Operation Spider Crab - A CCRP novel by Tolkienfan

''This article is a wiki backup of the WIP book itself, also available on Scratch. For the as-yet-unwritten article about the book, see Operation Spider Crab.''

About
Everyone's doing it, so I decided to write a book set in CCRP world. This one's (sort of) historical (for now).

I'll add chapters to this project, and notify the studio when a new one is added.

I'd be interested to hear your theories as to what's going to happen on the Discussion page. I'll try not to actively thwart your ideas when I get around to the next chapter.

My chapters tend to be pretty long by Scratch story standards, so be warned.

For context on this, read about Queen Ptraci II.

Thanks to @BellatriX_Is_ME for starting the trend of writing books about the CCRP world. This is why I made the CCRP Writing studio (with wiki backup here) and the Fictional Writing page.

Notes:


 * Before the late 18th- early 19th century, the weird Cancionish naming convention about boys having girls' names and vice versa didn't exist.
 * I know I own neither of the countries involved, but even ignoring that New Canciona didn't even exist at the time this is set, I wrote Inutilia's history and used to own RCM and thus have a better idea than most of what its history is like.
 * If anyone's wondering, I am a writer (albeit a not terribly good one), but I don't usually post my work on Scratch because most of it's handwritten and I don't type stuff up unless it's a third draft (the second I do on my typewriter). This I just did straight into WordPad, though, because it's specifically for online release, and then copy-pasted into the project and later onto the Wiki backup. This means it's still the first draft, and will probably be drastically updated later.
 * I love 'Operation X' titles because even if you have only the haziest idea about what's going to happen in the story, you can call it pretty much whatever you like and it's still going to make sense even if the plot changes drastically. My last book was called 'Stuff Book Titles', which says a lot about my approach to naming things.
 * Finally, about spelling: I know a certain type of reader (no comments on how many of them happen to be in CCRP) become slightly annoyed at reading words like 'favorite' spelled with a 'u' that doesn't belong there. Well, I have to say it slightly gets on my nerves reading American spelling. I instinctively feel it's horribly wrong. OK, so you lot all learned to read and write in America, so that's how you spell. Fair enough. But meanwhile on this side of the Pacific I learned to read and write with more u's and fewer z's, so that's how I'm going to spell everything. Deal with it. End of rant.

Blurb / Preview / Whatever you want to call it
The year is 1718, and Inutilia and the RCM are still recovering from yet another blasted Silver War. Arturo Mariscos and Pete and Tracey Sake have successfully avoided the associated trauma by spending years guarding the quietest pass through the Inutilian-Cancionish Range, with nothing more than supply chains to worry about. But all this is about to change when they are unexpectedly landed in the middle of an Inutilian plot to seize power.

Chapter One
Arturo Mariscos happened to be the one on road patrol duty the day the extremely large and suspicious crate turned up.

The arrival of fresh supplies and weapons from Threepeaks, Humerland was normally the easiest part of the day to handle. A long train of mules would crest the hill, a miscellaneous assortment of boxes and bags would be handed over, money would change hands, the goods would be sent off with a fresh team of mules, and that would be that. The only even remotely stressful part of the whole business was the unavoidable packing tetris, complete with the endlessly amusing 'where the heck can I squeeze in this weird triangular box? It won't fit in anywhere' game.

But not today. The first thing in the line was an enormous wooden packing crate, strapped to a platform slung between four mules, easily large enough to hold a carriage. Edward, the leader of the supply train, stepped forward and mopped his brow.

"Won't be sorry to foist this thing onto you, mate," he said. "You wouldn't believe the trouble we had with it on the corners."

"What on Earth did we order that needs such a huge box?" exclaimed Arturo.

"And the hairpin bend just to the south of Herring Mountain," continued Edward. "You know the one where last year a mule slipped on packed ice and half the salt meat fell down the ravine?"

"Yes, I can imagine," said Arturo politely. "Happen to know what's in it?"

"-and there's that sort of ridge bit just where the Teppican Ranges do that, y'know, spiral thing? Even the ants have to go single file along there, in the end we had to put the accursed box on makeshift wheels and have people at either end to hold it steady-"

"All right! I get the picture! I don't want to know about all the trouble you had getting it here, I want to know why it's here in the first place!"

