Nine Banters grand finale
“One each of numbers one to nine please.”
“That’s just starters,” said the Chinese girl behind the counter.
“That’s what we have to have.”
The girl disappeared through a door and was heard to count up to nine in Cantonese.
“But …” said Emily, “I really wanted sweet and sour chicken. Can’t we have a number twenty-three as well?”
“Not in the pattern,” said the embroiderer man. “Not in the order. Out of order.”
“Oh I get it,” said Emily. “We have to have one of each number. What if we had a twenty-three, a forty-five, a sixty-seven, an eight-nine … oh ah … no wait, we could have a one as well?”
“Did that last week,” said the embroiderer woman. “It was the flavour of the week. But it turned out to be a weak flavour.”
“She’s just the flavour of the we-ak,” sang the man. “Ooh, countdown.”
Emily looked up at the television in the waiting area. The quiz show Countdown was indeed on. But it was the mathematics round and she looked away.
As she did she noticed something outside. A horse-drawn carriage had just pulled up. The driver dismounted and trotted to the side. Emily saw him jiggle the door until it opened. He reached in and pulled down a set of steps. A small screaming badger appeared on the top step.
“Hey look at this guy’s shoes,” Emily said to the embroiderers.
A second screaming badger appeared. A stout white sock was planted in each badger.
“Lord Odo of Tartarus of the Hellfire Club,” said the man. “Stall him, don’t give him a grandstand.”
He lifted the flap in the counter and ducked into the Chinese take-away’s kitchen.
“What he said.” The woman followed. “No time for banter.”
“But …” said Emily.
“Call us if you need us.” The woman lowered the flap and dropped a mobile phone onto the counter. “Our number’s nine.”
“But …” said Emily to the woman’s back as it vanished.
“Hoy,” shouted a voice in the kitchen.
The liveried driver held the door of the restaurant open for a limping Lord Odo. Emily saw bruises on his face and noticed that he had one arm in a sling. A tarantula detached from his waistcoat as he brushed against the door frame. Emily felt her body tense for a moment. I’ll have to kill it if it comes at me, she thought. She reached for a chair
But the spider did not move. It’s dead, thought Emily. Poor thing.
“Emily?” Odo peered at Emily through a black eye. “Emily Evil?”
“Hi, Lord Odo,” said Emily.
“We thought you’d been captured.”
“Ah, let us taste this vileness of this greasy establishment to mask the bitter tang of defeat.” Lord Quint of the Hellfire club stumbled into the restaurant.
He was in a similar state to Lord Odo.
“Hello Quint.” Emily tightened her grip on the chair.
“Emily?” said Quint. “You’re okay?”
“Pretty much,” said Emily. “Lost my jacket. Don’t suppose you found that?”
“Went down with the Hellfire barge,” said Quint. “After the ninjas scuppered it.”
“Damn the embroiderers,” said Odo.
“Why the embroiderers and not the ninjas?” said Emily.
“Damn the architects of our defeat, not the workmen,” said Odo. “We’ll hunt ‘em down and eradicate ‘em. They have made war upon the most evil men in the world and we’ll roast ‘em and toast ‘em for it.”
“Right,” said Emily.
“Besides,” said Quint. “One can’t hunt them who are invisible.”
“Ninjas,” spat Odo. “Doing the embroiderers dirty work.”
The lord squinted his non-black eye at Emily.
“Speaking of which …” he took a step towards her.
Emily looked down to where Odo was squinting. I’m wearing the embroidered dress, she thought.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.” The Chinese girl emerged from the kitchen eyes down on a scrap of paper. “And nine.”
She looked up, then from Emily to Odo to Quint.
“I don’t want any trouble,” the girl said.
Shame, thought Emily.
“Oh we don’t want just any trouble,” said Quint. “We want trouble of a particular kind. We want the trouble of a back-stabbing … wench -”
“Wench?” said Emily. “No wenches here that I can see.”
“ … who gets, what shall we say Lord Odo? Stir-fried with mushrooms?”
The blood drained from Emily’s face.
“Chenxi,” shouted the Chinese girl behind the counter.
“No,” said Odo. “I hate mushrooms.”
A wide Chinese woman squeezed through the kitchen door.
“Somebody to take our order,” said Lord Odo. “Number eleventy-one my good wench. Traitor’s face rubbed with chilli peppers and fried in batter. Live, if you please. Followed by monkey brains.”
“Get out,” said Chenxi.
“If you’re not sure how to make it,” said Odo, “I’ll come in and do it myself.”
Chenxi rolled up her sleeves and unhooked a large knife from her apron.
“I said get out,” she said.
Odo’s looking at her, thought Emily. She flicked the chair at Odo’s sling and felt it strike.
“Aiee.” Odo bent over, shielding his bad arm. “Oh wench, you are going to be cooked and eaten alive, from the feet. Quint.”
“Come, my lovely.” Quint shuffled around his injured leader. “We’re inviting you to dinner.”
No room to swing the chair, thought Emily. What am I going to do? They’ll really kill me and eat me. Or worse, they’ll eat and not kill me. Maybe they’ll make me eat part of myself?
“It wasn’t my fault,” she jabbered. “The embroiderers had me captured.”
Quint stopped and looked her in the eye.
“Why did they give you that dress?” he said.
Is it too late to flirt, Emily wondered.
“I was naked on your bed when the ninjas attacked, if you recall,” she said. “They had to give me something so they just threw me into one of their tapestries … they didn’t give me any underwear.”
Quint blinked at her.
“Come back to the club and we can hear your story,” he said.
Quint took a step with his right foot then dragged his left. He’s close enough to look down the neck of my dress, thought Emily. He was limping on his left.
Emily stamped her heel onto Quint’s left foot.
“Aaagh,” he screamed.
“Story, schmory.” Emily snatched the bag of Chinese food and the phone.
She shoved Quint out of the way and yanked open the door.
“Hold on, miss.” The liveried driver filled the doorway. “I think m’lords would like you to consider their invitation.”
Spotless livery, Emily thought.
She reached into the bag and seized a carton. Careless to the heat burning her hand she smashed the foil container into the driver’s chest.
“Ow,” said the driver. “It’s all greasy. That’ll be Hell to shift.”
Emily slid past him and ran. Where to, she wondered. Back to the Embroiderers place?
“Stop, wench.”
Emily skittered to a halt and turned. Quint was limping along the pavement towards her. Limping worse than before, Emily thought. Good.
She turned and hurried, but didn’t run. She gave Quint a girly finger wave over her shoulder.
There was a burst of ambient trance music. Tune, thought Emily. That is a top one. Where’s it coming from? Pretty close by.
She looked down at her hand and saw the embroiderers’ phone. It was ringing, she realised.
The display read “Inbound call 5”. Just one digit, thought Emily. That can’t be right. Still …
She pressed the green button.
“Hello?” she said.
“Is that the embroiderers?” said a familiar female voice.
“Who? No.” said Emily, then realising. “I mean, yes. This is the embroiderers, who’s this and where did you get this number? Oh, and random gibberish banter.”
“Is that you Emily?”
“Linda?”
“Yes,” said Linda on the phone. “How come you’ve got the embroiderers phone?”
“They lent it to me,” said Emily.
