Eve

by Timothy Pearsall

  “Sorry I didn't have time to say goodbye!” He smiled at her and nodded. The other figure was a man equally as tall as Mr Underhill but only half his stature; he walked beside him holding his left shoulder as if it hurt.

  “Von Vohberg.” Eve hissed his name. Cairo turned to her mother, smiling,

  “Is he a friend of yours mother? He looks like a very nice gentleman.” Cairo asked as they sped away.

  In the kitchen Richard introduced Susan to the twins,

  “I'd like you to meet my wife, Susan.” They jumped as if they’d been bitten,

  “WIFE!” The girls exclaimed, their faces horror-struck. They turned and glared at her, their faces full of venom. Then continued, voices incredulous,

  “You’re-”

  “Married-?!”

  “To each other?!” There was a heavy silence punctured eventually by the sound of a cork being popped.

  “I definitely need a drink…” Anjelica poured herself a full glass of cool white wine, “…anybody care to join me?” There were no takers. The twins, in their uncanny way, looked at each other, then fixed their faces in an identical vacant expression. They took a step forward towards Susan, everyone’s guard went up, and then they curtsied,

  “Very pleased to meet you.” They said. Then spun around and left the room chatting to each other,

  “I never thought to ask him, did you?”

  “No, of course not. It never occurred to me.”

  “He might have said something though!”

  “Yes I quite agree-”

  “Leading us on like that-”

  “Should be ashamed!”

  Richard let out a sigh of relief when they had gone, Susan eyed him suspiciously, her woman’s intuition working overtime. Then they were all startled when the door flew open, Fidelma marching in with a face like thunder,

  “Well this is a fine how do you do! All four of youse standing there chewing the fat while poor Mr Franco’s left lying there dead as a gutted rabbit in a pool of his own blood! For goodness sake!”

  At that moment Mr Underhill appeared in the other doorway, Kelvin's corpse still over his shoulder. Fidelma fair went in to one,

  “Holy mother of God! Another one!” She roared. Everyone stared as she continued her rant,

  “Well at least he's no loss!…” She waved her hand dismissively at Kelvin, “…No use to man nor beast, that one! Not like poor Mr Franco, Such a gentleman…” She wrung her hands, “…We shall have to give him a decent burial…” she turned and barked at Mr Underhill, “...Outside wit you and yor filthy cargo!…” she was close to spitting, “…I don't want that foul mess in my kitchen…” she put her palms together, “…Oh sacred mother, whatever are we going to do?” She finally ran out of steam and took a swig from the wine bottle. To everyone's surprise, Anjelica stepped up to take control of the situation, with wine glass in hand,

  “Mis-ter Underhill!…” She got his attention, “…Take him...” She wrinkled her nose as she pointed at Kelvin, “…down to the Sty. The pigs can have him like the others. Then come back here with your shovel, Oh, and on the way back, look for a nice spot in the garden to bury Mr Franco.” She paused to finish off her glass of wine, Mr Underhill nodded gravely and left.

  “And as for you lot…” She pointed towards the door, “…you had all better bugger off! We don't want the police around here any more than you do I'd guess! So now that the Mistress is gone, and Sir Clive's, erm, no longer with us, I'm going to be in charge. After all, I'm the one who signs for all the bloody housekeeping round here.”

  Upstairs, the twins bumped into Mai, she looked scared and her eyes were puffy from crying. They comforted her as best they could,

  “What is it my dear?”

  “Man trouble?”

  “Come with us…” They each took an arm, “…We're going to try on some dresses. “…black ones obviously.”

  Richard and Susan, Tsuba and Walther fled outside, they were all lost for words. Tsuba spoke up first,

  “I think our little adventure is over, for the time being.” Susan looked unhappy,

  “Well, maybe as you say, for the time being. But that bitch is still on the loose!...” Susan had a plan of revenge in mind and it didn’t necessarily include Tsuba or Walther, “...okay Richard. Let's go home” She held his arm. Everyone looked a little uncomfortable. So Tsuba sang:

  “Fare thee well for I must leave thee

  Do not let the parting grieve thee

  And remember that the best of friends must part.” Then he bounded away at a run towards the trees.

  Walther spoke next,

  “Yes, I think it is time perhaps to lick our wounds…” he looked apologetic, embarrassed even, “…I should never have...” he felt a huge amount of guilt and shame for allowing Richard and Susan to become involved, “…I will take you on the boat back to London. You need to find again your lives. You know where to find me when, if, you wish to.”

  They nodded, turned and watched Tsuba until he was out of sight. Richard felt a pang of loss, he had become fond of the infuriating little man, “It's not like we could have exchanged addresses” he thought, wondering where Tsuba would be heading next, “There's so much he didn't say, so much more between him and Eve than he didn't reveal” he turned back to face Susan and Walther. She was gently massaging his painful shoulder,

  “We should head back to the boat, you can lie down for a while.” She said. Walther nodded and the three of them turned away from the house, each lost in their own thoughts about what they should do next.

  “It doesn't end here, I'm pretty sure of that.”

