Fisher And The Bears

by T Hodden

  “I don't know.” The girl said brightly. “I...” She seemed about to give an answer but did not. She looked away quickly. “I don't remember.” She said at last.

  “Where were you from?” Clarumcoma asked gently.

  “I...” She seemed to wrestle with answering that. “I don't know that either.” She said.

  “When were you born?” Clarumcoma looked as old as the mountains as he gave her a glacial stare. His eyes were bright and clear, his angular features set to a deep frown. “Well?” He snapped, as soon as she started to um and ah and not answer.

  She just answered with a weak smile.

  “I think that what ever made me need to kill has clouded my memories.” She suggested it weakly, knowing it would not convince.

  “We only want to help you.” I said as sweetly as I could. “You seem to be in trouble.”

  “But...” She glanced down at her little silver bear. “I am safe here? You will protect me? If, er, whomever I am hiding from happens to want to, you know, kill me or something now I am free from their influence?”

  “Wait, hang on.” Ginger asked, doing something to his jumper. For some reason he was wearing a bright red towel he had pinned to it. “Your idea of safety is with the person you tried to kill? What if the brainwasher sends back another killer? Would that not mean you were sort of in the firing line?”

  The girl shrugged. “On the other hand, if I stay with you, then you can help me if I sort of get all killy killy again?”

  The bear was nodding at this.

  “What are your names.” I asked the bear. He looked nervous and mimed not talking. I slid him a pad of paper and a pen across the table. He stared at it. “Please?”

  He chewed his lip at last then wrote: Musket and Tears. Around musket he drew an arrow that pointed towards himself and beamed happily. Another arrow was drawn fro Tears towards the girl.

  “So do we get to keep them?” Ginger asked brightly.

  “They can make themselves at home until we know how we can help them.” I said. “Until they are on their feet.”

  Musket the bear did a little jig and swallowed a grape. Tears seemed happy. Clarumcoma gave me an even handed gesture. He wasn't sure, but of course being an old fashioned gentleman he had to stick to doing the right thing. I gave him a nod.

  “There is just one question you need to help me answer.” I told them, knowing that suddenly there were an awful lot of bears who were only pretending to look busy. “I need you to try your best to remember. Because you said I had to die, or everybody dies, and I don't want either of those things to happen.”

  “And how do we do that?” The girl was leaning forwards, sounding excited. The bears were straining their ears too. They were muttering ideas to one another.

  “We try to retrace your steps.” Wendy said brightly. “We know you were in France, and we know you picked up a jar of apple yummyness that is only three years out of date.” She picked up the jar and rubbed it between her paws. “I will ask the Great Ancestor Bears to guide us to where the jar came from, to the hearts and minds it touched.”

  “And I,” Tiger said in an equally pompous tone, “will ask the internet.” She whipped out her tablet computer and fluttered her thumb across the screen. “Here we go!”

  Her nose wrinkled. She looked up at me, then at Musket and Tears. A huddle of bears formed around her as she looked at the tablet.

  “Well, we know where you were several weeks ago.” Tiger said in a whisper. “Around the time that-” She stopped herself talking. She turned the tablet for me to look at. The news story was dated a few days after Doreen was taken from us. A report about mysterious power outages caused by a girl soaked in sea water who appeared to pop into existence from nowhere in a hypermarket pretty close to the dead centre of France. A girl who was described as being albino, dressed in a vest and shorts, accompanied by a bear. There was a blurred still from a CCTV camera. It seemed to show Tears, on her knees crying as confused security guards surrounded her. The next image, time stamped less than a second after the first was a white blur. The final image was another second later. Tears was gone and the guards were looking confused. The story went on to describe the ice cold chill that seemed to permeate the store as the girl popped out of reality.

  “Search for American news stories around a petrol station next please.” I said the Tiger. But she was no longer working along. The bears were splitting into small groups, huddling around their own computers. Billy and Watson were scampering away to fetch the blackboard and chalk, Annie was pinning maps to the wall, bears were furiously scribbling on sticky notes that were pinned to the wall and connected by lengths of bright red string. The printer in my office whirred to life as it started to spew out reams of pictures and pages from the internet.

