by T Hodden
I swallowed, recognising the darkness beyond as one of the abysmal trenches, deep in the barren and cold realms of the ocean floor. The pressure doors being unlocked woke me from my pondering. I ran for the lift and Musket hammered at one of the buttons. The elevator lurched downwards at a sickening speed. It ground to a halt at the wrong floor as the power seemed to flux. The doors hissed open, half a meter too low for the nearest floor.
“Out!” I ordered the bears. “Before they trap us in here!”
Nobody liked the idea, but nobody argued. I helped the bears climb out then jumped through just before the doors rolled closed behind me. I had a nasty feeling we were being manipulated. But we did not have time to think. A squad of identical men was dashing down the corridor towards us. With a look of trepidation Musket waved for us to follow him through the airlock to a room of frosted glass. We followed him into the sterile laboratory. The bears skidded to a halt and stared. We were in a long, white, clean room, full of stainless steel benches and work stations, computers, vats of chemicals and endless rows of glass coffins laying on raised plinths. Each was filled with a sickly orange fluid, inside of which somebody stirred. Some had boys or men, at varying ages, but all the same person. Or clones of the same person. Others had Tears in, as a little girl, or a grown woman, at every point on the spectrum of human development. Their scalps shaven, their eyes open, their bodies unmoving.
“Clones.” I whispered.
Musket nodded. He pointed me towards smaller arrays on the far wall, where his own clones were growing. He gave me an apologetic look.
“So this is where Tears was born?” Ginger asked.
“Where she was programmed to be a weapon.” Ted blazed with subdued fury. “Forced to kill against her natural will? Her own mind suppressed to make room for... What? Some kind of brainwashing? To be nothing but a cog in a machine? Part of an army who obey with out question?”
Musket nodded.
“The Horizon.” I said.
He nodded again.
“We can't be here.” Wendy shouted. “Stop dawdling! We need to move!”
As though to emphasise her point the automated voice cried out again, screaming for us to be Terminated On Sight. At the far end of the long room another door hissed open. This time revealing a wide viewing gallery of hexagonal windows. Had we not been in the depths of eternal night I am sure it would have been very impressive. Musket clicked his fingers. He showed me his device then pointed at the gallery.
“There are more of those, that way?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Anybody else get the distinct feeling we are be herded towards a trap?” I asked.
The bears shared a look.
“If they wanted to kill us,” Wendy said, “why not do it in the cell?”
“And if we get caught by staying here,” Ginger said, “what difference does it make?”
“Okay.” We sped off into the gallery with one accord.
“So how were you going to get us out of here?” I asked Musket as we ran through the gallery. He pointed out of the windows to a docking arm with clusters of spherical submarines. He put a finger in his mouth to make a popping sound and mimed us shooting off over the horizon.
A few more minutes of hectic running brought us to a wide platform with lots of computer consoles and highly technical looking devices. Musket opened a storage locker and offered me a device like his. It was fully charged. He helped himself to a few more power packs. I poked at the screen until it came to life with several sets of what looked like co-ordinates.
“Shouldn't you drive?” I asked Musket. He frowned and waved for me to give him my phone. I handed it over and his thumbs flashed over the keyboard to write a text message:
“IT TOOK THREE ATTEMPTS TO FIND YOU.” He had written. “STUBBY THUMBS AND PEDANTIC TEXT.”
“Predictive text?” I asked. He blushed in response. “I see what you mean.” I agreed. “Are these the dates that the Horizon has already sent agents to?” It dawned on me that the two Faceless agents, the Musketeers, had used these devices to set in motion exactly the plan Ted had suggested. Jumping way back in the time stream to alter history.
He nodded.
“So it isn't just me they are getting rid of.” I looked at the dates. At first they made no sense, then I realised the format was unusual to me. The year in four digits, then the month, then the day, then a letter to indicate a four hour block. “Clarumcoma.” I whispered as realisation dawned on me. “They are going after Clarumcoma. That is why it so far back.”
