Clovenhoof 02 Pigeonwings

by Heide Goody

  "Right," she said with some determination. "Round two."

  Jayne nodded in emphatic agreement.

  "The manhunt is on."

  They scanned the bar’s patrons. There was a good mixture of age ranges, Nerys noted. It had perhaps been a mistake to go for younger men first off.

  "Some handsome fellers," she said.

  "Smartly dressed," Jayne agreed.

  "I do like a man who takes pride in his appearance."

  "Oh, I’m more of a rough and ready type. Although I wouldn’t say no to a man with a few muscles."

  "A few of them in here."

  "Mmmm." Jayne sipped her margarita. "And the women here have really gone to town with their outfits."

  "Very elegant," said Nerys.

  "And tall."

  "Aren’t they just?" Nerys looked closer. "And with surprisingly large hands…"

  Jayne was silent for a while.

  "Nerys?" she said, in a quiet voice, as though she was trying not to spook the local wildlife.

  "Yes?" said Nerys equally quietly.

  "Did that bouncer think we were transsexual men?"

  "I think he did."

  "What do we do?"

  "I don’t know."

  ~ooOOOoo~

  Michael peered over Ben’s shoulder at the flow of graph data on the tablet screen.

  "I didn’t expect to see such positive results in such a short time span," he said.

  "I’m sure there’s an explanation," said Ben. "I can’t believe that last bus was three minutes late because it was a Capricorn."

  "I wonder if the results would be confirmed further if we considered the numerological significance of it being a number 66A bus."

  "Next you’re going to suggest we read its palm by studying its tyre treads."

  "Ooh, good idea," said Michael. "Whatever the case, the confluence of patterns still indicates that we will reach a critical juncture just before midnight."

  "One hour and twenty minutes," noted Ben.

  ~ooOOOoo~

  Nerys came staggering up to the bar and lunged for the cocktail Jane had ordered her. They had worked through the two for one cocktail list and were now on pina coladas.

  "That’s five for me," gasped Nerys.

  "Five?" said Jayne.

  "I just danced with Honey over there." She waved a hand in the general direction of the dance floor. "He works in recruitment too. We have a lot in common."

  "Dress size for one thing," said Jayne squinting.

  "What’s your score then?" said Nerys.

  "Seven."

  "Seven?"

  "I just met up with…" She closed her eyes to remember. "Donna and Lotta. Two at once."

  "You slut."

  "I know!" she laughed.

  "There you are!" chorused a pair of voices.

  Jayne spun round on her stool.

  "Donna, Lotta, this is Nerys."

  Nerys accepted an air kiss from Donna and waved at Lotta.

  "I like your shoes," she said to Donna.

  "Thank you," gushed Donna. "Loving the boobs," she added, giving Nerys’s breasts an admiring squeeze.

  "Are we dancing or what?" said Lotta.

  "Dancing!" said Nerys.

  "You do know," said Jayne, "that if we drink every cocktail on the menu, we get free Carmen Miranda hats?"

  "Brilliant!" said Nerys with the kind of enthusiasm that only the drunk or truly happy could muster.

  ~ooOOOoo~

  Clovenhoof stepped out of the Karma Lounge and loosened his belt.

  A burning hot curry was a triple pleasure, particularly if the chef could be convinced to add a few more chillies to the Tindaloo. It was food and food was always good but, on top of that, the spicy heat was a faint and nostalgic reminder of the Old Place. It was true that no amount of curry could transform his stomach into a Lake of Fire but it was enough to bring a tear of remembrance to his eye. The third pleasure would come at some point the following day when he would be feeling the heat in a completely separate part of his anatomy and he would transform his toilet into a Pit of Unholy Stench.

  Absently whistling the tune Ring of Fire, Clovenhoof consulted his watch and headed off down the high street. However, his journey and his Johnny Cash rendition were interrupted by sounds from an alley between two shops.

  "You’ve got to make it bigger," said a small voice.

  "I don’t think wolves eat pepperoni," said a second.

  The voices were somewhat familiar and Clovenhoof stepped into the alley.