"You will want to know when you're in charge of getting it to Minas Tirith," said Edward. "Oh, I daresay you'll find out by yourself soon enough, but I'm sure you'd rather have advance warning." He turned back to the mules, where his assistants were already manhandling the enormous box. "You just about done there, lads? All right, let's be off! Cheerio!"

Arturo glared at Edward's retreating back.

"Just like him," he muttered. "A lot of information I didn't want, and nothing at all about what I did."

The box loomed there, almost blocking the narrow pass. Midday sun sparkled on the rivets.

"Pete!" he yelled. "Get the crowbar. I'm finding out what was in this box if it kills me."

A head poked out of the window.

"You sure? Opening suspicious boxes is never a good idea."

Arturo glanced at the speaker, and groaned.

"Pete's gone on lunch break early, hasn't he?"

The girl at the window nodded. "It's not my fault. He says he gets this horrible hollow feeling if he goes without food for more than three hours. He says there's too little food in this place. He says if he wants to get anything worth eating at the kitchen he has to get there sooner rather than later."

"All I can say is I feel sorry for the miners," said Arturo.

The girl, whose name was Tracey Sake, nodded emphatically. Her father, Peter, was well known in the camp for being the only person for miles wider than he was tall.

"Let's have the crowbar, then."

Tracey fished around in the boxes of assorted debris that made up the building's storage system, and took up two-thirds of the available space. Arturo had time and again insisted that one day they should clear it up, and Pete had declared that it would not be this day; his daughter had remained neutral, being the only member of the trio who knew where everything was. The crowbar lived on the nail in the wall just below the shelf of rock samples and unanswered mail. She held it through the window.

"Mr. Mariscos?"

He was on the other side of the crate, arguing with Jose Vieria, leader of the Cancionan supply train.

"I'm on a tight schedule, boyo, and can't afford to sit around looking pretty while you splinter wood."

"Yes, but if we open the crate we can distribute the contents more easily..."

"And you think that happens in the twinkling of an eye, do ya? We leave in half an hour, and if we've forgotten anything important you're going to hear from the bosses down in Minas Trone, and you can wave goodbye to this nice easy spot up here-"

When it became apparent that neither man was going to shut up anytime soon, Tracey scrambled through the window and cautiously tapped at the crate.

It was hollow.

She experimentally stuck her hands under the box and tried lifting it, resulting in a handful of broken finernails. Well, no surprise there. Even by itself, the box would weigh more than she did. Rubbing her sore fingers, Tracey straightened up. As she did, she saw something sticking out of the side of the box.

She reached out, took it, read it, and then stepped around the side of the crate.

"Mr. Mariscos?" she said. "I think you need to see this."

***

Major Niccolo Espada walked towards General Langoster's office with extreme trepidation. The generalissimo had an infamously ballistic approach to bad news, and the last officer to deliver a war report had emerged with a pen sticking out of one earlobe.

He knocked on the door, very reluctantly.

"Enter."

Niccolo saluted nervously.

"What's gone wrong this time?" snapped General Langoster.

"Well, er," said Niccolo, "not to beat around the bush, as is were, I was told to inform you that, you see-"

"Get on with it. I don't have all day and neither do you."

"You know all those Inutilian refugees who keep sneaking over our border through Basza?"

"What, the ones I explicitly ordered you to keep out of the country? The ones that are supposed to be sent to refugee camps outside of our borders? The ones I distinctly recall you were in charge of dealing with, by my own order?"

Niccolo shuddered. This was worse than he'd thought. To tell the truth, he'd completely forgotten that he was the one in charge of the refugee problem. Nobody wanted that responsibility, mainly because if they had it those idiots who ran the newspapers would put their names in a great big heading saying something like 'Major Espada Issues Yet Another Inhumane Order About How Many Refugees Get Let In That Is In Direct Contravention To Human Rights Policies'. So everyone passed the job onto some subordinate as soon as they could get away with it, until General Langoster heard about it and reassigned it at random. But this time Niccolo had been so busy he'd completely forgotten to.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't suppose you've seen the situation up on the borders?" Of course he hadn't; the general rarely left the capital city, and if he did it wouldn't be to see some bunch of ragged people coming into the country. "There's thousands of people showing up. They have next to no possessions. They haven't had a decent meal for weeks. There's infants up there. They've lost family members through war. You can't just tell them to go home again."