“Oh so you haven’t joined them or anything?” said Linda.
“Kind of,” said Emily. “A little bit.”
“You have to leave, Mil. They’re evil.”
“It’s okay Linda,” said Emily. “I am too. I’m Emily Evil now. I unlocked myself.”
“This isn’t a joke, Mil,” said Linda. “I’ve got my kids away from the ninjas and I need to find a place to hide.”
“I wasn’t joking,” said Emily. “Wait, you’ve got kids? Since when?”
“Since before I was divorced,” said Linda. “Can we take that off-line? The ninjas are after us and I’ve got to find a place to hide. Can you help? I called you because the embroiderers gave me their number to call if I needed help.”
“Ri-i-i-i-ight,” said Emil. “Didn’t you just say that they were evil?”
“But they might still help me,” said Linda. “I can help them get an advantage over the Order of Saint Thorlac.”
“The who of saint what?” said Emily. “Or should that be the what of saint who.”
“The Order of Saint Thorlac,” said Linda. “They’re another faction. How can you not know about them if you’re in with the embroiderers?”
“I haven’t been in with them long,” said Emily. “Besides, I think I’m their queen? So I don’t really do detail.”
“Right,” said Linda.
There was a pause. Does she think I’m mad, wondered Emily. Do I think I’m mad? Am I mad? Are the embroiderers mad? I think they said I was their queen. Well, the word queen was definitely used at some point. Why shouldn’t I be their queen?
“Hey,” said Linda. “If you’re their queen can you make them help me?”
“I … I guess I could,” said Emily. That’ll be one way to find out if I really am queen, she thought.
“Great,” said Linda. “Give me a call back if you have a hiding place. I’ll be on this number.”
“What number?” said Emily.
“Five,” said Linda.
“But you can’t have five as a number,” said Emily. “I mean five is a number obviously, but not a phone number.”
“The factions have their own phones,” said Linda. “I don’t know how it works but it works. Try it later. Please, Emily?”
“Okay Linda.”
Emily pressed the red button and continued hurrying. She looked around but did not recognise any buildings.
How do I get back, she wondered.
A car screeched to a halt across the pavement in front of her. Emily stopped in her heels.
The passenger door flew open and the embroiderer man stepped out.
“Get in.” He reached back in and fiddled with the seat. “Look for a signal.”
Emily looked behind her. The Hellfire Club’s horse-drawn carriage was clattering along the road. Quint leaned out of the window. His mouth was moving and his fist was stirring the air with a dagger.
In front of Emily, the embroiderer man was tumbling into the back seat. She flung the bag of Chinese food into his lap and dropped herself into the passenger seat.
“Ow, my knees,” said the man as the seat slapped backwards. “You’re not my niece. She has nicer hair spray.”
Emily hauled the door shut.
“Good to go,” she said. “Close the door but no cigar.”
“Clunk click,” said the woman from the driver’s seat. “It’s not a trick. It’s a rhyme that just might save your life and the airbags under your eyes.”
“I don’t have bags,” muttered Emily.
She pulled the seatbelt across the embroidered picture of the tall domed building in a rural setting.
With the click still travelling along the synapses to Emily’s brain, the woman banged the car into reverse. The car lurched backwards then stopped as the woman stamped on the brake pedal. Emily pushed herself off the dashboard.
The woman rattled the gear stick forwards as she danced across the pedals. There was a squeal of tires and Emily was pressed back into foam.
“Not just burning rubber,” she said. “Burning the whole pencil.”
“Gets you from A to B,” said the woman. “And Back Again. And by B I mean B for ‑”
“Base,” said Emily. “Back to base. Back to basics.”
“No dear,” said the woman. “With the Hellfire Club in hot pursuit, b is for big, as in Castle Howard. This is it, the big one, the end of the war.”
“Spring roll?” The man proffered an open container through between the front seats.
“Where?” said Emily.
“Here,” sang the man. “In the tra-a-a-a-ay of the mo-orning. Bay-bee.”
“No, where are we going?”
“There,” said the woman. “It’s not chafing your nice boobs is it, dear? Embroiderers nipple?”
“Oh, the place in the picture,” said Emily. “What are my boobs called? I never talk to them.”
“Sesame prawn toast then?” The man proffered the same container.
“One’s called Howard, like the duck,” said the woman. “The other’s called castle, like in chess.”
“Sweet and sour sweet?” said the man.
Emily reached for a spring roll but then had a thought. The big one?
“In a my newt minute.” She took out the embroiderers’ phone.
“Come hide @ Castle Howard,” Emily keyed then added “bring ninjas”.
“Send to” prompted the phone.
Emily keyed a five. She stared at the single digit for a second then pressed the green button.
“Message sent” appeared on the phone’s display.
“Chicken Satan?” said the man. “Devilishly good.”
“Satay.” Emily took a skewer. “’s okay.”
She had a plan.
The woman drove for an hour before they hit a traffic jam.
Emily looked in a wing mirror. The Hellfire Carriage had disappeared.
“Shall we go another day?” said Emily. “Monday, Tuesday, Another-day?”
“No point waiting,” said the man. “No weight pointing.”
“Got to make a pawn a queen,” said the woman. “Not a porn queen.”
“But, you haven’t even got your number any more,” said Emily. “Have you got somebody else’s?”
“Got your number,” said the man. “Got you instead of a number.”
“Queen counts for ten,” said the woman. “Better than any digit.”
Again with the Q word, Emily thought.
“So we have to go now … go now,” she said. “To Castle Howard.”
“At last, rode a horse.” The woman tapped the glove compartment door. “A lass, rowed her boat.”
Emily opened the glove compartment. A spiral-bound soft cover unfurled onto her lap.
“Road atlas,” Emily read. “Atlas comma road. I’ll navigate.”
“I never get to navigate,” said the man. “That gate is closed and bolted.”
Emily flipped the pages, settled on the right one. She checked the wing mirror again. The Hellfire club definitely were chasing us, she thought. No way of knowing how far behind they are.
“Looks like we have to stay here,” she said. “This is the only way to get on the M1. I’m one too. I’m one two three. For what its worth.”
“If I’ve understood,” said the woman. “We’re six here?”
“If I’ve?” said Emily. “High five, sis.”
The woman high-fived Emily. Then the man did too, reaching forwards between the seats.
Emily put the radio on.
The car moved a few more miles in the next half hour. A flicker in the wing mirror caught Emily’s eye. It was the Hellfire carriage.
She pretended to notice the name of a side road at a junction.
“Oh, we can go that way after all, at last.” Emily jabbed the atlas in what she hoped would look like an excited manner.
The woman indicated and cut in to another lane. The man waved at surrounding drivers and their enraged passengers.
“Slow down,” Emily said. “There was a speed limit sign back there. Don’t want to get arrested. Not with a queen on board.”
“Ah, the undeclared war,” said the woman. “She came to stay.”
The car moseyed through the residential streets. Emily kept a look-out for the Hellfire carriage. It managed to keep up until they were approaching the M1 junction two, northbound. The carriage peeled off to a side road.
This Castle Howard place seems to be important to the factions, thought Emily. They’ll work out where we’re going. They can take the drains. Still, might need to slow us down.
