Travels in Xanadu-du : Sample Chapters

IT STARTS HERE

It was a grim, grey, cold, wet November morning in Manchester, northern England. Tony Wibberley had been sitting at his desk for an hour and achieved precisely nothing. He was supposed to be writing a report on a business plan submitted by an insane farmer in Cumbria. The farmer was planning to grow yams and turn them into ice-cream, cheese and a kind of insulation material. The business plan was a thick, boring, semi-literate document that made virtually no sense to Tony.

‘Julie, you know a bit about gardening, don't you?' he asked his colleague. She gave him a withering look.

‘What I don't know about gardening, Tony, isn't worth knowing.'

‘Ah, such modesty in one so young. So tell me, can you grow yams in Cumbria?'

Julie sniggered. ‘Possibly when all of this global warming is over and done with you can. Yams need a full year of sunshine, and they can't stand frost.'

‘Oh, thanks.' said Tony. He pulled his computer keyboard towards him and began to type: It is my considered opinion that the author of this business plan is delusional. Yams will not grow in Northern England: they need constant sunshine and are killed by frost. This man should be taken out and shot…

Constant sunshine, thought Tony. What wouldn't I do to live somewhere where it was sunny all the time. Luxuriating in tropical heat, having the world's best suntan, no more grey skies and misery.

‘Wibberley!' Oh crap, it's the boss. Tony hurriedly awoke from his reverie and tried to look intelligent.

‘Finished that report yet?' growled Hardiman.

‘I'm having a problem with it. The proposal is nonsensical.' Tony's boss raised an eyebrow.

‘You have to make it sensical! That's your job.'

‘But the only way to make this work would be to grow the bloody things indoors with constant heat and light. It would cost a fortune.' protested Tony.

‘Tony, you have to understand one crucially important thing about this project. The client is paying us to produce a balanced and carefully considered report on his plan. And the report has to say this is a brilliant idea and we strongly recommend investors throw lots and lots of money at it. Got it?'

‘Yes.' mumbled Tony.

‘Good. On my desk by lunchtime.'

Hardiman stomped out of the open-plan office. Tony had heard about people in organizations being promoted to a level that was just beyond their capability, although until he'd started working here he had not quite believed it. But his current boss was living proof that the theory was true. And ‘living' was the problem. Tony believed that he would do a much better job of running the department than Hardiman did, but unless Hardiman died or resigned, he was never going to get the chance to prove it. Tony wondered briefly about hiring a contract killer, but quickly decided against it.

‘How's Liz, Tony?' asked Julie, hoping that the mention of his bubbly, energetic and fun-loving wife would cheer him up.

‘Ok.' Muttered Tony.

And that was the other thing. Tony hadn't told anyone yet, but Liz had moved out a month ago, and was cracking on with the divorce. His life was a mess. He had to do something to fix it. A new job. Somewhere sunny. That should do it. He searched the web for ‘jobs, accountancy, sunshine'.

“…experienced Accountant required to act as advisor to the Government of Xanadu-du. Large tax-free salary and many benefits including perpetual sunshine and all the yams you can eat…”

Bingo! Tony had never heard of Xanadu-du, but it sounded exotic. He sent off an application. Half-an-hour later he received an email offering him the job. No phone call, no interview, no nothing. Just a job offer. Incredible. He set about composing an acceptance letter, and then a resignation letter for that bastard Hardiman.

ARRIVAL

Tony Wibberley struggled down the gangplank with a huge and heavy pack on his back, and an oversized suitcase. He had bought the biggest one he could, and made sure it had a couple of little wheels. Sadly, one of the little wheels had not been strong enough to do its job, so Tony ended up having to half carry, half drag the case. His future employers had arranged for him to more or less hitch a lift on this ageing cargo ship, and once he had got over the sea-sickness he had enjoyed the five-day trip. But after the constant sea-breeze of his journey from England, he found the air in XanaPort hot and stifling. It was four o'clock in the morning, and he was very tired.

