by P. G. Burns
Chamuel sighed at Reuben’s attempt at innocence. “Reuben, we are not human simpletons that you can manipulate with your bullshit. You need evidence and it needs to be solid.”
“It is. I can prove that I was nowhere near Benjamin during that period of time and I have a witness.”
Both Amitiel and Chamuel laughed. “We have not told you where he was when he died, so you cannot possibly say that you were nowhere near,” said Amitiel. “We have questioned all the remaining Djinn so we know none of them are your witness and we do not accept human witnesses. So please, can you stop wasting time here? As you said, the theatre opens soon.”
A bell rang from downstairs.
“Ah, that will be my witness,” Reuben said and exited the office to answer the door.
Chamuel and Amitiel exchanged concerned looks. They waited patiently as they heard muffled talking coming up the stairs.
“My dear Watchers, may I present my witness.”
From behind him Solfrid, the first of the Djinn, entered. Chamuel and Amitiel were stunned.
“Hello,” she said. “I am sorry to cause you to waste time but if you had informed me of your action against Reuben I would have told you he was at a pogue with me. I was with him acting as his visor. He was in a meditation chamber during the period in question and for the following six weeks. Unless you are mistaken about the dates, I’m afraid you have made a terrible mistake.”
Chamuel’s head reddened. He felt the human emotion of embarrassment and the even stronger one of contempt, as he noticed Reuben’s wry smile in his direction. Solfrid was the very first of the Djinn to cross into the physical plane – she was highly regarded by all, as the humans might revere a queen. Not only that but she was the original architect of the game and basically invented the rules. The Arc Hon might have been invited in as referees but she was the one with the final say. Chamuel stood and walked to the window, trying to control his anger, knowing the charge would have to be dropped. He stared outside at the street below noting how peaceful it all was down there: people enjoying the sunny day, street performers entertaining the crowds, a small tramp selling his painted postcards to a young family, while a tall man waited with a rose in his hand looking anxious. A well-dressed gentleman sat at the corner of the fountain and took out his lunch. Two police men patrolled the streets and seemed to be about to move the postcard-selling tramp on. Amitiel could no longer bear the long, embarrassing silence.
“Well, in that case I think our work here is done,” she said out loud, hoping to re-engage Chamuel. He turned suddenly as if he had just had an epiphany and his face lit up.
“Although we have not met before, Reuben, I have followed your progress with great interest. Your methods are ruthless but, I must admit, effective.”
Unable to see past Chamuel’s skin colour Reuben dismissed the praise and opened the door to let them out.
“I also believe you claim that you could do anything the others could or, if I’m correct, you could do better.” Reuben closed the door again.
Chamuel readied himself, as if he had just had a tug on his line and he did not want this one to get away. “You may have heard of the wager that the Arc Hon Raphael had with Zeb?”
Solfrid narrowed her eyes but this time Reuben was unable to hide his interest.
“Yes,” said Reuben. “Raphael waged that if Zeb allowed him to pick his next protégé and found success with said person he would allow him access to the Almanac, which, may I add, has given him an unfair advantage over the rest of us.”
“Well, it would have, but he was one of the unfortunates that was murdered.”
Reuben shook his head sadly. “What is the world coming to?”
“Strangely enough he was also the only one tortured, as if the murderer was after information.”
“Tsk. Well, surely that is further proof it was not me. I would have tortured all of them.”
“Mmm, so back to the wager.” Chamuel smiled without humour. “I propose a similar challenge with you. I will pick you a new protégé and if you can rise with the nominee as your protégé and, let’s say, get your Prussian empire back on track before the middle of the century, then I will give you access to the Almanac.”
Amitiel gave a little gasp of surprise but Chamuel was happy with his proposition. He couldn’t help but think that Reuben had already got hold of all the information contained in the Almanac (how else was he doing so well?) but he could never admit to this. And if he refused the challenge he would look weak in front of the others, another thing he could never admit to. No right-minded Djinn in the game would refuse an opportunity to look at the Almanac but for Reuben, it would surely only slow down his carefully laid-out plans.
