most accurately communicated message wins.'
THE MANAGER: The Folly? (he steps around the greenhouse and its displays of faintly luminescent fungi and observes the tower, its window, the single candle, and its heavy door, which he gives a push) Barred, of course. Marvellous.
MR TASKS: Marvellous indeed! You deceived them quite deliciously. Whose attempt to deliver their message shall we watch first?
GRIZ: She appears so excited that she may actually burst if we don't watch her film soon, so let's see Colonel Molly first - and, to accompany her, it's the Notorious Civet.
(on the screen, Molly is rattling the Folly's door)
COLONEL MOLLY: It's stuck bl---y tight! Um... (she lifts herself onto a wheelbarrow, then grabs hold of one of the window-shutters. It swings open, dangling her precipitously over a bed of sun-starved chrysanthemums, but she rallies and clambers up, finding her footing on the stone transom)
THE CIVET: Hm. (they walk away from the Folly and towards one of the doors of Taskmaster Manor. The camera does its best to track their progress as they pick the lock and disappear into the darkened house, only occasionally revealing themselves when the faint glimpse of a dark-lantern can be seen passing a window. Finally, a harpoon is seen projecting from a high balcony and entering the Folly in a shower of glass, fixing itself in the 17th-century woodwork. The Civet secures the line and climbs up it, hand-over-hand, until they're close enough to place the letter in Griz's waiting hand)
GRIZ: 'Miss Smith. This is the message I'm writing to you.' Ten words exactly. Very economical. (she presses a lever on her watch) I've stopped the clock. Well done, Civet.
(Colonel Molly is seen swinging from a hanging lantern to land on the greenhouse roof. With a leap, she seizes hold of a bell-rope and, with its aid, manages to scramble to the window and fall over the sill)
COLONEL MOLLY: Oof. (she stands on tiptoe, pulls Griz's earmuff aside, and recites aloud) 'Breakfast breakfast breakfast breakfast. Breakfast breakfast breakfast breakfast. Breakfast breakfast.'
GRIZ: I've stopped the clock.
MR TASKS: Civet, where did that harpoon come from?
THE CIVET: It was in the gunroom. I'd made particular note of it earlier.
GRIZ: But you were never allowed in that part of the house... never mind.
MR TASKS: Were you not concerned with the possibility that you might have skewered our assistant, and with the administrative burden we might suffer as a result?
THE CIVET: She's a big girl; I trusted her to get out of the way.
MR TASKS: And you, Colonel Molly. You climbed all that way just to ask for breakfast?
GRIZ: I can confirm that that is what she wrote on the paper; the message was accurately communicated.
COLONEL MOLLY: I woz 'ungry.
MR TASKS: Well, the proof of the cook is in the eating. How rapidly did they deliver their missives to you?
GRIZ: They were quite fast. Colonel Molly scaled the Folly in the time it takes to whistle 'Rule Britannia' twice - four minutes and fifty seconds - but she was just barely beaten there by the Civet, who took the time it takes to whistle 'Rule Britannia' twice if you're a slightly faster whistler, four minutes and thirty-five seconds!
(The Civet nods and looks almost tempted to say something celebratory before Mr Tasks claps again)
MR TASKS: Very well! Who shall we see next?
GRIZ: As you'll recall, the first half of the task specified that the message must be at least ten words in length. Naturally, a shorter message is quicker and easier to accurately communicate, but there was nothing stopping them from writing something considerably longer than ten words. Let's see how Grace and His Amused Lordship got on.
(on the screen, Grace is seen holding a signal-lamp)
GRACE: I picked this one up from a word-smuggler out of Scrimshander. (she begins rapidly flicking the shutter; above, Griz can be seen transcribing in frantic shorthand)
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: I say, Miss Smith! Can you hear me?
GRIZ: (touching her earmuffs as if to be certain they're still in place) Curiously, yes, I can.
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Superb! (he clears his throat) 'There once was a fellow from Pernis...'