Tony headed towards the thatch-roofed Immigration Hut. He seemed to be the only passenger disembarking here. He knew that some of the formalities would be a little, shall we say, informal. A palm greased here, a whopping great bribe there, it all had to be paid and was the local equivalent of tax. He had been sent an envelope full of small-denomination XanaDollars by his new employers.

There were no signs anywhere, and nobody to follow, but a fat man in a shoddy uniform behind a broken-down desk beckoned him over and Tony handed over his passport.

‘What's this?' asked the man.

‘My passport.' replied Tony.

‘Oh, very nice. Is it meant to be a bribe or a gift or what?'

‘Erm, you're supposed to stamp it and give it back to me. It shows that I entered the country legally, and that you know who I am.'

The man looked confused, but obligingly dropped the passport on the floor, stomped on it with a heavy boot and then picked it up and handed it back to Tony.

‘Are you happy now? Good. Now, why have you come to my country?'

‘I've been offered a job. Look.' Tony handed the man his offer letter. He read it quickly, and then looked something up in a scruffy ledger.

‘Ah, yes. This is good. Picture Leveller, Sixth Dan. You will be in the Du tribe.'

‘Picture Leveller? Sixth Dan?' asked a confused Tony. ‘But they told me the job was for an Accountant! Chartered! First Dan! And what is the Do tribe?'

‘No, my friend, not “Do”, “Du”! Dee. You.'

‘I have to join a tribe?'

‘Yes indeed. All Cousins of Xanadu-du are members of one of the seven tribes. Your job is based in Ububidu-du, in Du territory, so you must join Du. Unless you want to be a social outcast, of course.'

‘This is ridiculous!'

‘Welcome to Xanadu-du, Mister Wobberley of Du. Please pay me your visa fee, and then proceed to the tribal registration desk'.

‘How much is the fee?' asked Tony.

‘As you like' said Captain Immigration.

‘Oh really? Then I would like to pay nothing'.

‘Haha, you are a funny one Mister Tonee, you will fit right in. Your fee is fifty four Xanadollars'.

‘Fifty four?' gulped Tony.

‘Eighty five'.

Tony pulled out eighty five Xanadollars before things had a chance to get any worse. After a few long seconds he realized he was not going to get a receipt, so he picked up his extremely heavy luggage and stumbled over to the tribal registration desk.

The desk was manned by a rather fetching woman. A little sign sitting on the desk declared her name to be Esiankiki. He wished her a good morning, but she just glared at him. Clearly, working the night shift did not suit her.

‘Yes, what you want?' she barked. Tony had no idea what he wanted, and said so. He explained that he had been sent here by the fat man at the immigration desk.

‘He said you had to join Du?' Tony nodded his affirmation.

‘Where are you from?' she asked.

‘England.'

‘Why you come here?'

‘I have the offer of a job.'

‘Ah. Bloody foreigners coming here, taking our very good jobs and leaving the rubbish jobs for the rest of us.' Tony could barely believe what he was hearing. She gave him a form to complete. It contained only one question: name? Tony wrote “Tony Wibberley”.

‘Nonono. Your name is not Tonee any more. You get a Xanaduduian name.' She consulted a list. ‘You are Abimbola'.

‘But I don't play cricket' said a bewildered Tony.

‘What are you saying?' Esiankiki had run out of patience with bloody foreigners quite some time ago, but they still would not let her change her job.

‘I'm saying I'm not a bim bowler, or a spin bowler, or a fast bowler, or a googly-chucker. I do not play cricket'. Esiankiki rolled her eyes to the ceiling and wrote down his new name for him. And then she extracted fifty four Xanadollars from him and told him to report to the CID. Over there in the corner. Somewhat worried, Abimbola of Du once more collected up his luggage and trundled over to the desk in the corner.

‘Is this the CID?' he asked.

‘Yes sir' replied the uniformed man at the desk, who seemed to have just started his shift and was altogether too bright and breezy for Tony's liking.

‘As in Criminal Investigation Department?

