by Adam Carter
“Death,” Magistrate Bane reiterated.
“Any chance of appeal?” Darkthorne asked hopefully.
“Nun.”
“We can join a convent?” Kiel asked.
“Yu cun tuck the muck ut uf my voice ull yu like, mudum,” Constable Mane said, rising and falling on his toes again just for effect, “but it still doesn’t change thu fuct thut yu’ve been sentunced.”
“Death.”
“We sort of heard that the first couple of times, thanks,” Darkthorne said. “Look, Constable, maybe we could broker a deal here.”
“Attempting to bribe un officer of the law, punishable by mure severe penalties.”
“How’s that going to work?” Darkthorne asked. “We’ve already been sentenced to death.”
“Death,” Magistrate Bane said. “By disembowelment.”
“Five hundred,” Darkthorne said to Constable Mane.
“Death by disembowelment,” Bane said flatly, “following five hundred lashes with a flail.”
“A thousand,” Darkthorne said.
“A thousand lashes.”
“Two thousand.”
“Two thousand lashes.”
“Three thou ...”
Tarne clamped a hand over his mouth. “Constable, there must be some way we might be able to get out of this rather unfortunate mess.”
Constable Mane considered that. “Bribery is bribery, whutever form it takes. Und yu’re not my type, mudum.”
“Well I never. I wasn’t suggesting we ...”
“Six thousand lashes,” Magistrate Bane said.
“Here,” Sparky said, pulling a potato from his pocket. “We’ll give you this.”
Tarne could imagine being told she was to receive ten thousand lashes. “Uh, Sparky, I really think we shouldn’t ...”
“I don’t see that we have much choice,” Sparky said. “Constable, this is the most versatile vegetable you’ll ever lay eyes upon. You can fry it, bake it, boil it, skin it, cut it into slices, turn it into crisps, salt it, replant it and even put little eyes on it and turn it into a person.”
Constable Mane eyed the potato, then took hold of it. “Vegetable, sur?”
“A potato,” Sparky affirmed.
“Putato.”
“Close enuff.”
The constable glanced to the magistrate, and the magistrate raised an eyebrow. “Case dismissed,” he said, and turned around.
“Very gud, sur,” Constable Mane said, rising one final time on his toes, dropping, and then swinging about to depart also.
Tarne could not have been more relieved. “Well done, Sparky. Whatever possessed you to do something quite like that?”
“I just put my hand in my pocket and it was the first thing that came out,” he admitted.
“Well, well done anyway,” Darkthorne said, slapping him on the back. “Now let’s get to this contact of yours and get going.”
They moved off through the port, and Kiel trailed them with a frown creasing her forehead. “Why did he have a potato in his pocket?”
It did not take them long to locate the contact with whom Tarne had established a communication: a shifty eyed man who would not give his name. He handed her a sealed envelope. “You’ll be paid upon delivery of the cargo,” he told her, glancing nervously from side to side and drawing a great deal of suspicion. “This envelope contains all the information you’ll need in order to complete the assignment.”
“We haven’t even negotiated a price yet,” Kiel said as the shifty eyed man turned to leave. “Hey, come back here.”
“And where is this cargo right now?” Darkthorne called after him. “How are we supposed to know where it is if you run off like that?”
“Cargo’s already been loaded.”
“Don’t you think shouting across to each other might attract undue atten ... he’s gone. How’d ya like that?”
“Weird man,” Sparky said. “Come on, let’s make tracks.”
“He said the cargo was already on board the Princess,” Darkthorne said. “If his goons have been rummaging around my vessel, Heather, I’m going to hold you responsible.”
“I have one word for you, Jagrad, all lower case and ending with the number one.”
Darkthorne shifted his gaze. “Uhm, let’s just get back to the Princess, shall we?”
They returned to the vessel and found nothing amiss from the outside. Moving inside, they checked the cargo hold, although there was no sign of any crates of fish. Darkthorne scratched his head. “Perhaps they loaded the wrong ship.”