  “I never should have let them, but if I had been alone-”

  “You may have escaped this time, but I am going to get you sooner or later, and I'm going to cut your fucking head off you bitch.”

  *

  Tsuba. Lines of life, pain, drawn down his face, ran away from the house, “So close.” He thought, and he remembered the years of pursuit, and of hope, and of anger, and of love. Yes he remembered that emotion. That fucking deceitful treacherous blissful status of living that drove men to madness.

  It was late afternoon by the time he had found his way back to the bus. Francesca greeted him,

  “Got rid o' him at last?” Tsuba nodded, still lost in thought. He was tired and hungry, she had made no fire so he headed off to forage. Dusk had settled by the time he had prepared some food for them both. She ate noisily between swigging down even more grog than usual. Later he helped her on to the bus where she fell to snoring immediately. Tsuba returned to his fire, his only true companion. He foraged for enough wood to last the night and prepared to sleep beneath the stars.

  Tsuba looked into the fire and far far away. Thousands of miles and seventeen years into the past,

  “You were carrying my child.” visions swam in and out of focus, how they had walked out of Cambodia in 1975, defeated but in love. The years on the road, taking what they needed on the way. War had taught him to kill. She had taught him to cry.

  *

  Northern Italy - AD70

  The gladiatrix sipped watered wine while her client snored gently beside her. Her wounds had healed during her stay at the whorehouse, cleaning to pay for her bed. After a time the keeper of the house expected her to join the rest of the whores in entertaining the many paying clients. She stood before him naked,

  “A fine figure of a woman you are…” He squeezed the solid bicep of her sword arm, “...too many muscles for some…” He stroked her smooth skin, marvelling at the many scars, “…but I know a few who’ll enjoy a bit of rough treatment…” He slapped her naked rump hard, she didn’t move, “...don’t be too gentle wi’ them ha!…” His laughter turned hollow as he gazed into her pitiless green eyes, he turned away, “...no danger of that I’ll wager.”

  She’d quickly become a sought-after dominatrix, instinctively able to inflict the required amounts of exquisite pain on her willing victims.

  She’d heard many
and varied tales from her besotted clients; most of which she barely lent an ear. But there was one she found most interesting, a rumour had spread that Boudicca was still alive and hiding amongst the outlaw Celtic tribes in Noricum (modern day Austria)

  Before the battle at St Albans Boudicca had made several tribeswomen disguise themselves as her. To go amongst the tribes during battle and raise their anger. And so, to the confusion of the Romans she was seen many times during the battle, at the end of the carnage she was seen to be killed in one part of the battle and captured at another. The Romans were unsure that she had actually been killed or not and spent many months looking for her.

  Boudicca had fled the country by boat, putting to sea from an empty beach a few miles south of Caistor. She reached Germania and travelled south with the help of tribes hostile to the Romans until settling with a Celtic tribe in the austere hills of Noricum.

  *

  Tsuba woke early to the sound of birdsong, but it wasn't that sound that woke him. It was the absence of another familiar rasping sound that got his attention, Francesca wasn't snoring. He rose in one movement and moved to the curtain that separated them,

  “Francesca...?”He called, listening intently, “...are you...” he pulled the curtain slightly aside, “...alrig-?” His voice trailed far away, knowing she was dead the instant he saw her ghastly white visage. She lay propped up in bed with a copy of Troilus and Cressida on her lap, her eyes closed and her jaw slack. Tsuba brimmed with compassion, once again deeply saddened by the loss of another life that had been little more than a flicker. He ground his teeth, unable to block the assault of memories from his younger days, the terrible slaughter, and the loss of his wife. Only she hadn't died. She had left him. Left him drained of all emotion but pity.

  He could tell that Francesca had not been dead for long but he wasted no time in tending to her body. Bundling her up in a tight roll of bedding he was surprised how light she was. It was still early morning when he started up the bus and headed for Stratford upon Avon.

  *

  Sir Clive's House - 2000

  Trapped in the cellar Sir Clive gingerly dabbed a wet swab to his bruised face,

  a manic grin insinuated itself across his face,

  “You can’t keep me in here…” He yanked open the drawer containing his surgical tools, “…I’m coming for you…” A heavy and glittering blade reflected his manic eye, “…I’m coming to get you…” He started to scrape away at the wall, knowing that beneath the plaster lay the door to a bricked up room, “…and when I get you…” He scraped and chipped, chipped and scraped, “...I’m going to make you scream.”

  *

  Austria AD70

  The gladiatrix led her horse upwards through the narrow valley; aware that an ambush was possible, even likely, she remained alert. The weather was cold this high in the hills, clouds had descended suddenly and even without rain her clothes were quickly soaked. Eventually the defile opened out to a boulder strewn plateau surrounded with dense forest, she chose a spot sheltered from the prevailing wind to tether her horse. Then unpacked the sticks and cloth she needed to build her shelter for the oncoming night. Within a short time she’d placed a small circle of stones around a crackling fire, it gave off too much smoke but the warmth and hot food were too hard to resist. After eating she lay curled on her left side, hand on sword hilt, as she waited for morning.