"That's not my problem," said the general, predictably. "It's yours. Have you come to complain about the responsibility?"

"No," said Niccolo. "I've come to raise the possibility that the Inutilian royal family could be in there somewhere."

"What royal family? Inutilia hasn't had a royal family for centuries."

"Yes, they have, sir. Nobody's been on the throne, but there seems to be reliable evidence that the last king's descendants are somewhere in the northwest of Mediterrae, biding their time. And now, with Inutilia in a prolonged state of unrest, would be the time for them to take the throne again."

He ducked in advance, always a good idea around General Langoster. It paid off. The inkwell that would have hit him smashed against the doorframe instead.

"EVERYONE KNEW THIS WAS A POSSIBILITY AND NOBODY TOLD ME?!"

Niccolo backed away, but slowly so as not to draw attention. "I'm sure my colleague Captain Pez prepared some documents on the subject for you some time ago-"

"Never got 'em," snapped the general. "That's the problem with you lot. No organisation! I'm left to somehow rule this bunch of incompetents who can't even see to it that I get the right paperwork!"

The major glanced at General Langoster's desk, which was a towering mass of papers that was spilling onto the floor, but made no comment.

"I shall instruct the captain to be more careful about the delivery of paperwork in future," he said instead. "Now, what are we supposed to do about the royal family?"

"Sort it out," grumbled the general. "The problem falls under your area of responsibility. But I will be expecting daily reports, and I want to actually see them. You may go."

Niccolo nodded, and almost ran out of the room.

He couldn't help wondering if the general knew exactly what was at stake here. Inutilia had been under the reign of Patricians since 1465, and although most of them had been competant rulers, none had been so sufficiently to gain military advantage in the Silver Wars. Whereas most of the monarchs had been frighteningly good at warfare.

Everyone, except possibly the Inutilians, knew that the royal family was still lurking about, and this new girl who was the heir looked like she'd be a chip off the old nearly-three-centuries-old block. If she was crowned, Inutilia would soon become a force to be reckoned with. And worse: her first stop on her way to the throne would, in all likelihood, be the RCM. Oh, it'd seem like she'd go straight to Dimidium Apis and actually become acknowledged as queen first, but a sensible ruler would employ a slap-up army and defeat an enemy country first. That way she'd gain a lot of support from her future subjects before even setting foot in the kingdom, and gain a reputation for being a mighty warlord that would make it easier to see off the Patrician.

The ideal enemy country to attack would be the RCM.

The future queen would have no problem finding soldiers. You couldn't move on the northern borders for refugees, most of whom had personal grudges against RCM for either shutting them out or starting the war in the first place. And Inutilia wasn't the only country involved in the war to have been weakened by 40 years of sustained fighting.

If the girl got into the country, they were in trouble.

***

Nobody was quite sure how the Sake family had been absorbed into the camp; they just had.

Pete Sake was a Valanian miner, or had been back in the day where he'd been thin enough to fit down a mineshaft. That had changed when he'd met Maria, a Cancionan maid at the same farm his parents worked on. She'd earned an astonishing amount of money for a woman, and after marrying her, Pete hadn't felt the need to go down a mineshaft again for years.

However, unemployment soon set in, and the Sake couple had moved back to Canciona with their ten-year-old daughter. They'd run into trouble on the border near the mining camp; the latest Silver War had been going for three decades, and orders to keep out anyone who could possibly be Inutilian still stood. But Arturo (who'd been in the camp since late childhood) had allowed them to stay simply because Maria was the only person present who could cook anything edible to someone who wasn't just about collapsing from hunger. Nine years later nothing had changed. Maria ruled as queen and tyrant over the miners' kitchen, Pete helped Arturo out on road patrol, and Tracey ran odd jobs wherever they were needed.

Currently she was urgently pushing through the crowds of miners in the kitchen. Occasionally she used her long black plaits to clear the way; someone who'd been clobbered in the face by one of them once was someone prepared to move anywhere to avoid subsequently being clobbered by the other one.

