Trials of Trivial Boxer - A Terry Pratchet Fan-Fiction

Chapter One - Arival

Trivial Boxer put down the trunk in the over-long hallway and went out to the moving cart to fetch another. The house, or, more correctly he reflected morosely, the parsonage, had seven bedrooms, two dining rooms, a morning room, a breakfast room, and an acclaimed Billiards room. It was a house that came with the job, his very first temple. The house was far too big now, left over from a period in Omnion church history thought of as the "Burning times". A time when people became afraid of everything, and let that fear turn on one another. Some enterprising Omnions had used it to squeeze the already very squeezed people out of their money and build a large house, and better temples. Those days were, thankfully, long gone, and now the house and temple fell to whichever priest got sent this way.

Trivial wasn't exactly sure how it worked, but it seemed that the temples had some unofficial rota for sending priests out. It mostly seemed to operate on the last priest writing a letter saying he was leaving and they should send another one, or someone writing one that said that he had died. This letter was then passed around the temples until someone read it and did something about it. Trivial was that something. He lugged the last of the boxes off the cart and paid the driver. Unsure what to do next he turned towards the temple.

The gravel path that connected it to the road was worn but clear of weeds and the brass and wood on the door looked polished at least as far as eye-level, above that the wood slowly blackened and darkened with years of neglect. Above the door there appeared to be a small shrub clinging to existence growing out of the dirt gathered in a statue that was not indistinguishable.

Trivial closed his door, and years of habit from the city caused him to lock it. He approached the temple with what he hoped was confidence and a gentle air of authority. He opened the door and was greeted by the strange smell of frying bacon.

Perhaps the first thing that Trivial should have noticed was the faded and chipped statue of a crocodile with the legend "Buy one, get one f..." painted in fading red letters on its stomach standing on the altar where the bronze, or at the very least bronze-coloured, sacred horns of Om should have been.

Or perhaps the first thing he should have noticed was the sacred body of Om in his form as a tortoise, upended and filled with wood and coal, suspended on a metal tripod, perhaps from the less glorious times of the church, being used to fry bacon.

Or perhaps the first thing he should have noticed were the rows and rows of hard-backed wooden benches, worn smooth over the years of use, filled with expectant faces, some old, some young, all turned towards him.

What Trivial actually noticed was a short woman who was stood directly in front of the door. She was dressed in a style of dress that seemed to be held together by pleats and broaches, and the entire ensemble was topped off by a large hat, complete with a feather a shade of blue that probably necessitated doing terrible things to it's previous owner's ancestors in the name of dressmaking. Trivial looked at the woman, or more precisely the brim of the woman's hat. The hat said "Bugger, it's an Omnion."

There was a wave of sheepish expectation from the crowd and a muffled "Ow, buggerit" as someone tried to take the sausages off the offertory grill. Trivial felt that something was required of him.

"Err" he said.

He cursed himself. He was hoping for something a bit more eloquent. There was a wet THLUP noise, followed by the unmistakable sound of a sausage rolling into the most inaccessible part of the temple. Trivial took a deep breath, offered a prayer to Om, and tried again.

"Hello everyone" He said. Much better. "I'm Reverend Trivial Boxer". Idiot, he thought to himself, they know who you are. They are expecting you. He checked himself, and looked at the scene, all set up for, he guessed, Offler. Perhaps they weren't expecting him.