  Wendy tugged on my sleeve. I looked down at her.

  “Mister King,” She said in the forced politeness she adopted when she was either very angry or very sad. “I asked the Ancestor Bears for guidance by casting my runes.” She held up her bag of bright plastic alphabet tiles.

  “And?” I asked, ruffling her hair. She threw her arms around me and blubbered into my side. “What is wrong?” I asked.

  She emptied her bag of tiles into her bobble hat, gave it a good shake and emptied it onto the table. They fell into a mess. All of them face down except, in a nice left to right ribbon, the H (for Helicopter), E (for Elephant), M (for Mouse), U (for Umbrella), S (for Star), T (for Trumpet), D (for Dinosaur) and I (for Implosion).

  “I only have one of each letter.” Wendy explained. “But I think we know where there would be another E.”

  “Did you ask who?” I said, clutching at straws.

  Wendy looked at me. She piled the tiles back into the hat, gave them another shake. She emptied them onto the tea tray. At first they were all face down, then one by one some started to flip over for a few seconds, then flip back.

  C (for Cat)

  “Oh.” Said Wendy looking at me.

  L (for Lipstick)

  A (for Antelope)

  R (for Ring)

  U (for Unicorn)

  “That can't be right! Where did the Umbrella?” Ginger said.

  M (for Minotaur)

  “Er, there is one tile for each, but not always the same tile.” Wendy said with a faint blush.

  C (for Coffee)

  “Oh.” Tears gave a giggle. “That is clever.”

  “Shh. They get an ego.” Wendy warned with a wink.

  O (for Omnipotence)

  M (for Monkey)

  A (for Apple)

  There was a loud clang as Mrs Sussex dropped her mug of tea back onto the tray. Her father gave an uncomfortable cough.

  “Dad?” Mrs Sussex asked testily.

  “Oh dear me.” Clarumcoma whispered. “This again.”

  “Again?” I asked.

  “Well, it does seem to happen every twenty years of so.” Mrs Sussex said. “And I thought it was over.”

  “Why do the Ancestor bears want you dead?” I asked quietly.

  “Why?” Wendy asked and shook her hat full of tiles. She tipped it over.

  H (for Hippo), E (for Echo), C (for Chalk), A (for Argos), H (for Hydrogen), L (for Longbow), P (for Pineapple).

  “Wait,” I said. “So you have two H's?”

  “And no N.” Wendy said. “I lost it.”

  “So, the Ancestor Bear was actually telling you that Clarumcoma mustn't die,” I emphasised the not sound, “because he can help?”

  Shake shake spill:

  Y (for Yellow), E (for Emperor), S (for Skeleton).

  “Well that is a relief,” Wendy said, putting down the hammer she had been hiding behind her back. She gave Clarumcoma a smile that was far too innocent for it's own good.

  “No!” Tears was suddenly standing up rigid. “Fisher King must die. Or Everybody dies.” She clutched her head. “Fisher King must die bore everybody dies.” She gritted her teeth as her eyes rolled back into her head. “Fisher King mu
st die before everybody dies.” Her voice had dropped an octave. “Mission priority: Fisher King must die before everybody dies. Fisher King must not be allowed to stop us. Secondary Priority: Clarumcoma must be recruited, killed or his threat contained. Lethal force and ultimate counter measures sanctioned. Asset assigned. Engage.” She blinked and hiccuped. Her voice returned to normal. Her bear, Musket had carefully placed himself between her and the other bears. She gave him a pained look. “I don't want to kill anybody.”

  “And it no longer sounds like this is a case of an either or situation. First our friend Fish, then the world.” Clarumcoma said. “Which means it is even more important, that we find out where you came from and how to stop this young lady.”

  “Nobody is going to die.” I said.

  “Well, somebody sent one 'asset',” Clarumcoma said sternly, “we can assume when she fails they will send more.”

  “Bar the window, close the door, lock it tight.” Wendy hissed. “For evil walks abroad this night.” She took her tiles and her bag. “I have much to discuss with my ancestors.”

  The rest of the bears went back to their furious research. All of them not trying to talk about anybody being under a threat of death.