Half an hour later, with the car eating up the M1, a sign came into view that gave Emily an idea.
“Services,” she read. “I love services, midnight mass especially.”
“I prefer a cross-court smash,” said the man. “It’s like the feet of a snake.”
“Let’s pull in,” said Emily. “Or pull over, even if it is only a jumper. We can stretch our legs and I can take a turn driving.”
“Then I can get a turn drivelling,” said the woman.
Later, when Emily had been driving for a few hours, they passed another sign.
“Shall we stop at this travel inn?” she said. “It’s getting dark, and not in a good way, like way dark.”
“Why stop when the world is in crisis?” said the woman. “That would be more severe than our conscience.”
“I’m felling a bit of a sickle pickle,” said Emily. “I think it was that Chinese food, it was too easy greasy.”
“Nothing wrong with grease,” said the man, still in the back seat and still eating. “Grease is the word.”
Emily took the slip road anyway and they spent the night at the travel inn.
The next morning, the woman took over driving again. The reached Castle Howard at lunch time.
“Too early,” said the woman. “Still, defeat should be taken as an opportunity to deny one has lost.”
“Shall we see the place?” Emily looked at the bustling ticket gate. “Shall we listen to the cod, touch the haddock, smell the eel and taste the shrimp?”
I can totally do their banter, she thought. Still, I have my plan.
“Can’t sit in the car park all day,” said the man. “Carp is a fish too, but it wouldn’t be found in an ark, unless it had been caught, like Bud.”
Emily spent the rest of the day dodging the embroiderers in the stately home, gardens and exhibitions of Castle Howard.
Evening and darkness came, eventually. Emily was sluggish, her head full of history, and the embroiderers found her. She accompanied them back to the car. The woman drove around the corner and parked under some trees. The man opened the boot and took out a torch. Then he lifted the floor of the boot and fished out a ring of huge keys.
He led the way along a dusky hedgerow. Emily found it a cool night, full of sounds.
After some minutes he switched off the torch and crouched.
Ahead of them was an open field. Across the field Emily could see the domed tower rising form a dark rural scene. He eyes flicked to her dress.
“This must be the place,” she said.
The embroiderers’ phone bleeped. Emily plucked it off her belt and read the screen.
“Message from 5. Read?”
Emily clicked the green button.
“10 miles from CH Linda”
“What are you doing?” said the woman. “That’s a real phone, not a phoney reel.”
“Texting,” said Emily. “Gotta stay in touch, with the touch of a button.”
“Come to mouse oil yum kisses Mil”. Emily keyed and pressed send.
“Let me see,” said the woman. “I want to get the message. The medium is only the massage.”
She snatched for the phone. Emily whipped her arm back and out of the older woman’s reach.
“And … it’s … got to be … now.” The man scurried away across the field.
“It’s got to be now.” Emily ran after him.
“What’s got to be now?” The woman ran behind Emily.
They reached the base of the mausoleum. Emily saw that there was a wooden door. She stepped up onto a pavement next to the man and shook chilling grass water from her ankles.
The man was fumbling with the ring of keys.
“Hey,” shouted a voice form the shadow of the tower.
Light fell on the wall and shifted to the door and the man.
“That’s better,” he said. “Ah, wrong door, right key.”
Emily looked into the beam. She was dazzled and could see nothing. She could hear several feet scuffing along the pavement that surrounded the base of the mausoleum.
“Do hurry,” said the woman. “This is the human race and we need to win.”
Emily peered into the darkness. How near are they, she wondered. Who are they?
She heard the man grunt and metal grinding on metal. Then there was a sharp crack and the splintering of wood.
“We’re in,” said the man. “In the spot where we belong, oh yeah.”
“Come on Emily,” said the woman. “There are things known and things unknown, but who made the doors?”
Emily stepped through the door, felt her chest brushing against something.
“Nice boobs.” The woman pulled the door shut behind her.
Inside, the complete darkness did not last long. With a click, there was light. Emily blinked, dazzled by the suddenly white interior.
The man rushed past Emily, torch pointing ahead of him. The key in his outstretched hand reached the keyhole of the door. He ground it round just in time.
The sound of stopping footsteps outside was muffled by the locked door.
There was shouting. Emily smiled at the cries of “open this door”. Oh come on, she thought. Say something original. Next you’ll be pounding the door with your fists, and that never works.
The pounding followed. Emily sighed.
“Come on guys,” she said. “Make it funny.”
“Funny.” The man jiggled the key out of the door. “Money.”
“Now, what about giving me my phone back.” The woman stepped forwards.
Her foot hit the white marble floor with a hard slap that echoed stonily around Emily. “I don’t need it anymore.” Emily flicked the phone at the man and hoped.
“Oop.” The man dropped the keys and the torch to catch for the phone. “Howzat?”
Emily had a glimpse of the keys landing in a jangly heap before the torch came apart on impact. She snatched in the dark and caught a cold metal ring.
“Come here,” the woman said from somewhere close on Emily’s right. “Nice boobs are not enough in themselves.”
Emily pushed herself off the wall and ran. Her footsteps echoed around her in the pitch blackness. Got to get away from them, she thought. Linda should be here soon. Got to get to a door, another door, open it with another of these keys. There’s probably a door opposite. If I can just run straight across the middle, assuming there’s nothing in the way.
Then there was nothing, nothing in the way but also nothing underneath her foot.
“Ah.” She couldn’t stop herself from crying out.
“Oof.” The wind was knocked out of Emily as she landed.
At least it wasn’t far, she thought. I don’t think I’m hurt. Hope I haven’t fallen into a grave or sarcopha-whatever.
Emily felt about herself for the keys. She felt a cold stone floor. This seems familiar, she thought. I’ve felt this recently, but where?
Emily rolled over onto her back. One of her shoes had come off and the floor was cold underneath her bare foot. That’s familiar too, she thought. When did I have a bare foot?
She ran her hands over her stomach and chest. She felt the thick texture of embroidery. That isn’t familiar, Emily thought. Last time it was different, and the time before that. And there were lights then too.
A pale light swept through the gloom a little way above her. Motes of dust swirled in the beam. That light’s above me somewhere, she noticed.
“There, that’s the torch back together again.” The echoing stone carried the embroiderer man’s voice. “Next stop Humpty Dumpty.”
“Emily?” That was the woman. “Are you alright? Have you gone mad? Or have you stopped being Emily.”
Strange, thought Emily. The light and the voices seem ot be coming from somewhere above me. How can that be, unless …
Footsteps approached, above. The cold air slid inside Emily’s dress like an unwelcome hand. Her heart started thumping. Her mouth drew chilling, tingling gasps into her chest.
The footsteps stopped. The beam of light descended.
“What are you doing down there,” said the man, “in that pit?”
The sound of a siren cut through all arguments.
“What’s that,” shouted Chris.
There were two geeks sat at the table in his cubicle.
“It’s not the fire alarm,” said one.
“Must be the council alarm,” said the other.
“What’s the council alarm?” said Chris.
“Don’t know.”
“It doesn’t go off very often.”
“What do we have to do?”
The phone on Chris’s desk rang.
“Chris Allen?” he said.
“Who?” said the voice on the line.
“Okay, okay,” said Chris. “Big Man here.”