“How old is he?” Wendy asked as I showed the bears the screen. “I mean he looks well past the level for a bus pass, but this suggests he is...” She ran out of fingers. “Really old.”
“We start at the earliest date.” I said, activating the device. “Then we visit each of these points, setting right what ever they plan to upset. Somewhere along the line I should be able to work out how to set this to take us home.”
“So we are going back in time?” Gwyn sounded impressed. “I only packed underwear for a few nights away, will we drop by a Marks And Sparks at some point?”
“And a bookmakers.” Ginger beamed. “I have a few bets I would like to make.”
“No tampering with causality!” Ted screamed. “We stop them from interfering, but, er, we best avoid stamping on butterflies or killing Rod Serling's grandfather or anything like that.”
“Oh. I have a real bad feeling about this.” Wendy whimpered. But it was too late, the Faceless clones were bursting in to the room and raising their guns at us. The computer was far too excited at the prospect of our being killed. Time was up.
So I pressed the biggest and reddest button on the device. And suddenly we were not in a secret underwater base any more...
Three: Clarumcoma mustn't die.
...We were stood in the middle of a village green. It was a brisk and bitter winter morning, so cold there were icicles dangling from the skeletal yew trees that marked one side of the green. The air was clean and crisp, and around the green were a selection of quaint old houses and buildings that probably had not changed much at all in the last few hundred years.
Much closer was a collection of villagers staring at the green. A perfect circle of grass had been turned to ash. Pretty much like the circle we too were standing in, as yet unnoticed. One by one the villagers turned to look at us, dismay on their faces as they saw the steam wisps around our ankles that had been frost a blink of an eye ago. The smouldering char where there had been frozen grass. One of them, tall, theatrical and austere looking had the devil in his eyes.
“Now see here!” He declared loudly. “I enjoy a good Twelfth Night jape as much as the next man, but by god sir if I did not already tell the last members of your fools parade that it is barely morning and I will not stand for the burning of this green! Is ash and smoke your idea of festive cheer?”
“These others who appeared from nowhere,” I said sharply, “were they about this tall, albino, dressed in strange grey clothes and carrying weapons?”
“Indeed they were sir!” The tall man declared.
“Five feet nine inches, the build of an acrobat and carrying satchels, the contents of which I could not tell you.” A toddler announced in a well practised way of speaking. Her was rather verbose for a four year old.
“And asking for the manor house?” I said.
“Asking for the location of mother.” The boy said.
“That is enough Mikey.” The man hissed. “Do you say they were armed? Not here for the festivities?”
“I am afraid not sir.” I tried to stand tall and military. I happened to notice the ring on his finger, replete with the masonic icon. “I was sent here to help a widows son.” I said carefully. “And to warn him that two ruffians,” I put an emphasis on that code word, “intend harm to his wife, and the child she carries unborn.”
“You are a mason?” The man asked, suddenly close to me and squeezing my arm as he whispered in my ear.
“It will cost us nothing to see if you are right.” The boy, Mikey said, “and if this is a joke we will have you detained at our leisure.”
“Please. Check on your wife. If I am wrong we can be punished however you see fit.” I said.
The man nodded and waved for us to follow him. He strode across the green in the direction of a modest manor house, flanked by the sturdiest of the men from the village.
“So, I take it,” Ted whispered, “that the baby due to be born soon, carried by his wife is friend Clarumcoma?”
“That is a stupid name.” Mikey snorted, he seemed rather taken by the bears and was following them, as we followed his father. “And why are you dressed strangely?”
“Government business.” Ted spluttered. “Very hush hush. And besides, Clarumcoma is not a real name. It is a pseudonym.”
“His name isn't really Sue either.” Ginger offered helpfully.
“And why do you think my young sister will have a pseudonym?” Mikey asked, trying to understand.
“He wont. Not until the future. It is a name we use, so...” Ginger scowled. “It's complicated.”