  “Are you okay?” I tried to make the question encompass Clarumcoma and Tears, then widened it to include Mrs Sussex.

  “We are fine,” Mrs Sussex said earnestly. “All things considered. I will talk to Tears and make some tea. You go talk to Wendy.”

  I nodded.

  *

  I knocked on her door. Wendy did not answer. It sounded like she was busy.

  “Look. Clarumcoma must not die. But neither must Fisher.” There was shaking sound and the sound of tiles hitting the table. “No. Get this through your thick skull you useless throw rug. That was not a question. Fisher King must not die either. Am I right?” Another shake. Another spilling of the tiles. “Wrog?” She declared loudly. “How do I stop Fisher King from becoming a corpse?”

  I knocked again as there was a sound of spilling tiles. I started to open the door and caught a glimpse of Wendy hurrying to sweep the tiles back into her hat before they could be seen. I sat on her bed and gave her an encouraging smile.

  “Good news?” I asked.

  “Oh yes.” She said brightly, her mouth full of lies. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

  “Oh I always have things to worry about.” I said. “You, the bears, Sussex...” I looked at her with a smile. “Sometimes even myself. But whatever the Ancestor Bears, or Tears, or anybody else has to say I am not going to die, my friends are not going to die, and in general there is going to be a complete lack of deaths if I have anything to say about it.”

  “But unfortunately Fate seems not to care if you will listen.” She said in a bit of a wail.

  “No matter how wise your Ancestors are, and believe me I respect them,” I said squeezing her elbow, “my Fate is my own to write and it will not include anybody else being taken from us.”

  “That is what I was telling them!” She said brightly.

  “Great minds.” I said, helping her up. “So are you going to pack? The first clue we have for where Musket and Tears came from is in France.”

  “I thought this was a no bears kind of situation.” She whimpered bravely.

  “And that is exactly what I intend to tell the others, but when does that ever work?” I asked.

  She tried her best to grin.

  *

  The bears chose who would come with me by themselves. While I packed Tiger booked some tickets for the cross channel train and by the time I was ready to go out to the van a huddle of excited bears were waiting for me, armed with passports, packed lunches, overnight bags and tickets. They were tapping their feet impatiently as I loaded the van. Tears ran up to me and grabbed my hand. Her fingers were cold and her eyes were wide.

  “Be careful.” She mumbled the words. “I will be worrying.”

  “You don't have to. I'm just going to ask some questions and see if I can work out a little of where you came from.” I glanced at the bears who were staying behind and Mrs Sussex. “You will be safe here. I promise.”

  She nodded. A second later Wendy came running from the house with her own ticket and passport. She hopped about excitedly. Musket was watching her from inside the door, trying not to look like he was watching her. The Scottish bear turned and blew him a kiss anyway. He glowered at her, but almost smiled.

  With the last of my ursine retinue aboard I hopped into the driving seat and off. We drove to the international station, shuffled through the passport queue and security before making our way on to the train.

  “And what do on trains?” I asked brightly.

  Ginger mumbled his reply.

  “Pardon?” I asked, craning my head.

  “We stay in the train and don't touch anything.” He said a little louder.

  “Good.” I said and gave him his juice box.

  “Spoilsport.” He growled when he thought I wasn't looking. That earned him a look of contempt from Ted who glared over the top of his horn rim glasses before going back to his weighty illustrated edition of the Brief History Of Quantum Theory. He licked a finger and turned a page.

  “The Ginger Flame can remain under a bushel for just a little while.” I said.

  Ginger shook his head, which brought into his view the big red emergency call buttons by each door. He craned out of his seat, reaching out with one paw as though hypnotised by the button.

  “Ginger.” I said firmly. “The button counts as 'something' in terms of being touched.”

  “But it's so big! So red!” He spoke in the awed tone religious man might use to describe an icon or relic that sung to his heart. “I must...”

  “There is a thousand pound fine.” I told him. That froze his paw. It slowly retracted and he placed both paws on the table. Outside the countryside sped past, becoming the darkness of a tunnel, then emerging as foreign fields. Ginger was oblivious to the beauty. He kept looking at the red button. He wrestled with himself resisting the temptation then at last let out a war cry as he tried to push the button.