“Let’s carry out a detailed check of the other vessels in the area,” Tarne said.
“I have a better idea,” Kiel suggested, “let’s just get out of here.”
“I second that,” Darkthorne said. “And it is my vessel.”
Tarne sighed. She had handed control of the Princess back over to Darkthorne once they had landed, as per her promise, and now it seemed as though their entire journey to Fish City had been a waste of time. She was loath to leave without finding some work, but was forced to admit they could accomplish no more upon Bastelle in the limited time they had available, which was none.
“Fine, let’s go,” she said. “Fat lot of good Bastelle did us.”
“We got the Princess fixed and that’s the main thing,” Darkthorne said, setting the computer to deal with the pre-flight checks before settling back into his command chair. “Question now is where we head for.”
“As far away from here as possible,” Dixie the pixie suggested.
“As far away from you as possible,” Tarne commented.
“Beg pardon?” Darkthorne asked.
“Nothing. I don’t suppose it’s worth following the instructions written in that envelope we were given, is it?”
“Probably not,” Kiel said. “What’s it say?”
Tarne opened the envelope and scanned it. “It mentions the planet Joyeuse.”
“Sounds like a merry place,” Darkthorne said. “Let’s head that way and see what work we can turn up.”
“But why,” Kiel asked, “if we don’t have any fish in the hold?”
“Because people who will trade for fish may well be willing to trade for something else instead.”
“Or in other words,” Kiel said, “you want to pretend to have the fish in our cargo hold so that you can con these people out of their money.”
“Cats, not people,” Darkthorne reminded her. “And we’re smugglers, which means the goods we transport are illegal anyway. What are they going to do when they realise they’ve been had? Turn us over to the authorities?”
“No, they’ll likely come after us with guns,” Kiel said. “Large, noisy, messy guns.”
“I think I might just leave the two of you to your arguing,” Tarne said. “I’m going to go grab a bite to eat before I turn in for the night. It’s going to take us a while to get to this planet of joy, and I’m not functioning well without any sleep.”
“Have some food for me, Heather,” Darkthorne said, and Tarne hoped he was joking. “And don’t forget that I need food with a low sugar content,” he called after her. “If I end up hyper, Heather, I’m going to hold you accountable.”
“What a moron,” Dixie said, floating beside Tarne’s head as the two of them moved away from the control room. When he did not receive a reply, he buzzed his tiny faerie wings frantically and said, “Aw, come on, Heather, that’s something we can at least agree on.”
“Listen, Dixie, I’m tired and I’m hungry, and I really don’t think I can stomach talking to you right now. Go and ... do whatever it is that you do on this vessel. What is it that you do on this vessel, anyway?”
“I annoy you.”
“I meant other than that.”
Dixie shrugged. “Is there anything else to live for?”
“Well, go and annoy me someplace else.” Tarne stormed off, entering the kitchen area and slamming the door behind her. She leaned her back against the door and half-expected to see
the cherubic, punchable face of Dixie the pixie sitting at the table, although only silence and stillness dwelt within the kitchen. Weary and hungry, Tarne fixed herself a sandwich, taking a particular vendetta against all fish and shoving a generous portion of tuna between the slices of bread before sitting down to eat. She had taken but two bites when she saw a shadow flitter across her field of vision and realised there was someone else in the room. Obviously it was Dixie, so she chose to ignore it. She saw a repetition of the shadow and again opted to ignore it.
Then something fell over a bin and Tarne was on her feet in an instant, spinning about in rage. “Dixie, why don’t you just ...” But it was not Dixie. She had never seen the creature which was now sprawled across the floor, indeed she could hardly even recognise its species. It was smaller than she, although was clearly bipedal. Its face was pale, its fingers webbed, and its mouth opened and closed in wide, large gasps.
Suddenly, Tarne felt ill at ease eating that tuna sandwich of hers.