  Three small boys with what appeared to be spears in their hands were squabbling over a large rope snare they had laid on the ground.

  "Spartacus Wilson, is that you?" he said.

  "Move along, mate, or I’ll be forced to stick you one," said Spartacus, waving his bamboo cane spear.

  "It’s Kaa," said Jefri.

  "You know," said Clovenhoof. "I don’t think you’re going to catch a wolf in Boldmere."

  "Not with pepperoni," said Kenzie with the tone of the wearily righteous.

  "I’m all for juvenile delinquency," said Clovenhoof, "but don’t you have beds to be in right now?"

  "It’s not a school night," said Spartacus.

  "It’s nearly midnight."

  "Wolf catching time. There should be a full moon."

  "You want to catch a werewolf?"

  Spartacus punched Kenzie in the arm.

  "You see! Mr Kaa thinks we can catch a werewolf."

  "Hey," said Jefri. "Are you going to show us that dead body or what?"

  "What?"

  "You said you would. Cub leaders aren’t allowed to lie."

  "I didn’t say I would."

  Spartacus angled his wickedly sharp bamboo at Clovenhoof.

  "My pointy friend says you will."

  ~ooOOOoo~

  Nerys, on an upward crest in the rolling seas of her drunkenness, peered out of the bus window.

  "I think we’re in Erdington. Nearly there."

  She adjusted her huge fruit-laden hat.

  "We’ve had a lot of fun tonight," she said.

  "We have!" said Jayne. "That was the most magical night ever."

  "And the girls were so lovely."

  "They were!"

  They sat in silence for time, during which Nerys mostly thought about not throwing up. There was a strange haze over her right eye and, for a time, she feared she had finally made herself blind with alcohol. She then realised that one of her false eyelashes had come lose. She pulled it off and, for want of a better place to put it, stuck it on her cheek.

  Jayne, without preamble or warning, burst into tears. It was perhaps a good thing that the upper deck of the 66A bus was empty or else she might have startled the passengers.

  "Oh love!" said Nerys, patting her sister’s back. "What is it?"

  Jayne blubbed something lengthy and incoherent. She waved at her back.

  "My bra’s killing me," she said.

  "Is that all?" said Nerys and slipped her hands under Jayne’s dress to unhook the bra.

  Jayne shook her head.

  "I don’t want to leave Birmingham."

  "Who’s making you leave?" said Nerys.

  "I’m going to have to go home eventually, aren’t I?"

  Nerys shrugged.

  Jayne sniffed and wiped her eyes and nose with her fingertips, spreading smeary clumps of glittery make up all over her face.

  "I’m a fool. Do you know what I thought?"

  "What?"

  "I thought I’d meet a man tonight and that’d be it."

  "It?"

  "He’d sweep me off my feet, or I’d sweep him off his, and we’d be together. And he would be my excuse to leave home."

  "You don’t need a man to leave home."

  "It’d help," sniffed Jayne.

  "There are lots of men out there."

  "Really?"

  "I’m sure," said Nerys doubtfully.

  "I just want one."

  "You’ll find one."<
br />
  "Says who?"

  Jayne shook her head again, dislodging a bunch of grapes from her hat so that they dangled over her forehead like unsightly growths.

  "I’m going to find a man tonight."

  "Tonight is over."

  "The first man I see when I get off this bus," said Jayne emphatically.

  Nerys looked at Jayne’s smeared make-up and collapsing hat.

  "If the first man you meet turns out to be Jeremy Clovenhoof I am not coming to the wedding," she said.

  ~ooOOOoo~

  Every time Clovenhoof slowed, one of the cubs jabbed him in the back with a spear.

  "Ow. That hurts."

  "The sooner you show us a body the sooner we stop," said Jefri.

  "Do you treat all your cub leaders like this?"

  "That’s why Akela Angela had to take a holiday."

  They were halfway down the high street, a five minute walk from Buford’s Funeral Directors. Clovenhoof had no idea what the savage little cubs expected him to do once they got there. The place was locked up for the night and he didn’t have any keys.

  "You’re going to get in a lot of trouble for this," he told them.