Maria was standing roughly in the centre of the kitchen hall, ladling stew into tin plates. She looked up as her daughter bore down on her.

"What do you know about this?" Tracey demanded, flourishing the piece of paper she'd scavenged.

She watched her mother's expression carefully. It was a carefully arranged picture of confusion. But Tracey was observant, and hadn't missed the flash of guilt that had appeared just for a moment.

"What is it?" asked Maria.

"You know perfectly well what it is," said Tracey. "It has your name right at the top. Is there something you haven't been telling me?"

Maria snatched the paper, read through it, and stuffed it into her apron pocket.

"No time to explain now," she mumbled. "I've got dinner to serve, I hope you realise."

"Excuses, excuses," said Tracey. "All right. But I'm coming back here in half an hour, and the explanation had better be an extremely good one."

Chapter Two
In fact it was forty-five minutes before she was able to get back to the kitchen, ostensibly to help Maria with the dishes.

"So," she said, with a warlike expression that was sadly mitigated by the fact that she was holding a dishcloth.

"So what?"

"So what's all this about you suddenly being on the side of the Inutilians? You could get done for treason, I hope you realise."

Maria sighed. "Tracey, a lot of otherwise extremely patriotic Cancionans realised long ago that this whole Silver Wars business is extremely pointless."

"Don't see how you can be patriotic and still be involved in this," said Tracey rebelliously.

"The beginning of this war claimed most of my family," said Maria, pretending there had been no interruption. "I was five years old at the time. And now look at the whole situation. It's been thirty-nine years and nothing's changed. The first of the Silver Wars began nearly a thousand years ago and nothing's changed. We're losing lives, but what have we actually gained?"

"We've gained a military advantage," pointed out Tracey.

"No we didn't. Inutilia lost it. Anyway, what's the point in a military advantage in a war that's getting us nowhere?"

She had a point, Tracey was forced to admit.

"I had to move to Valan, where as outsiders everyone can see how ridiculous the situation is," Maria said. "I have nothing against the RCM. I love the RCM. But the RCM would be a happier place if the Silver Wars ended once and for all, and for that, we need to help Inutilia acquire a monarch again."

"Let me stop you there," said Tracey. "I can see where this is going. You're not the first person to decide Inutilia needs a king, and you won't be the last. But Inutilia has no king. Inutilia needs no king. The Patricians can end the war just as well. We don't even need to rely on Inutilia. We've got leaders of our own to stop the wars."

"The Patricians can't end the wars. They need a level of popularity to get into office, and the last way they're going to get that is by telling everyone that the Silver Wars will be ended once and for all if they get in."

Tracey listened with half an ear to the resulting monologue. Inutilian politics were a closed book to her, and she intended for it to stay that way. She was vaguely aware that they had Patricians rather than kings, who did exactly the same job but under a different name, and that was where her knowledge ended. Maria, however, was one of the more politically aware people in the camp. She had been known to dispel people from illegally entering the country by delivering one of her famed hour-long political speeches illustrating in depth why letting just anyone in would lead to collapse of the state. Worse, she firmly believed that this was because of her persuasive powers. Everyone else knew it was because everybody fled as soon as it became apparent she wouldn't shut up while she still had an audience. Which was why Tracey had been surprised, upon reading the note she had found, to see that her mother was part of a scheme to smuggle migrants into the country.

She mentioned this as soon as she could get a word in edgewise.

"We're NOT just letting in anyone," said Maria. She was obviously annoyed. "We're secretly enlisting an impromptu army. They get shut in a large box with food and water for five days, the supply chain doesn't know they're in there so they get left in a Tronian depot, and when nobody's around a secret operative lets them out. After that they're just more people on the streets."

"An army," said Tracey. Horrible realisation dawned. "You want to find the heir to the throne, make sure he has an army in a close but completely unexpected position, and send him off to overthrow the Patrician. That's actually what you're trying to do."

"We've already found the heir some time ago," said Maria. "She's safe for now."

"Are you actually insane? You can't just meddle with the politics of some other country like that. You don't even know what you're doing!"

A thought struck her.

"You said nobody on the supply chain knows about this whole operation," she said. "Is Mr. Mariscos in on it?"

