Several things had fallen into place over the last few months. The first was my recruitment of a recruitment agent to oversee all marketing activities. Initially, when Jeremy had presented her with an ultimatum, Echinacea wasn’t impressed. Jeremy had refused to threaten her directly. For a bone-crunchingly large ogre, he had a strict moral compass. Not particularly useful if you’re trying to establish an evil corporate empire, but at least it let him sleep at night.

Notwithstanding his refusal to threaten her, he also told me that she would clearly have some sort of revenge insurance that would probably lead to an unhealthy outcome for me. Instead, Jeremy offered her an exorbitant salary, with the potential for an equally large bonus if she did well. She was much more amenable to discussing this with Jeremy, and made it clear that, in future, all interactions should take place through him rather than wasting time dealing with amateurs.

I withstood the dents to my ego, and I was glad that I did. Her work was excellent, and I found that sales of branded cloaks and T-shirts featuring trees squashing superheroes began to take off in earnest.

The second significant development also came about through a discussion with Jeremy. After the incident with Superfluous Man, Jeremy suggested that, given the healthy state of my bank balance, I would be wise to invest in an industry-standard fortress. I liked the idea. Every evil entrepreneur dreams of having their own fortress, and frankly there is nothing more glorious than surrounding your living quarters with a moat.

I immediately called the local estate agent and made enquiries. Estate agents are eternal optimists. Unlike recruitment agents, they are very willing and very helpful. Whilst this particular agent normally dealt only with inner-city urban accommodation, they were only too happy to connect me with their sister company, which specialised in evil enterprises. I set up some meetings, viewed several fortresses, and settled on a reasonably sized detached abode that came with a moat, an automatic drawbridge, a dungeon with a connecting trapdoor, and ISO-90EVIL certification, guaranteeing that the highest quality standards had been met in evil build quality and facilities.

It didn’t take long for me to transfer the required amount of gold to the previous owner, with the National Bank of Extortion and Bribery charging an eye-watering administration fee, and before I knew it, I had my own fortress.

I sent a text message to Jeremy asking him to inspect the place, with a view to inviting him to reside there with me. Jeremy appeared reluctant on arrival, but for the amount he was charging me, he agreed to consider it.

“Why don’t you stay one night?” I offered. “Maybe it will make you feel better about the place.”

He clanked something incomprehensible, but agreed that one night might help him decide.

Echinacea, on the other hand, hadn’t even bothered to read the text message I’d sent her. I sighed, wondering how I would ever earn the respect of the hordes needed to run an evil conglomerate when I couldn’t even command respect from my own marketing team.

I was settling into a night of evil plotting in my brand-new office—creating new schemes, reading supplier reports, and building spreadsheets—when I heard the sound of excavators. That was odd. First, it was pretty late in the evening for excavators to be running, and second, my fortress was located in a newer part of the city.

What was going on?

I wandered out of my office to seek out Jeremy. I seemed to be doing this a lot.

My fortress had four bedrooms and, naturally, Jeremy had informed me that he was taking the master room unless I disagreed. I had decided to keep things amicable between us, and so hadn’t raised it as an issue. There was a brass door knocker on the room, which was surprising. Even more surprising was that it was ogre-shaped, with tusks protruding to form the ring. I was sure the previous owner hadn’t been an ogre, so when Jeremy had found the time to install it, I had no idea.

I guessed this was a good sign. It surely meant he was planning to settle in.

I rapped on the door using the ogre knocker and waited, feeling as though I’d done something wrong. What a strange sensation. I was in my own fortress, after all. Why didn’t I feel full of power and authority?

“Enter!”

The clanking sound of Jeremy’s command had its usual jarring effect. After taking a moment to recover, I pushed the door open and walked in.

Jeremy had repurposed the entire room. When I’d bought the fortress, the large chamber had come equipped with a four-poster bed, a comfortable seating area, and a traditional writing desk. There was no dressing table, as it was assumed that evil practitioners weren’t particularly concerned with how they looked.

Jeremy had removed all of it and replaced it with his own furniture.

I’d realised that I’d made him wealthy, but the level of opulence he’d created was something else entirely. For a start, every wooden feature in the room had been replaced with mahogany. The lighting was dim, lending the space a brooding atmosphere. Two three-seater leather Oxford chesterfields faced each other in one corner of the room, separated by a lavish, intricately designed coffee table. Ornamental, tall, wood-effect lamps occupied every corner.

Medieval weapons hung on the walls as decoration, their blades showing signs of wear and dark stains. In another corner stood a giant desk with an elaborate computer system and a deep, comfortable swivel chair. Beside it, a bookcase ran the length of the wall, packed with tome upon tome of modern and traditional references. Another wall was covered in a matrix of screens displaying live feeds from every security camera in the fortress.

Finally, a gigantic blood-red rug covered most of the floor, richly decorated with a tapestry depicting ogre victories over humans.

He’d removed the bed entirely. I guessed this was to be his working domain.

“I guess you’re staying then?” I asked dumbly, a little flustered by how quickly he’d settled in.

Jeremy, who had been sitting in one of his chesterfields wearing a comfortable-looking red robe over his evening attire, eyed me over the book he was reading. He didn’t respond, instead returning his attention to the page. I decided this wasn’t the time to try to exert dominance.

“Why are there excavators outside?”

Jeremy glanced at the security footage. “Ah,” he clanked. “These must be the moving team,” he said casually, before returning to his book.

“Moving team? What moving team? Are they the ones who moved your things over?”

Jeremy looked up again, this time clearly annoyed. “No. They are here to move the fortress to a more competitive… and secure location.”

He continued to stare at me. “As I am in charge of your security, I have decided that this location isn’t secure.”

I must have looked dumbfounded, because I then said, rather pathetically, “But we didn’t discuss it.”

Jeremy looked up at the ceiling, muttering a plea for patience. He placed a marker in his book and stood.

“Rudolph,” he began, “I will explain things in more detail in my monthly report. Suffice it to say that, as chief of your security, I discussed this with Echinacea, and we decided this was the best move. I understand that you may feel aggrieved.”

As he spoke, he stretched his arms, drawing my attention to their size and to the intricate layers of scars from previous battles. He casually glanced at the hanging weaponry before continuing.

“But in this industry, bureaucracy would be fatal. I therefore assumed I was empowered to make important decisions on your behalf.”

He folded his arms and waited for my response.

I couldn’t really argue with anything he’d said, especially given my limited experience in the field. Eventually, curiosity got the better of me.

“How and where are we moving?”

Satisfied, the ogre returned to his seat and picked up his book before answering. “We will be moving through superhero intervention,” he said casually.

I looked at the security monitors and could now see several figures in luminous, high-visibility spandex standing near the heavy machinery digging around my fortress.

“I suggest you find somewhere comfortable to sit. When they start lifting, it may not be a comfortable journey.”

This was far too much information to process, so instead of clarifying what I’d already been told, I asked another question.

“But where are we going?”

Jeremy sighed, clearly frustrated at the interruption. “The Barren Wasteland.”

“What?” I replied.

By this point, Jeremy’s tolerance for me and my questions had been exhausted. I decided it would be wise to find somewhere else to sit, as his tusks were beginning to angle towards me of their own accord.

Continue reading: The Fortress in Suburbia: A Supervillain’s House Move Gone Wrong