  "Shut up and keep walking," said Spartacus.

  "I could take those spears off you right now," he said, which was a lie because he had already tried and failed.

  Kenzie poked him in the bum to remind him of that fact.

  "Ow. I should put you over my knee," he growled.

  "That’s child abuse."

  "We’ll tell the police that you tried to touch us."

  He sighed heavily and turned round to face them.

  "Listen, lads. You don’t want to see a dead body. They’re a grisly mess of flesh and bones."

  "Cool," said Jefri.

  "Most people can’t bear to look at them."

  "Not us though," said Kenzie, although there was an edge of false bravado in his voice.

  "Some of them are an absolute state. You know, the car crash victims, the freak accidents. Some of them we have to stitch back together, bit by bit, like Frankenstein’s monster."

  "Bring it on," said Jefri.

  "And they say some of the dead come to life in the middle of the night, to feast on the living. Fancy a bit of that, do you?"

  "They don’t, do they?" said Jefri, a little nervously.

  "Look, mate," said Spartacus, "I’ve seen The Human Centipede. There’s nothing you can show me that’ll frighten me."

  "Oh, I think we’ll have a few surprises lined up for you in the Old Place then," muttered Clovenhoof and continued unhappily down the high street.

  "What’s this?" called Ben’s voice from ahead.

  Clovenhoof looked up. They were nearing the second hand bookshop and the pathetic bus-watching camp. Of course, thought Clovenhoof, these two would be able to reason with the young hooligans.

  He saw that Ben’s comments weren’t directed at him but in the opposite direction, towards an oncoming bus. Clovenhoof looked at his watch. Nearly midnight.

  "Right," he said, pressing onward. "See pathetic bus experiment. Point and laugh. Get rid of cubs. Bed."

  "This is definitely it," said Michael, eyes on the computer tablet data.

  "What are they doing?" said Kenzie.

  "Perv alert," Spartacus warned his friends.

  They followed closely behind Clovenhoof as the 66A bus drew up to the bus stop.

  "It’s a Sagittarius bus, just as predicted," said Ben and then saw Clovenhoof and his unwanted entourage. "Hello, boys. Out a little late, aren’t we?"

  "Shut it, Baghera," said Spartacus. "Kaa is taking us to see a dead body."

  "Is he now?" said Michael.

  "He says the dead come to life at night," said Jefri, almost pleading with someone, anyone, to tell him it wasn’t true.

  "I don’t want anyone to eat me," said Kenzie and then jumped as the bus doors hissed open.

  Two tall shambling figures lurched from the bus. The foremost one looked like the Joker, that was if the Joker had just head-butted a bowl of fruit.

  "There’s one," it slurred and lurched at Ben. It wrapped its arms around him, its red-smeared mouth open wide.

  "Zombies!" screamed Jefri as the creature (which was wearing an overly revealing pink dress) thrust its lips against Ben’s.

  There was a clatter of bamboo spears falling to the ground and a cry of "Don’t eat me!" from the rapidly departing Kenzie.

  Michael caught the tablet computer as it fell from Ben’s hands.

  The second shambler, which Clovenhoof hesitantly recognised as Nerys, gave him a penetrating and drunken stare.

  "What are you lot doing here?"

  "Incredible data," said Michael, staring at the tablet screen, "but what does it mean?"

  Ben grunted in a bid to come up for air but Jayne had a snogging death-grip on him.

  "Right," said Nerys to Clovenhoof, "do I look a man in drag?"

  Clovenhoof’s gave her an appraising look.

  "Most men in drag look better than that," he said, "even the ones with beards."

  Abbot Ambrose picked up Barry the peacock and positioned him in his lap, thus signifying that the meeting had begun.

  Novice Stephen kept minutes, writing the date and underlining it with a little ruler. Barry’s ball-bearing eyes watched every movement of his hands. Stephen knew that all animals were part of God’s glorious creation but Stephen reckoned there was more than a soupçon of the devil’s handiwork in that particular bird.

  "I have inspected the damaged masonry in the corridor between the dormitory and the almonry," said the abbot. "The temporary repairs are holding but proper reconstruction must begin soon."