"No. He's too close to people in the Cancionan army for that to be safe. But don't worry, everyone who does know is aware of the risks and are being careful not to let him know. Why do you ask?"

"Because when I first found the note, I told him about it. He's specifically instructed me to, quote, 'report suspicious items immediately'."

Maria dropped a pile of tin plates. "You what?!"

Without waiting for an answer, she ran out of the kitchen.

Tracey stared after her for a few seconds. It wasn't like she wanted to be embroiled in a harebrained scheme like this. Maria had made several good points, but Tracey cared about her own country more than that bunch of Inutilians who, to be frank, had started the Silver Wars and had done just as much to perpetuate them as the RCM had. But if other people were directly involved like this, that was different. If the Cancionan army found out about the migrants, they would be arrested.

She muttered "curses" under her breath, and followed her mother.

***

"But we never have inspections up here!" Arturo protested. "It's just goods coming through."

"Nonetheless," said the captain. "Not my fault. I'm under special orders. From the Major Espada himself," he added gloomily. He spat. "'You've been doing well, so I'm going to give you a new level of responsibility and importance!' he says. 'From now on, you're in charge of the current refugee problem!' he says. And then he sits back expecting me to be pleased, when everyone who ranks higher than Sergeant has already had and passed on that job at least twice. And then he says the general is expecting daily reports, hah, not that he ever reads them. So here I am. Do any people come through here at all?"

"Not usually," said Arturo.

The mere presence of the regiment wasn't in itself surprising. The new general was one of the most paranoid yet, and for the last few months had been sending soldiers to every pass there was 'for checkups'. Captain Lucas Pez and co. showed up every week or so, but until now they had had no intention of actually inspecting anything, and said so.

"However," he added, "we do have a controversial item here. I wonder if you lot would be able to sort it out for us?"

"Let's see it," said the captain. "Then I can mark the pass as investigated, job done, let's move on."

Arturo indicated the enormous crate, still unopened. "This arrived today. Now my co-worker's kid says a funny thing happened about it. Apparently she found an item of suspicious paperwork."

"Indeed. You don't happen to have seen what was on it?"

"'fraid not."

"Didn't think so," said Lucas gloomily.

"Don't suppose anyone in the city ordered anything that needs an enormous box?"

"They wouldn't have. Humerland isn't stupid enough to send something like that over the mountains. It'd have arrived by sea."

"Hah," said Arturo. "I'll see if I can find that crowbar. I'm sure I had it a minute ago. Tracey!"

Tracey appeared over the crest of the hillock, looking innocent. That she continued to look innocent upon noticing the cavalcade of mounted soldiers could possibly have been described as 'overdoing it'.

"Find a crowbar, will you?"

"Thought you didn't want to open the box just yet," said Tracey.

"Changed my mind," said Arturo. "Just find the crowbar, will you? You're the only person who generally knows where it. is."

"I thought you had it last."

"Are you deliberately holding me up?"

"No," said Tracey, in a well-simulated tone of pained astonishment.

"Then just find the crowbar, will you?"

Tracey leaned into the window, making a show of rummaging through everything to find the crowbar. Clearly she had expended her potential delay time by the 'keep them talking' method.

She straightened up.

"Can't seem to find it."

"Here, let me have a look," said Arturo.

Tracey moved aside so he could go through the piles of equipment. As a matter of fact, she knew perfectly well where the crowbar was, and was fairly confident that he wouldn't find it. But only fairly. I should have actually hidden it, she though. There wasn't time, though.

Mind you, just about everything in that room counts as 'hidden', even the stuff right at the top in glaringly obvious places.

"Can't find it either," said Arturo. "I may have left it near the crate."

Uh, oh, thought Tracey.

She watched, unable to do anything about it, as he walked around to the other side. The side where there had been a suspicious crack that may or may not have been part of an opening. The suspicious crack that, if you looked hard enough at it, would probably have a smaller hole to some sort of level that could open the entire crate. The suspicious crack that, above all, was the only part of the crate that wasn't soundproof.

Arturo walked back.

"Interesting," was all he said. "Come and have a look at this, captain."

The two men strolled back around the side of the crate. They've found the suspicious crack, thought Tracey. I just know they've found the suspicious crack.