GRIZ: Oh, god.
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: 'Whose breath was as hot as a furnace! When he set out to wed, all the gels he met said "we fear that your kisses would burn us!"'
GRIZ: (head in hands) I've stopped the clock.
(Grace finishes signalling, and Griz checks and re-checks her transcription before flicking her stopwatch.)
MR TASKS: We fear your ingenuity may have ultimately worked against you there. What was Grace's time?
GRIZ: It wasn't fast. Her message was rather long, and my fluency in corsair's glimcode is not as strong as it ought to be. Here, we can see Grace's original compared to the version I received...
(on the screen, Griz holds two sheets of paper. On one, in Grace's scratchy hand, is written 'I SAW THE LAST KHAGAN EATING SCONES AT BEATRICES - HE PUT THE JAM ON FIRST'. On the other, in Griz's neat script, 'I SAW THE LASCAR NEAT IN GASTONE BEAT RICE SHE PUTTEE JAMON FIRST')
GRACE: Well, that's not my fault - you wrote it down wrong!
MR TASKS: Silence! We trust our assistant to have recorded the message as she received it; any errors must be on the part of the signaller. Now, His Amused Lordship relied on the strength of his voice, and that appears to have worked out very well for him.
GRIZ: It worked quite well; what we didn't show you was that he spent some time talking to the camera operator before he began his attempt...
MR TASKS: Even as the clock was ticking? Explain yourself, Your Lordship!
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: I knew her from expeditions to the Elder Continent, as a matter of fact! A master of her craft - we once spent three days crawling through the jungle, trying to catch a glimpse of the Golden Pangolin of Huz...
GRIZ: In the end, he was a little faster than Colonel Molly - four minutes forty. He also recited three more limericks, but the task was complete after the first.
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Did I tell you the one about the old man of Vienna? He painted his body...
GRIZ: (crumpling) I can assure you, you did.
MR TASKS: Moving on with all due haste! We have one contestant left to see, and this suggests he's either performed exemplarily or horrendously.
GRIZ: It may in fact be both; here's the Manager of the Royal Bethlehem Hotel.
(on screen, the Manager appears in silhouette, standing in the garden in silent contemplation of the Folly. Griz peers at him from the window.)
THE MANAGER: (behind her) Good evening, Lady Griselda.
GRIZ: (starts, momentarily, before her expression of surprise turns to one of annoyance) I am quite certain I did not forget to bar the door.
THE MANAGER: You did not. (he takes her earmuffs in his hands and whispers in her ear; she snatches up the paper and writes frantically, eyes wide in shock)
GRACE: How'd he do that? What are you playing at, mister?
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: And how long did he take, the rascal?
GRIZ: (appearing pained) He was the fastest so far...
COLONEL MOLLY: That's cheating!
GRIZ: But I do have to show you this. Here's the Manager's original message...
(on the screen appears a neat line of logograms)
THE MANAGER: It describes the interpretation of dreams. I can confirm that it is more than ten words in length.
GRIZ: But what I wrote was an excerpt from a certain set of official procedures which I am not at liberty to share.
MR TASKS: You are not. And I should like to know how our contestant knew about it.
THE MANAGER: The message changes its receiver, and is changed in turn. The messenger leaves sign of his passage, but is alone unaltered.
COLONEL MOLLY: I fink he means she wrote his one down wrong too.
MR TASKS: Enough of this merry banter. The Notorious Civet was the fastest and most accurate, yes?
(Griz nods)
MR TASKS: Five points to the Civet! Four points to His Amused Lordship, and three points to Colonel Molly. Did the Manager's message as delivered share any words in common with its original form?
GRIZ: I believe so, though for reasons of municipal security I cannot reveal how many there were or what order they appeared in.
MR TASKS: Two points to the Manager, and, as she was both slow and inaccurate, one point to Grace!