“Hey Big Man,” said the voice. “This is Villain.”
“Hey Villain.” These cool geek names, thought Chris. “’sup?”
“Chopper with you on it.”
“Come again?”
“Which part didn’t you get?” said Villain. “The part with the chopper going up or the part with you in it?”
“Sorry, I’m going up in a chopper because …”
“Because you’re, like, in charge of the war and you have to go somewhere in a chopper.”
“Where do I have to go?”
“Castle Howard of course,” said Villain. “Duh.”
“Why there, I mean I’m sure it’s a lovely place and all. Didn’t they film Brideshead there?”
“Give the man a cookie for TV trivia. A small cookie,” said Villain. “We have an alarm wire there. It’s been, like, tripped.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning somebody’s opened the mausoleum. It’s probably, like, the big one. Defcon One.”
“You want me to go there and find out what’s happening?”
“No man, we want you to go there and kick some other-faction butt, yeah,” said Villain. “Telephonic five.”
Chris sighed.
“Telephonic five,” he said. This is so, so sad. Still, I might get my hands on a phone.
“Whoo-oo yeah,” said Villain.
“Hyurgh,” said Chris.
“Be at the helipad in five minutes. Bring breakfast bars.”
Chris pulled on his suit jacket and ran for the lift.
Six minutes later he was in the air with two geeks in the cockpit of a helicopter.
“Hey Snake?” Chris said into his helmet radio.
“Yeah Big Man?” said the pilot.
“We flying low to avoid radar?”
A hissy giggling sounded in Chris’s ears. Learn to laugh, geeks, he thought.
“This chopper doesn’t show up on radar,” laughed Snake.
“Oh right,” said Chris. “So the phone probably won’t work then?”
Chris lifted the cans from his ears to spare himself more hissy giggling.
“Maybe your phone won’t work.” Snake emphasised the word your. “Mine does.”
“Yeah?” said Chris. “Show me.”
The pilot pulled a phone out of the thigh pocket on his sky blue flight overalls.
“Check it out, my man,” he said.
“Hey, five bars,” said Chris.
“Tchyeah,” said Snake. “They’re, like, painted on.”
“We did it to save on LCD,” said another geek on the headset radio. “Since we always have five bars.”
Chris sat in silence. He looked out of the window into the night. Take it easy, he told himself. One false move now could lose you everything. After a few minutes he reckoned it was long enough.
“I’m going to check on the boys in the hold,” he said over the radio.
He unplugged and eased himself out of his chair and onto the ladder.
The hold was even noisier, as he had hoped. Half a dozen geeks sat on two benches. All wore crammed utility belts, overalls and gas masks.
“How’re you doing?” Chris shouted.
Masked faces turned in his direction. Some nodded, some gave a thumbs-up.
“Great,” Chris yelled.
He sat on the end of one bench. The geeks shuffled to make room without touching each other.
Chris took his helmet off and put it on his lap. He smiled at the geeks. They looked down, up, left or right but not at Chris.
Worked like a charm, he thought. He took out Snake’s phone. Two calls to make, he thought. Easy one first.
Chris dialled seven and pressed the green button.
“Good evening, this is the Cat Totem of the Cheyenne,” said a man’s voice. “Counting Horse speaking, how can I help?”
“Ho, Counting Horse,” said Chris. “This is Big Man.”
“Ho, geek Big Man,” said Counting Horse. “Have we met? You sound familiar.”
“No, no,” said Chris. “We’ve never met.”
“Hmm. Anyway, what can we help you with this evening? I hope you’re not going to bear a grudge about the Chinook.”
“Or the great barge,” said Chris.
“The great barge? Why would you bear a grudge about that?”
“Because we didn’t want it sunk. We made the engines.”
“Oh yes, sorry about that,” said Counting Horse. “So what is this call about?”
“A prisoner.”
“I see,” said Counting Horse. “Name?”
“Bob Green,” said Chris. “Or Robert Green.”
“Let me see.” There was a sound of pages turning. “Oh yes, he’s with us. Not exactly a prisoner though. Now, how can I put this …”
“Let me guess, he works in some kind of advisory capacity to the chief?”
“No,” said Counting Horse. “He’s a sex slave.”
“Anyway I’d like to trade him,” said Chris.
“For what?”
“We’ll discuss that when we meet.”
“Will you come to us?”
“How about bringing him to Castle Howard?”
“Castle Howard, you say.”
“Yes, I’m flying there now.”
“Are you really, Shotokan?” said Counting Horse.
“Yes.”
“Hah, it is you.”
“Alright, you rumbled me,” said Chris. “Will you bring Bob to Castle Howard anyway?”
“Oh we’ll be there,” said Counting Horse. “As you geeks say, later.”
The line went dead.
I’m not sure they’ll bring Bob, thought Chris. At least I know he’s alive, not like Patch and the rest of them. Still, no time to worry about that now.
Chris pressed a number. He stared at the digit in the display: 3. The phocomeliacs, he thought. The ones who know something about my dad. After all this chasing around, I’m finally going to find out. I have no idea what to say. Oh well, haven’t got all night to use this phone.
Chris pressed the green button.
“Phocomeliacs,” the phone was answered.
This is it, thought Chris. Got to say something. What were those names the Cheyenne mentioned? I can only remember one.
“Erm, could I speak to Bandit,” Chris said.
“Well, no,” said the voice. “Bandit’s dead.”
“Oh,” said Chris. What was the other name?
“Centipede too, before you ask.”
“Ah,” said Chris. Centipede, that was it.
“So …”
“Maybe you can help me,” said Chris.
“I?” said the voice.
“Yes, I’m … well I’m … I’m looking for information about … my dad.”
“Who is this?” said the voice. “Are you a geek?”
“Yes,” said Chris. “Well I’m with them.”
“With them? Then you should know that parentage is something you never ask about. Once you’re reborn as a geek that’s it.”
“I see,” said Chris. Feels like it’s slipping away. “But it’s different for me because I’m not a geek. I haven’t been reborn so I could still find out about my dad.”
“Good for you, but what’s it got to do with us?”
“My dad left me one of your calling cards. I’m adopted.”
The lines went quiet. Chris checked his coverage. Still five bars.
“Hello?”
“What’s your name?”
“It’s Chris,” said Chris. “Who are you?”
“I’m El Foca,” said the voice. “Now look Chris, your father shouldn’t have left you anything, not even a calling card.”
“But he did,” said Chris.
“Yes but he shouldn’t have so I can’t help you.”
“You can’t tell me anything?”
“I really shouldn’t.”
I can’t come this close and fail, thought Chris. There has to be a way. Wait, this is a connectivity problem. If comms is only going one way, well …
“El Foca,” said Chris. “Can I leave you a message for my dad?”
“You can leave a message but I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Tell him I’ll be at Castle Howard in the mausoleum tonight,” said Chris.
“Castle Howard tonight,” said El Foca. “Got it.”
“Okay we’re here.” Linda pulled over to the side of the road and switched off the headlights. “How’re we all doing back there?”
“They’re okay,” said Hiroshi.
Linda looked at Davey and Karen in the rear-view mirror. They were snoozing.
The woman in the passenger seat stirred.