‘No sir, as in “Crime Is Done.” Do you have any preference for your first crime, sir?'

Tony/Abimbola stood looking at the officer as though he had just been asked to perform an obscene act with a giraffe.

‘Ah, sir, first time in Xanadu-du eh? Then I'd better explain. In Xanadu-du we take a pro-active view of policing. Everybody is guilty of something, so we find it best to accuse people of crimes before they have actually been committed. Now, let me see, I can give you a choice of…'

‘This,' said Tony, barely able to control his outrage, is ludicrous!'

‘I think we'll forget about the choice then and just go straight to insulting a Government official and lessé majesté, ok? You have a nice day now'.

Dazed and confused, Tony headed towards the exit. He knew that Xanadu-du did not actually have a king or any monarchy to speak of any more, so the charge of lessé majesté sounded completely illogical. Nevertheless it had him rattled.

He was expecting to be met by a driver sent by his new employers, so he was not surprised when he spotted a small man holding a sign written in mud on what looked like compressed palm leaves. “Tawnee Wobblee” it said. That sounded like a good name for a lap-dancer, but was also pretty close to his own name. He approached the small man and said ‘Hi, I'm Tony, Tony Wibberley'.

The small man gave him a blank look and said ‘that's very nice, but please go away, I am looking for someone called “Tawnee”.'

‘I think you are here to meet me' said Tony.

‘Is your name Tawnee Wobblee?' asked the small man.

‘No', said Tony ‘it's Tony Wibberley'.

‘Sorry chap, can't help you then'.

‘Nonono, yes you can…I think you have come to meet me but they spelled my name wrong'.

‘No, they didn't, I wrote this sign myself. Can't be wrong'.

‘OK' said Tony, ‘I'll go and wait on that log over there, and if Tawnee doesn't show up in half an hour then you can pretend it's me. Deal?'

‘No' said the small man.

Tony went and sat on the log, packing his luggage around him to make himself more comfortable, and tried to sleep. But he could not help wondering whether he had made a terrible mistake. Nothing here was what he had expected. It all seemed quite primitive, and this picture levelling thing was a total surprise. After a while, he drifted off to sleep. Half an hour later he was shaken awake by the small man. ‘You a Picture Leveller?' he asked. Still half asleep, Tony explained that he was an Accountant, but as the small man turned to leave he remembered that his visa said he was a Picture Leveller, and called him back.

‘Why didn't you say? Could have saved us all this wasted time. Got your tools here'. The small man handed over a long, thin case. Tony opened it. It contained a spirit level. Oh wow, thought Tony, a stick with a bubble in it. Shall I just bash the little guy around the head with this? Better not. Only been here two hours and got a criminal record already.

‘Shall we go?' asked the small man. Tony gathered up his luggage once again and they headed off towards the exit.

Before they got there they were stopped by yet another official, and this one wanted to see what Tony had in his bags. Everything seemed to satisfy him until he came to the long narrow case. He opened it, and demanded to know what it was.

‘Spirit level', said Tony.

‘It contains spirits?' asked the bag-searcher. ‘No', replied Tony, ‘it's probably only water. If it was alcohol spirits, I'd break it open and drink it! It's only a little bottle of liquid with a bubble in it so that I can get all the pictures level'.

‘Nonono, not drink spirits, people spirits.' This time it was Tony's turn to be confused. ‘People spirits? In this little bottle? How can that be?'

‘You not know about spirits of ancestors of Xanadu-du people? Live in crocodiles? Could live in little bottle also. That would be very bad if human spirit trapped in little bottle'.

‘Boss', said the small man, ‘this only water in this bottle. Tawnee here confused and stupid after long trip. Tawnee will pay you as-you-like fee now'. With a nudge and a wink from the small man, Tony handed over a hundred and seventy Xanadollars and was finally free to enter the glorious land of Xanadu-du.

He thought he was in enough trouble already, but that spirit level was going to get him into a whole lot more.

BUY THE BOOK!