  Stephen noted down the abbot’s words verbatim, only added silently in his own head that the temporary repairs were not only shoddy but also downright dangerous. Half a dozen battens of two-by-four currently supported several tonnes of stonework in that section of the monastery. Most of the battens had bowed like bananas under the weight and there was still a gaping hole in the wall that let in the bitter winds and occasional peacock. The two dozen brothers who slept in the dormitory avoided the corridor whenever they could and, when they couldn’t, they dashed through it as though their very lives were under threat.

  "Your assessment, Brother Sebastian?" said the abbot.

  The procurator, who Stephen was given to understand had come to the monastic life after a career as something big, important and possibly immoral in the world of finance, drew his chair closer to the table and cleared his throat.

  "A brick and mortar repair would run to thousands of pounds," he said. "To replace the damaged stonework like-for-like would involve the employment of specialist craftsmen and cost tens of thousands of pounds. Our budget pays for general upkeep and for our sustenance. We do not have access to the kind of funds required. In short, we need to make some money, and quickly."

  "A cake sale?" suggested Brother Manfred. "Or a jumble sale? People always enjoy looking through the bric and the brac."

  "Tens of thousands of pounds," repeated Sebastian pointedly.

  "Perhaps you have some better ideas?" said Manfred.

  "Indeed I do." He reached down to his side and brought up a presentation board and placed it on the table while he stood up to do his pitch to the other monks. The presentation board had an image of a food tin on it.

  "Bardsey Pilchards?" read Novice Stephen.

  Brother Sebastian nodded.

  "You will recall that we were able to net some sardines in the rowboat last year."

  "I recall getting soaked and chased about the boat by a very angry lobster," muttered Stephen.

  "Your trivial travails are not relevant here, Novice Trevor," said the abbot.

  "Novice Stephen, Father Abbot," Stephen meekly corrected him.

  "What did I say?"

  "Trevor."

  "And you are?"

  "Stephen."

  "I’m sure I said Stephen."

  "If I may interject
," said Brother Manfred, "I also recall our pilchard harvest well. If memory serves me as it should, our entire catch provided only enough to do a round of pilchards on toast for every brother at St Cadfan’s."

  "And what delicious pilchards they were," agreed Sebastian enthusiastically.

  "But that same catch would fill maybe eight tins, maybe nine. How much money would nine tins of pilchards bring in?"

  "Ah," said Sebastian, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Here’s the clever bit. I was reminded of the example of holy water."

  "Holy water?" said the abbot.

  "It is a well-established principle that if I were to add a drop of holy water to a barrel of unsanctified water it would become a barrel of holy water."

  "Yes?"

  "Now I happen to know a Portuguese trawlerman who can deliver pilchards in bulk to the island. Surely, if we take our own Bardsey pilchards and add them to his haul then all of the pilchards have become ‘Bardsey’ pilchards."

  The assembled monks thought on this for a while. Although, what exactly the prior was thinking about was anyone’s guess.

  "I think there are philosophical and theological flaws in your argument," said the abbot.

  "Not to mention moral and legal ones," added Manfred not unkindly.

  "Fair enough," said Sebastian, who seemed at very much at home with both immoral business concepts and having them shot down by the more scrupulous. "Idea two. Clothes. We already make our own habits. Brother Manfred has a loom. We go into business selling designer clothing items."

  "Brother Manfred," cut in the refectorian, "is already busy enough, thank you very much. I am not a complainer but I am not only the cook, the tailor and the maker of fine embroidery but Father Abbot has also given me the job of making the restorative repairs to the tapestries."

  "I am not doubting the vital work you already do," said Sebastian, "but surely you could train up some of the brothers to-"

  "No, brother. I am deep to the knees in the restoration of a much faded and moth-munched tapestries of St Veracius and St Seneca and I simply cannot find the right shade of white for the clouds."

  "Er, surely there’s only one shade of white," said Novice Stephen. "It’s white, isn’t it?"

  "You see?" said Manfred in a slightly strangled voice. "How can I make a clothier out of men who spout such nonsense?"