“Junko,” Linda said. “We’re here.”
“Mm hmm,” said Junko.
“Maybe we should drive down there?” said Hiroshi.
Linda considered off-roading the BMW at night.
“I don’t think I can,” she said.
“My wife can,” said Hiroshi. “Junko?”
“Okay.” Junko opened her door and tumbled out.
Linda looked at the slight, stretching figure. Nope, she thought. Even when she’s helping me and my children she’s still the bitch who stole my husband.
Linda unbent out of the driver’s door and walked around the front of the car to the passenger side. She passed Junko coming the other way. Say nothing, Linda told herself. Don’t even mutter under your breath.
Made it, she thought as she got in the passenger side.
Junko slid the driver’s seat forwards.
“Ready?” she said. “Pull your seatbelts tight. You too Linda.”
Linda complied.
The car eased forwards and rolled through the grass.
“Any spot you want to get next to?” said Junko.
“If you can see a door …” said Linda.
“Maybe on the other side.” Junko executed a gentle right turn.
Linda looked at the mausoleum tower, pale stone against a dark sky. The tower itself was round but sat on a square base. As the car moved, another side of the square came into view. There was a patch of light at ground level.
“There’s a door,” said Junko. “Trouble is, there’s some people too.”
“And they’ve seen us,” said Linda.
“Ninjas?” said Hiroshi.
“No,” said Junko. “They’ve got a light on.”
So you’ve both got experience fighting ninjas, thought Linda. Years of experience that you both share but I don’t. You don’t have to go on about it all the time.
“Get as close as you can to the door, I guess,” said Linda.
“And now that they’ve seen us …” Junko turned the headlights on.
The sudden beam stunned the people running towards the car. The stopped in their tracks, twisted their bodies and raised their arms. Linda had her first good look at them. They’re kids, she thought. What are they, seventeen, eighteen?
One of them wore a blazer. Linda noticed the insignia of the Order of Saint Thorlac on the breast pocket. Are they chasing us too? Maybe they were chasing Emily, wherever she is. No, that doesn’t make sense. Have to ask one of them.
Junko yanked the wheel around and sneaked the car between two lads. Then she braked. The car clunked as it hit the raised paving around the mausoleum.
Linda popped her seatbelt and jumped out of the car.
She saw a youth running towards her, red-legged through the car’s rear lights. The boy threw himself at her. Completely untrained, thought Linda. She caught him around the neck and allowed his momentum to fling his legs into the air. He crashed to the paving. Linda caught a whiff of Scotch as the breath was knocked out of his lungs.
Another couple of lads rushed Linda. The first she tripped and he knocked his head against the car. The next she scooped into the air and allowed to land heavily on the grass.
The last two were more cautious. They stood back form Linda, fists raised in boxing stances. Within a heartbeat she had them both in wristlocks, one in each hand.
“Good.” Hiroshi was out of the car.
“Here.” Junko threw him a bundle of plastic cargo tags.
Linda turned her attention back to her captives.
“What are you doing here?”
“On patrol,” said the lad whose wrist she was squeezing harder.
“You patrol the mausoleum?”
“Yes.”
“Every night?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know. Nyagh.”
“On Saint Thorlac’s instruction is it?”
“Nngn.”
Interesting, thought Linda. She rotated her grip a little and drove a finger deeper into a wrist.
“Eegh. Yes,” the lad managed.
“How do we get in?”
“Can’t. Don’t have a key.”
“Are they helpful?” Hiroshi stepped into view waving the cargo tags in his hand.
“To a point,” said Linda. “Claim they can’t get in.”
“Let’s see if we can help them be creative.” Hiroshi made a claw of his hand and reached towards one lad’s eyes.
“We can’t get in, we can’t get in, we haven’t got the key, please, not my eyes, I’m telling you the truth.”
“Maybe your friends will think of something after he’s seen what I do to you,” said Hiroshi.
The lad strained against Linda’s grip and whimpered.
“What’s that?” said Linda.
“It’s a car,” said Junko. “Over there. A four by four.”
“No,” said Linda. “Not a car, two cars.”
The two large vehicles bumped along the grass with no headlights. They came to a halt a little way from Linda.
All the vehicles’ lights came on at once. Linda felt almost burned in the glare.
“Let them go,” said a megaphone. “And lie down on the floor slowly.”
Linda turned herself round the boys she still held, placing them in between her and the cars. There was a sound of doors opening, then another metallic sound.
“Let them go,” said a megaphone. “Or we’ll shoot you.”
They’d never shoot with their own people so close, thought Linda. Where’s Hiroshi?
There was a sharp crack and then a loud zing from the paving behind Linda. They’re shooting, she thought. And not blanks, if that was a ricochet.
“Hiroshi?” She heard a quaver in her voice. “They’re shooting.”
I guess he knows that, thought Linda. Then they did it again.
“We will shoot you,” said the megaphone.
“Stop.” Hiroshi rose out of the darkness. “This is all a mistake.”
He’s standing in front of me, thought Linda. Protecting me.
“The mistake is for you to remain standing,” said the megaphone. “I will count to three.”
“One.”
Maybe Junko can help, thought Linda. Where is she and where are Davy and Karen?
A light mounted on one of the vehicle’s wing mirrors swung. Linda saw Junko picked out with Davy and Karen at her side, holding her hands. The three of them froze.
“This applies to you too,” said the megaphone. “Lie down.”
Junko lay down and pulled Linda’s children down with her.
“Back to you,” said the megaphone. “Two. Hk.”
There was a faint rustling from up by the cars. A voice cried out. Another started and was stifled.
“Now that’s ninjas,” sad Linda.
“Yup,” said Hiroshi. “Is your friend inside?”
Linda looked at the two lads whose wrists she held.
“No point hanging onto you two, is there?” She pushed them away and they fell forwards.
In a heartbeat she was banging on the illuminated door.
“Emily, it’s Linda,” she shouted.
Junko was next to her, and her two children.
“I’ll bang,” said Junko. “You’ll have to fight.”
The pit, thought Emily. This is the pit where I first killed somebody.
“This is the end,” said the embroiderer man. “My only friend.”
“And the start,” said the embroiderer woman. “Where Emily was made new. We made you.”
They know, thought Emily. Where they here? Where they shouting kill? Did they bet?
“You … you were here?” she said.
“Oh no,” said the man. “That would have been cruel.”
“Inhumane,” said the woman. “We put it together We make it happen. We don’t watch.”
“Don’t need to,” said the man. “It’s all part of the pattern, yeah.”
“Yeah the pa-a-atern,” sang the woman. “Watch one part and there’s no need to watch the rest.”
“So, you got me thrown in this pit, stripped naked, where I had to kill somebody or be killed?” said Emily.
“Yes, yes, and yes,” said the man. “The Englishman is a transient breed.”
“Why?” said Emily.
“We be worker bees,” said the woman. “We feed our queen on royal jelly.”
“Oh talk sense for once,” said Emily.
“Royal jelly,” said the man. “A rich brew of unusual chemicals which causes a different kind of bee to grow.”
“But … I’m not a bee.”
“No,” said the woman. “You are a queen, the queen.”
“I’m very confused,” said Emily. “Who was the other girl?”