  “The Ginger Flame will- Aargh!” His declaration was cut short as a handful of bears rugby tackled him and dragged him away from the button. His fingers gouged tracks in the floor of the train as he tried to fight his way to the button. He finally let go when, as though waking from a dream, he became aware of how many disturbed passengers were looking at him, disapprovingly.

  In Paris we had a quick hop across town to make on the underground Metro before we could catch the connecting train. By some small miracle we made it across the city with the same number of bears. We hustled onto the connecting train and as we rode on I tapped at my phone. Tiger had uncovered some more small details on her research that might help.

  It was difficult to concentrate. I had the unnerving feeling that there was something I had been seeing from the corner of my eye that did not fit. Something I should have been more aware of. There was an alarm bell ringing and I could not quite work out why. The more I tried to think about it the more my mind tried to refuse. Yet I could not feel the tickle of magic.

  “Why is he blurry?” One of the bears, Shauna, asked, her nose pressed against the window. The rest of the bears whipped their heads around and we got a glimpse of somebody watching from one of the stations that flashed by. A tall pale man whose bald head seemed out of focus. He watched the train from the platform, ignored by the crowd.

  I felt like I had seen him before. Somewhere. Yet... Yet I could not picture him anywhere in my day. As he was lost in the distance, I could not remember how tall, broad or what his build was. I could not picture his clothes.

  Something felt very wrong. I was now sure part of my brain was on the look out for people I could not quite focus on. Who I could not look at directly. The bears were far ahead of me. When we reached the budget hotel in the centre of the town that would be our base for the night the bears divided into watches, having decided I would not
be alone, or unwatched at any time. It was endearing but I could not help but feel I was meant to be the one looking out for them.

  *

  The next day I told the bears I wanted to go to the hypermarket alone. Which meant that when I got out of the musk laden taxi to the sun baked parking lot only Ginger, Wendy, Theodore Edison and Gwyn had followed me. As we made the short walk to the entrance I stopped to look back at the tall volcanic mountains that loomed heavily on the horizon. It was a good job I did, as that was all that gave me the few seconds of warning I had to leap aside and drag the bears away from the moped that was bouncing in our direction. The engine whined like a hair dryer having a tantrum and the small horn beeped at us as the driver, a youth in a helmet, cargo shorts, and not much else to protect him from the summer, swore at me colourfully as he drove into the lobby of the store, ignoring the security guards.

  “Idiot on a moped.” I shouted, earning a gesture that did not require much translation.

  “That is not a moped.” Gwyn told me sternly. “That my friend is Vespa LX One Two Five. The L and X being shorthand for luxury. That is the inner city steed of choice for messengers and light delivery duties, as any professional would tell you. One hundred and twenty five cubic centimetres of power in a light and-”

  “Driven by an idiot?” I said.

  “Oh yes.” Gwyn agreed. “He is clearly driving in a shop where people are.” He watched the lad in disgust as they parked by one of the displays and started talking at length to the girl there. I nodded for the bears to follow me and we entered the store. The display that the idiot had parked by, and was enamoured by almost as much as the girl he was flirting with, was a smart looking car on a ramp, shining bright red under spotlights. It was a nice little sporty number. Ginger looked at it and drooled as he imagined bombing around an abandoned airfield, with the top down and the wind in his fur.

  “Somebody find me a crash helmet and cape. I need that car!” He whispered.

  “Oh yes.” Gwyn clearly approved. “Now that is not just a car. That is-”

  “Come on!” I snapped to break them out of their fascination. “Let's go.”

  We found the head of security in a small office in the private part of the store. He blinked a few times as we showed him pictures of Musket and Tears. His English was better than my French and between us we managed a conversation in which he told me everything he knew of the day that Musket and Tears had appeared from nowhere. He explained how they had seemed dazed, confused and heavily dehydrated. How they smelt of sea water and left trails of brine behind them. He explained how she had scanned her tattoo on the bar code machine, and the effects it seemed to have on anything electrical in the store.