GRIZ: At the end of that task, His Amused Lordship is in the lead with nine points, but the Notorious Civet and Colonel Molly are neck and neck right behind him with seven each, and Grace is tailing with only two points.
GRACE: B-----ds.
Chapter 3: Task Two
Chapter Text
MR TASKS: That was a delicious little apéritif, but we demand more - what else do you have for us?
GRIZ: Our next task is a team task. To divide our five contestants evenly into two teams, we had the Bazaar's most accurate actuaries calculate their levels of skill, experience, physical prowess, emotional stability and intestinal fortitude.
MR TASKS: And then you had the big one and the little one go up against the three medium-sized ones?
GRIZ: Precisely so. Let's see our teams demonstrate their capacity for portraiture.
(His Amused Lordship grins with recollection at Colonel Molly. On the screen, the pair can be seen shaking hands in the Taskmaster Manor's laboratory - a spartan room, its walls draped with a protective layer of waxed cloth. A blank canvas sits on an easel beside a tray of paints.)
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: How do you do, young lady.
COLONEL MOLLY: 'allo, your lordship!
(elsewhen, Grace, the Manager and the Civet file into the lab in an awkward gaggle)
GRACE: Look who I found! I'm not meant to work with this sorry lot, am I?
(Colonel Molly pulls the task open with some effort and glares intently at it)
COLONEL MOLLY: 'Paint the best portrait of the Taskmaster. One of your team must be the model and must try to look as much like the Taskmaster as possible. Most imposing and accurate portrait wins. You have thirty minutes.' How long's that?
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: That's half an hour.
COLONEL MOLLY: 'alf an hour? That's ages! This'll be easy!
GRIZ: Please read the last line of the task.
COLONEL MOLLY: Oh, sorry. 'Your time starts now.'
(The Civet paces like a caged lion, talking rapidly)
THE CIVET: We'll need a robe, something to serve as wings, and a suitable backdrop... does it have to be painted in here?
THE MANAGER: (refers to the task) It does not.
THE CIVET: Gather the kit and take it to the great hall - that's the most imposing room. I'll start gathering props.
(in the studio, Mr Tasks turns to the Civet)
MR TASKS: You came over frightfully keen, didn't you?
THE CIVET: (shrugs) You have to be efficient when time is pressing.
MR TASKS: Let's see if your enthusiasm contributed at all to the final result.
(on the screen, His Amused Lordship chuckles as a rug slides into the lab, propelled by a central urchin-shaped lump)
AMBULATORY RUG: I found a cloak!
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Jolly good start! I should probably model - do you paint at all?
COLONEL MOLLY: (extricating herself) Yeh, I'm orright.
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Capital! Now, I should be holding something... Miss Smith, which one of them is it? Spices? Pages?
GRIZ: Mr Tasks is Mr Tasks.
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Yes, but you know what I mean!
GRIZ: All the information is on the task.
COLONEL MOLLY: Jacky Tar reckons that Gorgeous Gavin reckons that the Fisher-Kings reckon that it could be Iron.
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Really? I shouldn't have thought it would be interested in the talkies.
COLONEL MOLLY: 'e could be wrong. Usually is.
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Perhaps we should hedge our bets. You go down to the cellar and get a bottle, and - actually, I'd better get the bottle. You get some cups from the kitchen.
(in the great hall, the Manager is squeezing paints onto his palette while Grace and the Civet move a chair into place)
GRACE: Do you want to model? You've already got the cloak...
THE CIVET: I'm not accustomed to letting people identify me.
GRACE: Sure, but they are filming this.
(The Civet pauses, considers, sags)
THE CIVET: I'll model. You do the wings.
(in the lab, His Amused Lordship poses, swaddled in the rug and with his arms full of Masterly impedimenta)
COLONEL MOLLY: Lift the mirror up a bit!
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Sorry! Is the honey-pot tipping? It feels like it's tipping.
COLONEL MOLLY: (squinting as she dabs the canvas) Nah, it's fine.