  She slept until after dawn and was woken by a prod from a spear. Several barbarian men and women surrounded her little camp, she leapt to her feet, immediately on the offensive,

  “Take me to the Warrior Queen!” She demanded, rising and hacking the end from the spear with her gleaming shortsword. Taken by surprise the Barbarians scowled and looked at each other for support. The woman looked Roman, and her sword was Roman, but she dressed more like the Germanic rebel tribes,

  “I have news of Rome and a strong sword arm!” The gladiatrix addressed the man who appeared to be their leader. He made a quick decision, they had followed her progress for two days, they knew she was alone, there was no Roman Legion lurking behind in ambush, he was more than curious about the striking young woman in the hills alone,

  “We will lead you...” a half-smile spread across his bearded face, “...sheathe your weapon.” He waited while she put away her sword,

  “My name is Tommason.” He offered her a small piece of chewing stick.

  Two of the Barbarians stayed behind to cover their tracks and watch, while the rest followed behind Tommason and the gladiatrix in front. He seemed to want to talk,

  “What is your name?” The gladiatrix shrugged, adding enigmatically,

  “I’ve had many… still waiting for one that fits.” Their conversation was at an end.

  *

  London - 2000

  The return boat trip boat to London had been spent mostly in silence. Walther wanted them gone from his life, at least for a while. Susan still seethed, her anger undiminished, her desire for revenge becoming an imperative. And Richard wanted his life back. His business, his best friend, and his wife.

  Walther retrieved Susan's car from his garage. They all shook hands on the quayside,

  “Take care.”

  *

  Sir Clive's House - 2000

  Fidelma pushed her head inside the dumb waiter,

  “Holy mother o’ god, what th’ divil is making that infernal noise?” Anjelica stood behind her, head to one side, just able to make out the faint scratching sound,

  “Bleeding rats I shouldn’t wonder. Throw some poison down...” She offered helpfully, “...That'll sort out any monsters lurking down there.”

  End of Volume 1

  Tim lives in Norwich, England.

  “The best of times are spent in good company”

  I read that somewhere.

  Extracts from Volume 2

  Austria AD71

  No-name regained consciousness hearing to the jubilant shouts of the crowd and the sight of Brella’s ugly old face peering down at her with a hideous tooth-diminished grin,

  “A present for the shit-born loser!” Brella deposited a still-warm turd into No-name’s face and ran off shrieking with laughter. No-name rose to her feet wiping away the shit with her fingers, murder on her mind.

  She could see Tommason being held aloft and carried around the ring, his white teeth smiling through a blood-washed face. He turned, saw her, and his smile fell away, with a grunt he heaved himself down from the ecstatic revelers and came towards her.

  Tommason closed upon No-name, ignoring the stinking shit across her face and the ugly swelling on her forehead, he grabbed her roughly and pressed his blood-soaked face down upon hers, his lips open and tongue probing between her lips. No-name opened to him, her arms snaking around his neck. Somewhere deep inside she realised she had been waiting for him since that frosty dawn when they had first met.

  At first the crowd roared impossibly louder at their fervent embrace, then murmurings started,

  *

  On the plane of the Once-People

  Boss Bellini's soul had survived the flames. In fact, it had been released by the flames. But it was caged, held in the gaol of the Cinderfolk, a chained up demon soul bellowing for all eternity, on the edge of life, not quite dead. Unless it could find a host. And there are very, very few ways for a lost soul to re-enter life. Someone, someone living, would have to leave the door open for them. Someone with a hole in their life. Someone filled with guilt and can't find a way to punish themselves, perhaps?

  Then, somebody could become possessed by a demon.

  *

  Susan – Bedsit, Anaya's village 2000

  Susan woke with unsettling recollections about the night before, “Fucking hell did I really-” she banished the images from her mind and opened a beer. Her mind was broken, shattered. Her recent stress, terrors and ordeals had each taken their toll. And together they had beaten her, she could take no more. She had neither religion nor family to turn to, and she had forsaken h
er man. She knew she was lost,

  “I deserve every fucking thing I get.” She brought back into her mind what she could remember of the previous night, “...They fucking gang-banged me...” poured beer down her throat, “...and I yelled out for more...” she pictured the scar on her cheek, a living brand, “...It's true, I am a fucking slut.”She rolled over and closed her eyes, swabbing angry tears with her pillow.

  Boss Bellini heard her, felt her river of anguish and smiled.

  *

  Eve - Riverside, Calcutta

  She had struck the deal, Hassan Safar would set her up in an apartment, furnished to her own specification, and she would whore for him. He had one major proviso,

  “If you don't earn enough I will have your face!...” he meant it literally, Eve gasped when he opened a large walnut cupboard door, “...See!...” Inside on glass shelves were the skins of several people's faces neatly stretched over mannequin heads, “...You will wish you were made dead!”

  Eve recovered her poise,

  “Boys....” she smiled as if she hadn't a care, “...always collecting things.” Inside she was seething, one part of her wondering if she should use the knife concealed in her hair to murder Hassan while he was off guard, but her sensible side won over, she had a longer-term plan, she would whore for him for as long as it was necessary. Then they would see who would lose face.