*
“But the cargo hold was empty,” Kiel said once Tarne had gathered the crew in the main living area. The creature was there also, sitting and looking downcast. Darkthorne was pacing up and down the room, not saying much of anything, while Kiel looked as though she wanted to fillet their guest. Sparky thought the whole thing was ‘way cooler than Fonzie’ and Tarne was seeing only the opportunity to make some money out of the situation.
“We don’t store everything in the actual hold, Sara,” Tarne said. “We’re smugglers, right? So we have places where no one would think to ever look for smuggled goods. It helps for when we get boarded.”
“So this contact of yours back on Bastelle hid this creature in one of these tight spots?” Kiel asked dubiously.
“Looks like,” Tarne said.
“When you said we’d be hauling fish,” Darkthorne said, “I did assume you meant dead and crated up.” The fish creature still looked sullen, and Darkthorne sighed heavily. “So what do we do about it?”
“We could complete the assignment, perhaps?” Tarne suggested. “Hey, we could even make some money. That’s what smuggling’s all about, right?”
“I don’t smuggle people,” Darkthorne said.
“Does this look like people to you?” Tarne asked. “It’s a fish, Jagrad. You’d smuggle fish, wouldn’t you?”
“No,” Darkthorne said. “That’s what I was telling you before. Fish smell, Heather. I don’t want smelly fish on my ship.”
“I have an idea what we could do with it,” Kiel said, “but it would involve needing two very large slices of bread and several tubs of butter.”
“You’re so funny, Sara,” Tarne said.
“Fillet a fish, fillet a fish, give me ...”
“Hold on a minute,” Sparky cut in. “Aren’t we close to Joyeuse anyway? Just a day or so away, right? What possible harm could there be in transporting this thing to its destination? As Heather says, we stand to make money out of this, guys.”
“Maybe we should ask it for its opinion,” Darkthorne said.
“Do you usually ask your goods for their opinions?” Kiel asked.
“Well I’m sure it doesn’t want to be placed between two slices of bread and eaten,” Tarne said.
“Actually,” the fish said, “I am a she, not an it, and to be honest I’m thinking that perhaps it would be best were I to be eaten, rather than risk landing upon Joyeuse.”
“Good god, it talks,” Darkthorne said, jumping back a pace needlessly.
“Why have you sat there in silence if you can talk?” Tarne asked.
“Because it’s been watching and learning from us,” Kiel said.
“Don’t be so overdramatic all the time, Sara,” Tarne said.
“Because I have been watching and learning from you,” the fish creature said. “My name is Fiona by the way.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Darkthorne said. “Hang about, no I’m not.”
“You also smell worse than I do, but do you see me complaining?”
“Why does the whole galaxy conspire to hurl insults at me? Look, just tell me what you’re doing on my vessel and then we’ll decide what we’ll be doing with you.”
“I rather thought we were being taken to a place of refuge, although it appears we were lied to,” Fiona said. “Joyeuse shall mean death for us, not sanctuary. Take us there and you’ll be taking us to our demise.”
“Why is it talking in the plural?” Kiel asked, suddenly very afraid.
“How many are on my ship?” Darkthorne demanded.
“Forty-seven in all,” Fiona said. Then, to Darkthorne’s shocked expression, “There were many places to hide.”
“Even I didn’t realise we had that much space,” Tarne said. “Who are you people?”
“Well there’s my brother, whose name is Sebastian by the way. Then there’s my uncle, whose name is Philip by the way, and my second cousin twice removed, whose name is Daniel by the way, and his sister who is named Cuthbert ...”
“By the way,” Darkthorne guessed.
“That is our family name, yes. Bytheway.”
“Why do you have a female second cousin twice removed by the name of Cuthbert?” Kiel asked with frown.
“Long story. Best not go into it.”
“Why is Joyeuse death for you?” Tarne asked.
“Because they would kill us.”
“Yeah, I gathered that, but who? Why?”
“Our enemies. Because they are our enemies.”
“But who are they?”
“The ... I do not know your name for them. The people in funny hats who carry those short little sticks?”