(in the great hall, the Manager steps back and regards his work)
THE MANAGER: Finished, I believe.
(in the lab, Griz flicks her stopwatch)
GRIZ: And that's time.
COLONEL MOLLY: Aww-! ...no, that's alright. Happy with it.
(in the studio, Mr Tasks is bristling)
MR TASKS: You presumed we were that rascal Spices?
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Well, I didn't know! You might have been Veils for all I knew!
(Mr Tasks moves to stand; Griz places a calming hand upon its sleeve)
GRIZ: Would you like to see the teams' completed portraits?
(the fires dim beneath the Taskmaster's hood and it waves a don't-care-ish claw)
MR TASKS: Yes, yes. Very well.
(on the screen, the first painting is shown. In a rainbow of colours rarely seen in the Neath, it depicts a grinning figure on a white background. In its large hands are a jeroboam of Broken Giant, a slopping pot of prisoner's honey, a kitchen knife, a green apple, a teapot, a table-mirror, a leather-bound tome, a candle-stick and a string of pearls)
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: I look rather weighed down, eh, what?
MR TASKS: Do you imagine we go about carrying all that?
COLONEL MOLLY: You'd be proper imposing if you did.
MR TASKS: We are at least gratified you chose to depict us with a respectable vintage...
GRIZ: His Lordship took seven bottles from the cellar, and only used one of them for the task.
MR TASKS: And what did he do with the others, pray?
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Oh, I opened them with the crew! Thought they wanted perking up.
GRIZ: And here's the team of three's portrait.
(on the screen appears a painting in the Continental Romantic style. A cowled figure slouches on a throne, framed by the arches of the ceiling behind it. Beneath its cloak, two vast wings are seen, half-furled. It holds a folded paper, sealed in red wax impressed with a sigil of flame. Mr Tasks starts, then leans in to examine its likeness)
MR TASKS: How did you capture our wings so?
GRACE: That's me standing in the back, holding up two brooms!
THE MANAGER: I was inspired by the French painter Delacroix, though the symmetry of the composition owes a deal to Friedrich.
COLONEL MOLLY: That is proper good, that. 'ow's the task not catching fire?
THE CIVET: We cut some gold foil from a chocolate box and pressed it into the wax.
GRIZ: You've seen both paintings - how do you want to score them? Ideally, the two teams' scores will add up to five - four and one, or three and two, for example.
MR TASKS: The team of three's portrait was excellent - five points for each of them!
GRIZ: And no points for the team of tw-
MR TASKS: And two points each for the team of two!
(a series of heroically-suppressed emotions pass across Griz's face)
HIS AMUSED LORDSHIP: Absolutely fair play - I can't object to that at all. (he turns to the other team) D-mn good work.
MR TASKS: What has that done to our contestants' standing?
GRIZ: Socially, I couldn't say - that's a matter for Mr Slowcake - but in terms of points, the Civet has leapt into the lead with twelve points. His Amused Lordship and the Manager are just behind them with eleven, while Colonel Molly has nine, and still in the rear but rapidly catching up is Grace with seven.
(The Civet nods with quiet satisfaction while Grace pounds one hand into the other, releasing a puff of dust from her bandages.)
GRIZ: With another task to see - and, of course, the live task here in the studio - it is still anyone's game.
MR TASKS: We shall look forward to seeing those after some commercial promotions. Commerce is, after all, the lifeblood of the Bazaar.
GRIZ: It is, yes. If one were to prick it, commerce would seep out.
MR TASKS: But don't try it, or you'll go to prison.
GRIZ: Straight to prison.
(on the screen, a painted card advertises no-kill butchery services, licensed by Mr Hearts, conveniently located in Ealing Gardens, only a short train ride from Moloch Street)
morechaos97 on Chapter 2 Thu 05 Jun 2025 12:29PM UTC
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JustDiptych on Chapter 2 Fri 06 Jun 2025 05:32AM UTC
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