“Well, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” Reuben’s irritated tone betrayed his real feelings; he knew he had been tricked and must take the wager.
“Come on, then,” said Reuben, coming over to the window. “Which of the simpletons will I nurture for greatness?”
Chamuel stared out the window once more. He saw the man holding the rose still waiting. Perhaps he had been stood up. Well, his fortune was about to change, not necessarily for the better, but it was going to change.
“There, over by the park. That man standing alone.”
“Where? There is no man alone?”
Chamuel looked back and saw the expectant girl had arrived, a bubbly, gay young thing. He considered confirming the target when the young tramp came into view with his dog in tow.
“That one there. The guy carrying the paintings with the little dog.”
Reuben’s face betrayed his loathing. The man was not only a small, insignificant-looking reprobate but his jet-black hair left Reuben suspecting he could be Arab, or worse, a Jew!
“He will be your next and only assignment, only via him can you compete. Agreed?”
Both Amitiel and Solfrid looked to see the pathetic wretch whom Chamuel had allotted to Reuben. Reuben was still straining to hide his disdain. “As you wish,” he said through gritted teeth.
Amitiel smiled at Chamuel, Solfrid looked bemused.
“Now, we don’t want to keep you, I’m sure you need to get the theatre open and of course you may want to feed your new protégé.”
As Amitiel and Chamuel left she commented, “That was cruel but funny. You think it will slow him down?”
They walked to the park and were surprised to see the young tramp had set up pitch only a few metres from where he had been moved on from. Chamuel felt a pang of guilt and thought to himself that the guy had balls so he went up to him and gave him ten times the value of the postcard for a painting of what looked like a local building. He was a bit taken aback when he received no thanks but was, in fact, ignored. The tramp, however, did walk up to Amitiel and handed her a picture of the theatre. “This is for you. Keep it, I will be a famous artist one day, more famous than Mozart or Beethoven.”
She looked at the picture then glanced at his signature:
Adolf Hitler.
2146 AD
Raphael’s derelict house, thirty seconds after the Protection Squadron officers are slaughtered by their own captain
“We must hurry,” shouts the captain. “Freya pig-face will be back soon.”
Adam and Ember remain frozen in fear and shock. Adam struggles once again to get to his feet. Ember snaps out of her trance enough to help him. He smiles at her groggily.
“Let’s just get out of here, yeah?” he says, distress still clear on his face.
Ember just nods, too scared her words will tremble if she speaks. They follow as the captain runs up an old metal staircase and leads them through a labyrinth of corridors. “Where are we going?” Adam asks as Ember helps him hobble along.
“Out of here. I will explain when we get to the Jeep.”
“No!” Ember declares. “I am not going anywhere with you! Who are you? What has just happened?” Ember is close to hysterics; her head feels like it’s about to explode. What is going on, is this
some crazy reality prank show she has stumbled into? Are there hidden cameras? No, she has brain splatter on her clothes and there are dead bodies and blood everywhere. She needs answers before she goes anywhere.
“Why did you just kill all those men? You are one of them, you were about to rape me!” Ember’s eyes narrow as the fear and anger rise again.
The captain stops to turn and look at Adam who looks both terrified and confused at the same time. He asks, “Do you not recognise me, my young grasshopper?”
Adam’s jaw drops. Grasshopper was Raphael’s nickname for him, a name he says originated from the greatest TV series ever made. Adam never asked what this meant but liked the reference to an extinct insect.
“How do you know what Raphael called me?” Not waiting for an answer he leaps at the captain whom he has just witnessed aid in the killing of his mentor and friend, and then who for some reason saved both him and Ember from the Protection Squadron. “You killed him, you shit!” Adam surprises himself as he rains blows down on the man, screaming out loud, “You even stole his jacket, you bastard!”