Sure enough, she could hear them talking.

"And so I saw this funny wedge thing in here, so I thought hang on, maybe I could open it this way. So I removed it, and look, this entire part swings out."

"So what's in it?" That was the captain.

"Have a look," said Arturo.

There was a squeak of waterlogged wood squeaking against waterlogged wood, and some rusted metal part being twisted to breaking point.

"See?"

"I do indeed."

"Funny thing, isn't it?"

"Yep. I'll mark it on my report."

"Bit of a let down though, wasn't it?"

"Yes. But it wasn't something that will interfere with my job, and a good thing too. We'll move on."

Tracey peered around the corner and into the crate, hardly daring to do so.

There was a large open space inside the box. In one corner was an ancient tartan blanket with moth holes all through it. And that was absolutely all.

Chapter Three
The back of the cabin made a good spot to lie low. It was in a slight hollow, surrounded by scrub and rocky outcrops that not only made it impossible to see from the outside except maybe from the air, but acted as an effective sound barrier.

Tracey pushed through a knot of bushes. Storming into the clearing sounded good, but her skirt and one of her plaits had got caught in a thorny branch.

"Thank you very much, Mum," she said as she tugged at her petticoat. "I got all worked up for nothing because you didn't tell me you'd already snuck out there while I thought you were washing up."

Maria ignored the outburst, and turned instead to her impromptu audience. "And here is my daughter Tracey," she said. "A useful but reluctant assistant in our revolution."

"I never said I was going to help past this point," said Tracey indignantly. There was a loud ripping noise as she pulled herself free from the plant. She ran her eyes over the huddle of people.

"So you're the latest instalment of the Inutilian army?"

"That's right," said a boy to the left of the group, who looked slightly younger than Tracey was. "First instalment, to be more precise."

"Good gravy. We appear to have two people who might be legally old enough to fight in a few years, one who actually has a weapon and may or may not know how to use it, one who must be about ten years old, and- an ancient grandparent of indeterminate gender, wrapped in so many old blankets I can't tell how old they are. Why is this?"

"We couldn't just leave him there," said one of the two people who might be legally old enough to fight in a few years.

Tracey rolled her eyes. "I hope you're happy," she said to her mother. "First instalment, eh?"

"And it's your job to escort them to Minas Trone," said Maria, undeterred.

Her daughter gasped.

"What was that?"

"Someone has to," said Maria.

Tracey looked from her mother to the first instalment of the Inutilian army, who were watching her with carefully deadpan expressions, and then back again.

"Mum? A word with you please. In private."

The conversation went like this:

"Look, Tracey. I know how you feel about this revolution, but we need you to be able to carry out this plan. There are people all over the continent depending on us-"

"Can you stop pinning the livelihoods of people on me? I never signed up for this!"

"There's nobody else to do it. We need a Cancionan citizen to cross the border."

"You go, then, if you're so keen to."

"Can't. I've got jobs around the camp to do."

"Should've thought about that before joining a revolution, shouldn't you?" Tracey shrugged, and started to walk off. "This isn't my problem."

"Tracey." Maria sighed. "I didn't want to go into this. But for reasons too complicated to explain, it is vitally important that you're the one who goes with the recruits. I need you to... meet with some people, but it has to be you."

She stared up at the sky, a compromise having ocurred to her. "Once I meet them," she said, "can I drop out of this whole business? Or have you volunteered me to do everything?"

"If you still want to by then," said Maria.

Tracey gave another shrug. There wasn't much danger of her changing her mind. "I suppose we have a deal," she said. "But I didn't volunteer for this, and it's the last time I help you with this absurd project."

***

Towards the back of the cabin, sandwiched between the spare pickaxes and the back end of an old handcart, was a craypot-shaped shrine to the Great Star Lobster. Every Cancionan home had one these days. On her way out, Tracey left a plate of pickled herring and boiled potatoes in it.

As well as the official request for safe travels she had come to make, she also made a private prayer that whatever happened with the revolution would swiftly cease to be her problem.

The rest of Chapter 3 will come later. I'm writing it as we speak; the delay here is not that I don't have content, but because I'm still working on how much of it ought to go into chapter 4.