“Nobody you know,” said the man. “Except in a kind of biblical way in that you killed her, not slept with her.”
”She might have been queen,” said the woman. “But you were better. That’s why you survived.”
“And look at you now,” said the man. “You’re ready to take on leadership of our order in its next phase.”
“Standing in your royal dress,” said the woman. “Do stand up dear.”
Emily stood. She slipped the shoe that had come off back on.
“You did all this to me and you expect me to lead your faction?”
“Now that we’ve done all this to you,” said the man, “What else do you think you’re fit for? I don’t think you’ll be going back to work in the office, ha ha.”
“Ha ha,” said the woman. “But there won’t be any factions, no, they’ll all be united.”
There was a bang on the door and a voice shouted through.
“Emily, it’s Linda.”
“What was going to happen to my friends in your sick little plan?”
“Well, we can only have one queen,” said the man.
“All the other candidates will probably die,” said the woman. “You don’t have to kill all of them yourself.”
“No I don’t,” muttered Emily.
There was a soft scraping thump. Emily looked up to see that the man had lowered himself into the pit. He took a couple of quick steps and picked up the keys.
“There,” he said. “Now they can’t get in. I expect somebody else will kill them.”
“Probably the ninjas,” the woman held up the phone.
“I’m not playing your sick little game,” said Emily. “You’re going to let them in, and you’re going to protect them.”
“I don’t think so, dear,” said the woman.
“Why would we do that?” said the man.
“Because I’m ordering you to,” said Emily. “I’m queen.”
The man and woman both started chortling.
“Stop laughing,” screamed Emily.
“Sorry dear,” said the woman.
“Yes, sorry,” said the man, obviously restraining his laughter.
“Right then,” said Emily. “Enough of your sick little game. Let’s play my sick little game instead.”
She threw herself on the man, knocking him to the floor.
This time, Emily heard no shouting. There was no confusion of location, no betting echoing around the chamber, no candlelight. No flashback, just a flash-now. Just her and her victim.
So much easier when you know you’re going to do it, Emily thought. First time, they were screaming kill but I didn’t know how I was going to do it. This time I knew I would go straight for his neck, vampire stylee.
She felt the man’s windpipe between her teeth. It was hard but also brittle, inflexible. Emily clamped her jaws down and his screaming became a soggy rattling. The dark rich taste of blood, familiar from nosebleeds, washed her mouth.
Emily plucked the ring of keys from the man’s limp hand. She glanced at the woman, moaning and rocking, as she strode past.
I could say something, she thought. But that would be banter, part of their world.
Emily picked up the torch and headed for the door.
“It’s opening,” Junko called.
Linda backed up. She had a ninja in a neck lock in front of her. The ninja had already taken two throwing stars in his belly, acting as her human shield.
“Hiroshi,” she shouted.
Her ex-husband swept a ninja down and followed with a neck strike. His technique was always flawless and bold, she thought. What a man.
Hiroshi pitched himself onto his shoulder and rolled clear, then rolled again and was by the door. Nothing can touch him, Linda thought.
She pushed her ninja away and ran back to the door.
Junko dragged Davy and Karen through. Linda skipped through next. Once inside she turned to see Hiroshi slip through and then turn to throw his weight into closing the door.
The door shuddered with an impact from outside. Linda raised her hand to her mouth. Help him, she thought.
Linda moved to the side of the door. She could see out through the gap Hiroshi and Emily were trying to close. A ninja had thrown his shoulder against the door and was pushing. She looked around for a stick to prod through the gap. There was nothing in the triangle of light, cast by a flashlight on the floor. If he gets through, thought Linda, I’ll be ready. She took up her stance and edged closer to the door.
There was a sharp crack and the ninja slid down the door. Somebody shot him, thought Linda.
The door was pushed closed. Linda breathed a sigh of relief.
“He was shot,” said Linda. “Some more of the Order of Saint Thorlac must have turned up.”
“They are a large faction,” said Hiroshi. “What is it Linda?”
Linda could only point. Emily was standing behind Hiroshi, her lips and chin dark and wet.
“Is that … in the torch light it looks like …” Linda said. “Are you hurt Emily?”
“No I’m fine, but he’s not doing so well.” Emily pointed towards the centre of the mausoleum. “I’ll show you.”
Emily picked up the torch and swung the beam to point into the mausoleum.
Linda found that Hiroshi was next to her. The blood had drained from his face.
There was a man laying in a puddle of blood in a pit. There was a woman moaning and rocking. Line recognised the couple from the golf course.
“What happened … Emily?” Linda said.
“Isn’t it obvious, Linda?” Emily said. “I bit his throat out. Haven’t got a tissue have you? It’s starting to dry on me.”
What have I got my children into, Linda asked herself. I thought I’d be getting them to safety. And what happened to Emily?
She stared at her friend, who was wiping blood off her face but onto her hands.
“We are approaching the target area,” a head stuck through the hatch from the cockpit announced.
Chris climbed back up to the cockpit.
“What’s the situation?” he said.
Geeks smirked at him. Snake pointed at his microphone.
Chris crammed himself to the front of the cockpit and sat down. He plugged in his helmet.
“…we’re talking megadork,” was being whispered through the headphones.
“Funny, guys,” said Chris. “What’s happening on the ground?”
“It’s like, dark, ‘cause it’s night and so we can’t, like, see anything down there.”
Snorting sniggers accompanied this.
“Only in this time zone,” said a different voice. “If we were just a few hours away it would totally be daylight.”
This isn’t working, thought Chris. Ever since the council o’ geeks put me in charge of the war nobody does anything I tell them to. Of course, geeks hate authority. What do they like …
“Can you switch to infrared or night vision and patch it into my head-up display?” said Chris.
“Uh, tchyah. Count my one click to do that,” said a geek, not Snake.
A visor zipped down out of Chris’s helmet. After a few blinks he focussed on what he guessed was an artificial three-dimensional image of the area over which they were flying. The image was green monochrome. Trees passed before is eyes, grass, a road, a cold car, more grass.
“Outstanding,” said Chris. “What was your name, whoever did this?”
“It’s Scribble, Big Man.”
“Okay Scribble.” You’re so easily manipulated, thought Chris.
Another cold car and two warm cars came into view. Then a man. There was a flash by the man.
“Was that a gun?” Chris said. “There’s a fire-fight going on down there.”
“Woah.”
“Heavy.”
“Turn round and go back,” Chris said after the helicopter had passed away formthe vicinity of the mausoleum.
“No way, Big Man.”
“Yes way, Snake,” said Chris. “Something important’s going down down there.”
“So, what you wanna go back back and take a look look?”
“A bit lower if you can manage,” said Chris.
“It’s gonna be hot.”
“We’re hotter, right Scribble?”
“We are the hottest. We’re packin’ heat big time.”
“Make it so, Snake,” said Chris. “Low and slow.”
Their banter’s not so hard, he thought.
The helicopter swooped back across towards the mausoleum.
Chris saw another vehicle arriving. Then there were some figures he could only see by their body heat. Ninjas? Other figures were clustered around the vehicles, firing weapons he could not hear but could see as green-white flashes. Then he saw a different shaped flash and heard a spang inside the helicopter.