Raphael laughs, the groggy punches having little effect on him.
“It’s great to know you care so much, grasshopper, but I am not dead. I just body swapped.”
The man restrains Adam then addresses both the youngsters. “If I explain everything to you both, then by the time I am finished we won’t have time to get away. Ember, you can see it’s me, I know you can.”
She nods slowly as she watches the smoky snake dance around his head. Adam opens his mouth to ask her how but a loud scream startles him. All of them recognise Freya Mortensson’s voice.
“Whoa? Already? We’d better go.” Raphael pushes a side door open. “Quick, this way.”
More scared of Freya than this guy, Ember and Adam glance at each other with a resigned look before following him down a set of rickety stairs and out into a courtyard. Ember vaults up an eight-foot wall then reaches down to help pull Adam up, the recent adrenaline surge pushing the remains of the toxin through his system faster. Raphael looks down at the fat belly he has just inherited and with a groan runs at the wall and manages to grab the top before scrambling up.
The Protection Squadron officers can be heard crashing into the yard. The three fugitives leap to the other side and sprint down a narrow alley. Two shots are fired then one guard shouts, “The captain is with them, hold your fire, radio for the dogs.”
Adam recognises their location when he spots the jeep. They have come out the back of the building and circled around to the front. Raphael leaps into the driver’s seat, Ember and Adam jump in the back. Dogs can be heard gaining on them as Raphael attempts to turn the key.
“We won’t get away in this old thing,” Ember shouts.
“I told you, don’t dis the Raff-mobile!” replies Raphael, as the motor turns and the car’s wheels spin away from the attack hounds.
A police Volkswagen S690 with a top speed of 230mph and armed with CSV net technology, two hyper modules and an ultrasound drum, approaches at high speed and is soon hanging on the tail of the jeep. A Superfly Aircopter dives from the sky and hovers above them and up ahead two more VW S690s block the road.
“Pull over or we will be forced to fire upon you,” the amplified voice yells to them.
“We can’t escape, pull over,” Ember advises Raphael. Adam looks at her like she is bat-shit crazy but every instinct in her body is screaming out for them to follow instructions, to get back to the safety of her father and the world of comfort and luxury that she knows so well. She never knew she would yearn for conformity quite so much.
Instead Raphael says, “Hold on tight!” as he floors the accelerator and points the surprisingly rapid old banger at the blockade ahead. Ember screams and Adam freezes as they see their lives flash before them. They both have a feeling that this is only the beginning and that their comfortable childhoods are definitely coming to an end.
The car hurtles towards the road block and the four PS officers standing behind the cars scurry away, realising the inevitable collision. Raphael has a manic look on his face as he focuses on the task of hitting the red switch at the very same time that the jeep hits the two VWs.
“Hold on and don’t die!” he cries out.
The observing officers witness a massive explosion on impact. The Aircopter is thrown around by a disproportionately powerful aftershock, the pilot struggling to regain control. Freya Mortensson’s vehicle pulls up next to the smoking carnage. She exits the VW and walks as close to the scene as possible. Heat slows her progress as she tries to ascertain the damage. Clearly all occupants of the old car will be dead. Freya is sad that her captain is dead, sad because she will not be able to torture him while seeking an explanation of why, after years of loyal service, he turned on his own to protect enemies of the state. She is glad she broke protocol and played the disc though and has seen some idiot boy from the twenty-first-century singing some song that just repeats the word ‘baby’ instead of the message from the Antihost, Shane Mills, otherwise she would not have returned and seen the prisoners escaping with her captain.
Freya frowns as the smoke clears. Her expression changes to one of utter confusion as she sees only the two VWs smashed up. She looks around frantically.
“Where the hell are they?”
“Are we dead?” asks Adam, as he looks at the bright white light surrounding the three of them.