“And secret.” Wendy told him, tapping her nose.
“Oh.” Mikey folded his arms. “Well, she wont be as important as me. I am gifted. Mummy said so.”
“Oh I bet she did.” Wendy grumbled under her breath. “Right special one you are.”
“If you really want to know,” I said happily, “your brother, yes brother, will live to be over a century and a half, having let the world think he was dead, and adopting a series of humble names and menial stations to avoid the attentions of his fans.”
“And I?” Mikey asked.
“You will be a civil servant.” I said after some thought. “You know, a nice office, responsibility, always a warm seat at your favourite club.”
Mikey stared at me, deciding in that instant I was wrong.
“That is not funny.” He said at last. “So why do these men want my mother dead?”
“To prevent the birth of your brother.” I admitted.
He nodded. Satisfied that was honest at least.
“But why?” His Father looked back at me as he unlocked the door of the house. Any answer I might have offered was cut short by the sounds of gunfire and a woman screaming from the garden at the rear of the house. Nobody was in the mood for questions any more. We were too busy sprinting around the side of the ivy clad house in a desperation not to be too late.
On the far side of the house was a flat lawn with a small terrace. A tall and handsome woman, with a mess of blonde hair and angular features, nursing an obvious baby bump as she cowered behind a fountain. Beside her a maid was trying to cover her with her body. Chips of stone were exploding from the fountain as two albino assassins in tracksuits fired bursts from sub machine guns.
“Musket! Keep the boy in cover!” I shouted. Musket nodded and dragged Mikey to a doorway. I looked at the men who were ready to pounce. “Careful. Their weapons do not need reloading like the guns you will have seen, and they reload quickly. Lay low and let us draw their fire before you get the women clear.”
“What is this?” The master of the manor demanded.
“It is no joke.” I said. “I promise you that. But you must trust us.” As I spoke the bears were already darting away, keeping low behind the planters and flowerbeds as they moved with a sneaky grace. It was Gwyn who appeared behind the Facless and loudly cleared his throat.
“Hello! Would you mind if I was a distraction for a few moments?” Gwyn asked cheerfully. As the attackers turned ready to shoot him down I was already sprinting with all my might. I tried to ignore the pain in my back and the ache of my tired muscles as I grabbed a silver tray from a tea set that had been upturned in the attack and I used it to swat the pair of killers across the back of their heads, knocking them out cold. I tossed the tray aside and wiped my hands clean as the bears burst from the cover of the snow dusted flowerbeds. From somewhere, and I can not begin to imagine where, they had produced a reel of duct tape. (I am sure there was a member of the Horizon in their secret base who would be wondering why it was missing from one of the desks we passed.) They quickly hog tied the Faceless with the tape and gagged them. Ted retrieved the sub machine guns and gave them a look of distaste.
“I should destroy these.” Ted said in a sombre tone. “Who knows what damage could be caused if they fell into the wrong hands in this century? History would take completely the wrong track and I doubt it would be a journey for the better.” He dug in his pockets and found a small but powerful firework. He smiled, shoved one in the barrel of each of the guns, carried them to the fountain. He lit the fuses, dropped the guns in the fountain and ran for cover. There was a fountain of white hot sparks that blossomed with a shrill hiss, then subsided once the guns had become formless and molten slag on the bottom of the pool. The water was steaming.
“Were did you get those?” I asked. Ted looked at the floor.
“My nano-thermite!” Ginger wailed.
“Good work Theodore Edison Bear.” I said, patting his shoulder. I walked to the stricken pregnant woman, whose son and husband, as well as her maid, were all helping her into the house to a sofa in one of the reception rooms. “We should slip away before there are any awkward questions.”
“Er, this is Twelfth Night. You know, the end of Christmas, with cake and music and the king of the fools. Eighteen Fifty Four, back when Christmas was CHRISTMAS! When wishes and magic were real.” Wendy said dreamily, looking at Musket. “We could wait around a little while.”