“Traffic wardens?” Sparky guessed.
“Magicians?” Darkthorne asked.
“The police,” Kiel muttered.
“Yes, that is it,” Fiona said.
“What, magicians?” Darkthorne asked. “You’re running from David Blaine? Just nut him, everyone else wants to.”
“No, the police,” Fiona said. “We are, I’m not sure of your word ... we are, uhm ...”
“Mass murderers?” Sparky suggested.
“Psychotics?” Tarne asked.
“Insane?” Dixie added.
“Sadists?” Kiel said.
“Getting off my boat right now,” Darkthorne said emphatically.
“Yes,” Fiona said excitedly, then her face fell, “all except for the last one, that is.”
There was silence amongst the group for several moments, then Darkthorne said, “Is anyone else having a problem with Heather’s choice in job assignment?”
“I think maybe we shouldn’t let her choose what jobs we take,” Kiel agreed. “Come on, let’s round up these guys and find that nice planet of cats you were talking about, Captain.”
“The one in Argyll?” Darkthorne asked. “In the West End of London?”
“Yeah that one,” Kiel said, then added. “You sure that wasn’t just people in costumes?”
“I don’t care if they were cats dressed as cats,” Darkthorne said. “Right now I just want these things off my boat.”
“Do we get to do an airlock shove?” Sparky asked excitedly.
“Yes,” Darkthorne said; then, “No,” when warning klaxons sounded throughout the room.
“What’s that?” Fiona asked.
“Either we’re about to hit a very large moon,” Tarne said, “or we’re being pulled over by the police.”
“Hide,” Darkthorne said to Fiona. “And try to mask your smell; you stink, whether you think you do or not.”
“It’s no use, Jagrad,” Kiel said, “we’re just going to have to surrender this time.”
Darkthorne sighed. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“Well at least there’s some good news for me and Sara,” Tarne said.
“And what’s that?” Kiel barked.
“At least we won’t have to see Jagrad Darkthorne for ten to twenty.”
“Yeah,” Kiel said, brightening somewhat. “Now that is a
silver lining if ever I did hear one.”
And then they crashed into that very large moon Tarne had mentioned only a few moments earlier.
THE END
PRESENT CHAPTER
“Right,” Darkthorne said, taking the cards and shuffling them, “standard Hold ‘Em, closed game with £200 each player, blinds at £10 and £5, big and small respectively. Order of play is me, Heather, Sara, then Sparky, dealership starts with me. Anything forgotten?”
“Yeah,” Tarne said, “we need to make sure we keep the noise down. My landlord hears us gambling and he’ll call the cops.”
Kiel took a slow sip of her heavily iced Evian. “Gambling’s not illegal, Heather.”
“Maybe not, but it’s blasphemous in his eyes. Heck, his name is Mr Gruff, I mean how happy can a guy like that possibly be?”
“Point taken; no noise, guys,” Darkthorne said. “Someone’s walking out of this, uh, lovely flat with six hundred extra quid in their pocket, so we can afford to be a little discreet.”
“And what’s wrong with my flat?” Tarne asked.
“Hmm? Oh, nothing. That all-intrusive interrogator’s light directly above our heads really adds to the whole ambience, actually.”
“It’s just the rest of the room that’s a squalor,” Sparky translated.
“If you’d like to go somewhere else, by all means go,” Tarne said. “Maybe back to Jagrad’s place?”
“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen,” Darkthorne said. “I got threatened with divorce last time I suggested that to Rianne.”
“But you’re not even married to her,” Kiel said.
“I know,” Darkthorne replied as he dealt the cards, “and believe me, that’s the scary part.”
Tarne glanced at her cards. Ten-four suited. “You still having problems with her then, Jagrad?”
“Can we talk about something else please? Action’s on you, Sparky.”
“Raise forty.”
“Ha, joker,” Darkthorne said, folding.
“You know he just wants the first pot,” Tarne said. “He does this every time.”
“Fine, you call him, then.”
“Not likely. Sara?”