The jeep seems to be melting away and they are being carried by pure light over Jinn City. He feels disembodied, as if he is dreaming. He knows that Ember is next to him but cannot see her. He also knows that Raphael is with them. He hears Ember ask, “What is happening?” A whirling prism of colour veils the scene below, then stillness. Everything freezes. Adam feels calm as he imagines he is stuck in a still-life photo, then, for a few seconds, they gently drift.
Suddenly the sensation of dropping seizes him and as if woken from a deep slumber, fear takes over. A building is hurtling towards him. They will surely smash into the rapidly nearing ground! He hears a clunking sound and can see the components of the car reassemble around him, only this time it is an electric-blue 1950s-style Chevy. He looks down at his hands. They are half formed with tiny shards of light emanating from them. He sees both Ember and Raphael in their seats but they are made up of colours still swirling, gradually becoming solid and then another shift sees them all regain full physical presence. A shooting pain slices across his back and Ember’s screams of agony confirm they are awake and thankfully alive. The car is now complete around them, and, as if it had just driven down a bumpy steep ramp, it throws the passengers about before landing fully formed on a long stretch of road.
“Holy fucking moly! That was awesome!” cries out Raphael.
Adam holds on to the side door, breathing erratically and experiencing his first panic attack. He feels as if there is no oxygen. As if he is emerging from beneath the sea, his lungs fill several deep breaths and he frantically looks around for Ember. She too is gasping for air, unable to speak. He looks at Raphael who seems more interested in checking his car’s metamorphosis
“You gotta love a Chevy.”
Eventually Raphael looks around and checks his passengers are also okay. Both sit staring at him with their mouths open. Shock has taken over. Raphael slowly drives into a side street then gets out, opening the back doors.
“Hurry, we need to move,” he tells them. “Be careful though, you’ve just passed through a vortex wormhole and your bodies will need time to realign.”
Dazed, both teenagers follow his instructions without question as they struggle to gather their thoughts and find they can barely walk.
“Bambi on ice,” remarks Raphael as he takes Ember’s arm to prevent her from collapsing. “Take deep breaths and close your eyes. It’ll all be fine in a few minutes.”
As promised, Ember feels her faculties return and Adam looks steady.
The two follow Raphael down a side s
treet and into a dingy-looking bar. Adam suspects that they are in the Oriental sector of the city, but can’t fathom how they got here; this part of the city is at least an hour away from the road block. They continue past the bar area and out the back through the kitchens, the staff appearing unconcerned. A door at the back of the kitchen leads them into a candlelit room. Both the youngsters are instantly aware of unfamiliar but pleasant odours.
A very fat, tattoo-covered man who is of East Asian descent sits smoking from a large multi-stemmed glass pipe. Several differently coloured plumes of smoke pour from its many ports and each seems to carry its own essence, creating a strangely calming environment. He looks up casually as the door opens and nods towards Raphael. The room has the appearance of a small Buddhist temple and there is a bench attached to the wall. The large man points to the seat and indicates for his new guests to sit.
“Hello, Raphael. I was not expecting you.”
“Hello, Baal,” responds Raphael. “We need your help.”
As the two men become locked in muted conversation, Ember and Adam look at each other, trying to think of what to say, where to start.
“Are you okay?” asks Adam foolishly.
She stares at him, wide-eyed for a moment. “Am I okay?”
Adam instantly regrets asking and is about to backtrack before Ember cuts him off.
“Let me think.” She is animated, channelling all her fear and exhaustion into her tirade of abuse at Adam. “I don’t even know if I’m alive or dead! I have no idea what the hell has just happened. I was planning on completing an assignment for school, not becoming part of some weird messed-up cult or whatever the hell is going on here. So in answer to your question, am I okay? No, I am far from okay. I may never be okay again! I have been beaten, nearly raped and murdered, chased by the law and crashed head on into a blockade at full speed.” Ember taps her hands around her body. “I seem to be none the worse for wear physically but my mind is reeling. We’re sat here with your mate, Raphael, who has possessed that captain’s body and is now in a conference with Buddha…”