“By midnight she is in labour and in the early hours little Mikey has a brother to look after.” I said. “And the boy who will be king is here. So to speak. Clarumcoma, Shirley. What ever name he is given.”
“So they really did go for him mother.” Ted hissed. “Even if they cut it a little fine.”
“Well,” I admitted, “there is rather little that is known about his early life. Only a few points on the chart when they know where he is so they can put a stop to him before he becomes...” My voice trailed off. “Before he becomes... Oh... Oh....”
Ted looked up at me. “What?” He asked. Then a light went on behind his eyes. “Oh! So is that how he lives that long?”
I nodded.
“Any chance you can let the rest of us in on the conversation?” Ginger asked, still mourning his illicit explosives.
“Not here.” I said. “And not now.” I set the next co-ordiantes in the device. “But soon, I promise.”
I pressed the button and there was a flash of light that enveloped us as we slipped through time and space in warped twisting of the air.
*
We emerged in a dark, dank, miserable cellar being dripped on from above. The air was rich and stagnant with all the wrong odours. The bears shivered in the small amount of light device cast on us. I nodded for them to follow me and we crept up some slippery steps and found a rough wooden door. It opened onto a tight alley between tall buildings that were lined with cobbles. Ginger blinked at the surroundings.
“Where are we?” Ginger asked.
“A bleak and terrible urban sprawl. A northern wilderness of ghost stories, crime and dread.” Gwyn answered.
“That had better not be a joke at the expense of us being in my home town, you wee little dog-berry.” Wendy snapped. “We are in Edinburgh.”
“We are indeed.” I said. “The second point where we know where Clarumcoma was. But back here, he hasn't adopted that name yet. Nor is he under the name that made him famous. He's Shirley to his friends.” I looked at the others. “But right now, sometime tonight in the city he is going to find his love. His passion that will define him. That will make him famous.”
“How famous?” Ginger asked. “And what does this have to do with somebody born in eighteen fifty four and still being alive in our day?”
“Well,” I rubbed the back of my ne
ck. “I'm still working that out. But a Vampire is somebody who can't let go to their worst feelings. Whose spirit is enough to keep them alive no matter what? Well, that is the power of one soul. One person who is determined enough. Imagine the power that is available when...” I did not have a chance to finish the sentence. Somebody had burst from another of the vaults further down the alley, emerging from one of the warren of cellars, tunnels and passages that the city was built upon. He was dressed in a respectable cut of clothes with a shock of blonde curls that were just beginning to tighten and darken into a more elegant and refined bangs. His face was angular and sharp. His eyes refined. He was grinning, riding a wave of elation that carried him on fleeter feet than the burly thugs who were chasing him.
“Clarumcoma!” Ginger squeaked.
“Shirley!” Ted called, waving. The youth turned to see who had called his name, which slowed him just enough to let one of the burly brick-outhouses land a punch that sent the boy sprawling. “Oops.” Ted said.
“Right.” I sighed. I could finish explaining once I had saved the boy. There were three thugs who had surrounded the prone boy. He was moaning and trying to find his feet. I dashed down and tried to make myself look big. They weren't impressed. Confused and wary, but unimpressed. “Go on! Get away from him!” I shouted, taking my phone from my pocket and pointing it at them. They had no idea what it was, so they assumed it was a weapon and backed off. I grabbed Clarumcoma and helped him to his feet.
“Thank you.” He said groggily. “You saved my life.”
“No, just a beating. But if you have finished retrieving the stolen diamonds I really need to talk to you.” I said.
He smiled. “Well, I would dearly like to know how you are aware of my activities.”
“Deal.” I said. “Lets get you home.” With the help of the bears I half carried and half dragged the youthful Clarumcoma Sussex back to the apartment in the richer, roomier side of town from which his life as a student was lived. Wendy took some snow from the sill of his window into her hanky so he could hold it on his bruised jaw and relieve some of the ache.