“We’re hit,” said Snake. “We’re going down. I’ll get us clear of the combat area. Hang on to your seats people this ain’t gonna be no textbook landing.”
“You mean it is going to be a textbook landing,” said Scribble.
“Can’t we stay up?” said Chris.
“The crate’s radar-proof, not bullet-proof,” said Snake. “We’re hit again we crash.”
“Okay, take it down,” said Chris.
“Get ready to say hello to Mother Earth,” said Snake. “You in the hold, lock and load, oh yeah.”
“Hey, I baggsied lock and load in the hangar, man.”
“Too bad you didn’t say it when it needed to be said.”
“I was about to, you ran it into that lame-o Mother Earth stuff.”
“Shut up,” screamed Chris. “Deactivate this visor, Scribble.”
“Sure,” said Scribble. “I can do that. In a second. Hang on … no, that’s not it.”
“What are you playing at, Scribble,” said Chris. “I just saw a horse and carriage going past.”
“Copy on the horse and, Big Man,” said Snake. “I saw it too.”
Chris was thrown forwards, then to the right, then just thrown.
“We’re down,” said Snake. “Please remember to take all your personal belongings with you. Thank you for flying Air Geek. See you again real soon.”
“I can’t get the helmet off with the visor down, Scribble,” said Chris. “Right now all I can see is a randy-looking beetle, with eyes about as big as my head.”
“It must be crawling towards the external camera, Big Man,” said Scribble. “I’m having a negative clear on the visor.”
“Okay,” said Chris. “I’ll just break it off.”
“No-no-no-no-no. Don’t do that I’ll find a way.”
Like a puppet on a string, thought Chris. The geeks are my favourite faction so far.
“I had to kill him because he took the keys and wasn’t going to let you in,” said Emily. “You’d have died out there.”
“He’s middle-aged,” said Linda. “You could have just taken the keys from him, couldn’t you?”
“Oh, e‑mail it to the hand at Emily dot com, okay Linda?” said Emily. “Hey where are you going?”
The embroiderer woman had stopped rocking, although she continued to moan, and was shuffling to the wall.
“You might kill me too,” she said. “And there are things that must be done, that are not yet begun.”
“Hold on there, bald eagle.” Emily hurried over to the woman.
“Don’t do anything to antagonise her.” Linda had hurried over too. “Just tell us what it is you’re doing first.”
“Getting the crown,” said the woman. “It’ll be for whichever of you survives.”
“Whichever of us two?” Linda waggled her finger between pointing at Emily and at herself.
“Whichever of you four,” said the woman, now stationary. “Although it doesn’t look like either of the boys will make it in time so it’ll be one of you that’s crowned.”
“They have this whole queen bee selection thing going on,” Emily whispered. “Sidebar, the good-cop-bad-cop shtick is working. Keep it up.”
“How about good-cop-deranged-evil cop?” said Linda.
“Same as,” said Emily.
The woman grabbed a statuette’s shield and leaned back. Sand started to pour from behind the shield.
“The crown will appear soon,” she said.
“Rrrr,” growled Emily. “Tell us another secret or I’ll bite your legs off.”
“You could kill her with your aikido,” said the woman. “Then you’d be queen.”
Chris gathered the geeks around him.
“Okay boys, nobody get themselves killed here, okay? We’ve got to get inside the mausoleum somehow because that’s where the alarm went off. Now remember, there are old soldiers and there are bold soldiers, but there are no old bold soldiers.”
“Gotcha Big Man,” said Snake. “Gas masks on?”
“Mask up,” said Chris. “Heads down.”
The geeks followed Chris as he crouched down by a fence.
“One at a time,” said Chris, “follow me. Walk this way.”
Staying in his crouch, Chris moved along the fence.
“One little elephant.” He took a pace.
“Two little elephant.” He took another.
Galloping hoof beats started quiet but built to a crescendo very quickly.
A carriage drawn by two horses ploughed through the fence in front of Chris. Chunks of wood fell about his feet. A small piece hit him on the head. He drew his taser, and found himself pointing it at the receding back of the carriage.
“Taser won’t work on that, dude,” said Snake.
The throbbing of mighty rotors filled the air. Chris looked up. A patch of stars vanished from view behind something immense and fast-moving.
“Or that,” said Scribble.
“Is that our Chinook?” Chris stood up.
“Good call, cap’,” said Snake.
“Okay guys,” said Chris. “Let’s get bold. Follow me.”
He sprinted off, running in between the tracks left by the carriage.
Soon Chris had reached the top of a gentle ridge. Looking down he could see, and hear, a battle in progress.
The Chinook hovered to his right, tendrils hanging from its belly swaying with the weight of Cheyenne braves descending to join the fray. Two army trucks were parked to his left. Lines of young men in khaki stabbed out from the trucks. Every few seconds some of the young men would stop and fire, under orders Chris could hear only as barks.
In the centre of it all stood the mausoleum of Castle Howard. A thick round tower with a domed top and a hefty square base. It seemed impassive to Chris. The still centre around which hurricane winds blew.
And racing straight towards the tower was the horse and carriage.
Out-of-breath geeks caught up with Chris.
“Steady on, Big Man,” gasped Snake. “We’re not used to this.”
“I can tell.”
The carriage turned hard, went up on two wheels for a moment and then stopped, on four. Chris saw a round black object with a fizzing top being hurled from the window. From the fizzing flame, Chris could see that it had landed by a wooden door in the base of the tower.
“Let’s go.” Chris sprinted again. “That’s going to blow the door open.”
With a bang and a big puff of smoke the bomb did its work. Through the white cloud Chris could make out a man, jumping out of the carriage and running to where the door had been. Chris pumped his legs faster.
A chorus of whooping started up on his right. The Cheyenne have realised that the door’s open, he thought.
A bark that he could discern as “Charge” sounded on his left. Whoever those guys are have realised too, he thought.
“Unless you want to be the meat in a faction sandwich, run like the wind,” Chris shouted.
He took a quick look over his shoulder and saw that only two geeks could keep up his pace. He fixed his eyes on the doorway and kept running. He had seen a few figures dodge through by the time he reached the mausoleum.
Inside Chris found lights, no cameras, but plenty of action. There were some familiar faces in the ruck. Junko was there, trying to wrestle a rifle from one of the young men in khaki. Emily was there, being restrained by Linda. Lord Odo of Tartarus was there in the thick, stabbing his dagger into a Cheyenne.
“Odo, you scum,” Chris shouted.
“Eh?” Odo turned. “Ah, ‘tis but a man lump. I have other fish to fry. Backstabbing, traitorous fish, madam.”
Odo had fought his way next to a woman. It’s her from the train, Chris thought.
“No, Lord Odo,” said the woman. “We only wanted to kidnap Emily to bring her here to be crowned.”
“Crowned?” said Odo. “If anybody’s to be crowned it’ll be me.”
“It … could be,” said the woman. “If you survive all other bee candidates.”
“B candidates? I am an A candidate. Anyway … that’s for the Hellfire barge,” Odo stabbed the woman. “Scuttled by ninjas.”
The woman gasped. Her knees folded and she sank to the floor.
“No Odo.” Chris started to push his way across the fray.
“And that’s for Lord Quint,” Odo stabbed his dagger down into the woman’s neck. “My comrade. Killed by the Order of Saint Thorlac.”
“But …” The woman’s chin lifted, then her body pitched forwards and toppled into the shallow pit in the centre of the mausoleum.
“You’re a dead man, Odo.” Chris knocked a staggering khaki figure out of his way.
“Like repeating yourself, don’t you?” said Odo. “You said I was dead before, remember? When I doused that candle to protect your clothes. How is the throat these days?”
Chris raised his taser.
“You know what this is?” he said. “You’re too far to stab me. It’s over.”
“Not quite, Shotokan,” said a voice. “Pull that trigger and you’ll die in agony.”
Chris turned his head a fraction. Counting Horse stood, bow and arrow at the ready. The arrow was pointed straight at his eye so that the shaft appeared foreshortened. The arrowhead was coated in a viscous white liquid, a drop had formed at the tip.
“Arrow by Cheyenne,” said Counting Horse. “Poison by Cactus Fancier. Agony by guarantee.”
“A dead man, eh?” Odo took a step.
“Out of stabbing range eh?” Odo took another step.
“Neither the one nor indeed the other.”
“Zap him!” A naked man crashed into Counting Horse.
The poison arrow whizzed over Chris as Counting Horse was knocked to the ground by his attacker.
He tried to squeeze the trigger on the taser but Odo’s dagger was too fast. Not taking time for a proper lunge, Chris found that Odo had merely swiped and knocked the taser from his hand.
“Checkmate.” Odo thrust his blade.
Chris twisted and tried to block. He saw the knife following its trajectory, centimetre by centimetre, saw his torso shift degree by degree, saw his forearm intercept the blade. The blade cut into the edge of his forearm, not the top part that had taken Swiss-Hand Pete’s blade. The scar from that strike frowned whitely at his poor technique this time. The blade took the last two centimetres of its trajectory in his gut.
Movement returned to its normal rate for Chris. In a heartbeat he had tried to step away from Odo, had tripped and landed on his back, winded.
Linda saw the naked man land on Counting Horse.
“Robert?” She let Emily go, barely aware that she was doing so.
In the time it took her to dash across the room, Counting Horse had thrown off Robert, and drawn his knife.
The Cheyenne caught Robert by the hair, which Linda noticed had been allowed to grow, and lifted. He raised his dagger. He’s going to scalp him, thought Linda. Poor Robert.
Linda reached the knife hand as it began its descent. She did not block the blow but steered it. Counting Horse’s eyes flashed open wide as he buried his own knife in his stomach. Linda gave the blade a jerk and felt it cutting. The feeling of death, Sensei had told her about the theory once. It was as if she had cut the link from soul to body.
Blood cascaded across the brave’s hip. Linda let his body fall.
“Thanks Linda,” said Robert.
“Why are you naked?”
“I’m not naked. Look, I’ve got these eight feathers tied on me.”
“What happened to the rest of your clothes?”
“This is it,” he said. “Actually I’m kind of overdressed, bearing in mind I’m a sex slave.”
The moment Emily felt Linda’s grip loosen she charged Odo. Before he kills me, she thought. And before he kills Chris.
She saw Chris tumble. Odo kicked at Chris’s legs. Emily saw that his bruised face was twisted with evil laughter. She could not hear him laugh above the general mayhem in the mausoleum, but she knew it would have been an evil sound.
“You want evil,” she shouted. “You’ll get it.”
Emily launched herself at Odo. She got her arms around his shoulders before he shrugged and sent her flying. She landed, slid, then rolled into the pit. Where did all this sand come from, she wondered.
“Evil but puny,” he spat. “You think your weeks of evil thought stacks against the weight of my evil years? Foolish, wench.”
“Try the weight o’ me cutlass, bilge rat.”
Chris lay on the floor helpless. It had happened to him once in karate sparring. A perfect side-kick had caught him dead on the solar plexus. The air had been pumped from his lungs and he had felt as if he was suffocating.
He felt Odo’s kicks but was panicking from his inability to breathe.
Odo stood over him talking, dagger raised. Chris knew he had nothing, not even the energy to roll over.
Emily gave him a second chance, which then evaporated. Chris felt he could nearly raise himself on one elbow. The floor was slippery from his blood but still, he was close.
Close would not be good enough. Odo raised his dagger and spoke again. What he said Chris had no idea.
But he heard “Try the weight o’ me cutlass, bilge rat,” clear as the salt tang on the morning tide.
Madam Patch slashed across Odo’s chest, spinning the Lord of Tartarus around.
“Nothin’ comes ‘twixt a pirate an’ ‘er puddin’.” Patch raised a pistol and fired.
Chris looked at Odo, fallen against the wall. Eyes, mouth, open and bleeding.
He looked up at Patch.
“How are ye m’ puddin’?” She knelt down and unwound her bandana.
“Hurt,” Chris managed to say.
“Nuthin’ Cap’n Patch can’t make better, shipmate.”
She pressed the bandana hard onto Chris’s wound.
“That’ll staunch it quick as a speed fish on a summer’s day,” she said. “Just one more thing needin’ to make it better.”
Patch bent over Chris and kissed him on the lips.
“You … saved me,” said Chris. “How did you get here?”
“Stowed away on the Cheyenne’s Chinook so I did,” she said. “I’d thought o’ revenge but they turned to thoughts o’ love when I saw me puddin’ in distress.”
“I … I’m not your pudding,” Chris said.
“Right enough,” said Patch. “Then I can be your puddin’.”
“Stop fighting,” Emil screamed.
She stood on tiptoes in the pit. In her hands she held a shiny metal zero.
Everybody in the mausoleum stopped. All faction members turned to face her.
“Kneel before Queen Emily Evil.”
Emily held the metal 0 in front of her face and looked through it at the kneeling ninjas, Thorlacites and Cheyenne. She gave them a slow twirl, rotating on the sand that hand run into the pit, and from which she had plucked the zero.
Having completed a full circle she turned the zero in her hands and placed it on her head, like a crown.
After Emily had been carried shoulder-high from the mausoleum the others gathered.
Dawn dared to look over the horizon.
Linda waved goodbye to Junk, Hiroshi, Davy and Karen.
“Letting them go?” said Robert.
“In there, I realised that I love my friends more,” she said. “It was my friends I was defending.”
Patch was fiddling with Chris’s dressing when they both heard a whirring noise approaching.
An all-terrain motorised wheelchair burned across the grass. It came through the smashed fence and power-slid to a halt just a few metres away from them. It was controlled by the chin of a man with arms and legs like the flippers of a seal.
“El Foca?” said Chris.
“Si,” said the man in the wheelchair. “You must be Chris.”
“Yes. So I’m finally going to find out about my father?”
“It’s a sad story,” said El Foca. “Your mother died giving birth. Your father was not thought fit to raise a child on his own so he relinquished his fatherhood, legally.”
“Why was he not fit?”
“Attitudes to the disabled were very different in those days.”
“Disabled?”
“Having one or more limbs like the flippers of a seal,” said El Foca. “That’s disabled, no?”
“So he was like you,” said Chris. “And in the phocomeliac faction like you?”
“Exactly like me,” said El Foca. “I am your father.”
The End
