Penult

by A. Sparrow

  “I can help you. Together we’re stronger.”

  “Jess. No. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Just … away. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “But….”

  “Jess, please.”

  “There’s a root cellar down below, where Auntie kept her preserves. At the far end there’s a passage leading out to the back yard. When we were kids we used to play hide and seek. It was my favorite spot to go, because everyone was too scared of the spiders to come look for me.”

  The door knocker slammed three times, making us both jump.

  “Don’t you dare open that door,” I said.

  “Don’t you worry. And anything that tries to come underneath will have these shears to contend with.”

  “Once I go, they should leave you be. They’ll know I’m not here.”

  “Grab some food from the kitchen.”

  “No time! Now where’s that root cellar?”

  “Down here.” She peeled back a threadbare Persian rug in the main sitting room to reveal a hinged trap door with a recessed metal pull.

  I pulled on my sneakers, not bothering to tie the laces. Jess lifted the hatch. A steep, narrow ladder descended into the black.

  “I’ll come back when … er … if … things cool off … and if you’re still here.”

  “Be careful!”

  “You too, Jess. Thanks for everything.”

  ***

  The root cellar was tiny, little more than an underground closet. But a narrow stone-lined passageway extended for several dozen meters off the back. As advertised, it was loaded with spider webs, some of them occupied. Slivers of light seeped through the slats of a wooden casement door at the end. I undid a simple and pushed it open, finding myself in a tangle of thistles and aster under a sprawling butterfly bush.

  I crawled out and hunkered down under cover of the weeds. A missing stave in the picket fence separating the back yard from the neighbor’s garden caught my eye.

  The man in the grey suit came around the side of the house, checking every window and door. His colleagues came around the other side of the cottage. They met by the back porch and huddled.

  The second man slipped a forked stick from his daypack, holding the two arms like a divining rod. The end the stick began to tremble. The man rotated in place, studying its vibrations. The front door slammed.

  The Friends responded immediately, hustling to the front of the house. I prayed that Jessica had gotten away clean. Though, I wouldn’t have put it past her to have slammed the door only to create a diversion. That woman was a smart cookie.

  As soon as they were out of sight, I scrambled out of the weeds on my hands and knees and made for the gap in the fence. My moves were far from slick. I tripped on a brick and scuffed my knee, but I made it through the fence, crawling and squirming into a strawberry patch. I squished a few berries before regaining my feet and darting out onto the street.

  I ran headlong down a steep, cobbled alley towards the waterfront, dodging down random intersections just to make sure I couldn’t be easily followed. In the flats, I veered away from the busy piers, following a road that paralleled the shore and led to a series of warehouses that fronted on the pebbly beach.

  I blew past three buildings before I found one with its main door ajar and slipped inside. It was dim inside, but there was a small sailboat boat up on stanchions, its hull was badly gouged on one side. I thought about climbing into it to hide, but remembered that was how that Tsarnaev kid—the Boston Marathon bomber—got caught, so instead I made for a pile of smelly fish nets in the corner and burrowed several layers deep.

  One advantage of hiding under a bunch of fishing nets was that I wasn’t easily seen, but I could keep an eye on the warehouse doors through the mesh. The down side was that it stank like rotten fish guts.

  I’m not even sure why I was bothering to hide. Between credit cards, phantom arrow shafts and that weird divining rod thingie, they certainly had many ways of tracking me, however imprecise. The burning in my shoulder was already starting to intensify.

  We never should have come here. I should have followed my instincts. I had to get off the island. But how? The passenger ferry was out of the question. Too many people and any one of them could be Friends looking to snuff me.

  I had to go someplace wild and far away from everything. Some place they wouldn’t expect me to go and where my signal would be faint. That way, when the roots came to take me, I wouldn’t be so vulnerable. It would take them time to find me.

  Maybe I could steal a boat. It would have to be something powered because I didn’t have the faintest idea how to handle a sailboat. I think I knew what direction to go back to Scotland, though it didn’t matter to me where I ended up as long as I had room to run. Norway. Iceland. Any large land mass would do.

  It would have been so much easier if we had stayed on the mainland. Ironic, that the island that harbored Stromness was actually called Mainland by the locals.

  The electrified icicle that pierced my shoulder twisted as the door creaked open, bathing the net pile in a swath of sunlight. I kept still, hoping it was fisherman come to work on his boat—someone who could be a witness and a deterrent to any monkey business.

  But no. It was Belinda, followed closely by the guy in the grey suit. So much for getting way. The other guy was not with them this time. I imagine he was outside somewhere covering the back exit. These Friends might not be the most stealthy hunters but they weren’t stupid. They learned from their mistakes.

  Something slithered out of my back pocket and crawled up my shirt. I slapped at it and snatched it up. It was a folded up piece of card stock—an origami crab—the calling card of Belinda Davolo of the Friends of Penult. I had gotten rid of their Ivory credit card but her calling card—her avatar—had remained in my wallet. They had more than that phantom shaft to keep tabs on me. They had backups.

  They came straight for the net pile, fanning out, looking a little wary. I felt like a cornered rat. My face flushed. My heart drummed like a thrash punker. I threw off the nets covering me and backed away from my pursuers.

  “It’s no use, James. We have you,” said Belinda.

  “Have this, you fucks!”

  I didn’t even have to think. None of this waiting for something to loosen in my belly like some sad geriatric sitting on the john, praying for his laxative to take effect.

  The nets blew off the warehouse floor and arranged themselves into a towering monster of mesh. Billy was back. Reincarnated from wherever wishes and daydreams go to die.

  Belinda and her cronies stopped in their tracks. Billy was still coming together, drawing in sheet after sheet of fishing net, twisting them into anatomically correct layers of sinew and muscle.

  Billy even had a face. Those folds and pockets arranged themselves to look sort of like me—a buff and big-chinned version of the real James Moody, like those idealized monuments commissioned by dictators.

  “Kill! Billy. Kill!”

  The man in the grey suit pulled a gun and fired. The bullets passed right through the netting, knocking off a bit of nylon but otherwise having no effect.

  With his gorilla arms dangling with menace, Billy lurched after the man with the gun and smacked into his side with a knotted fist the size of a small suitcase. The man went flying, skidding across the dingy floor in his nice suit, coming to rest at the base of a waste bin.

  The other guy grabbed a grapple and jabbed it into Billy’s leg. Billy kicked free and backed away. He grabbed a fistful of oars from a rack on the wall and tossed them at his tormentor.

  I just stood, there, trembling, my own fists clenched so tight that my fingernails dug deep into the flesh of my palms. I didn’t have to move. I just stood there, arms loose at my sides, while Billy did his thing, which was our thing, really.

  Belinda had retreated back to the door of the warehouse and was frantically fishing through the contents
of her purse. Her colleagues tangled with Billy, dodging his wild, ham-fisted blows. One jabbed tried to hook his mesh with a grapple, while the other dove at his floppy feet with a length of rope, aiming I suppose to tether him in place. I just kept all my attention on Billy and let him fight however he saw fit.

  With a little too much confidence, Belinda strode to the middle of the open bay where the battle raged, carrying a dagger much too large to have fit in her purse. As I watched, her dagger grew ever longer and thicker until it became a veritable two-fisted Claymore.

  I should have made Billy back off, but it was just a sword. A full magazine from a semi-automatic pistol hadn’t fazed Billy. What could a mere blade do?

  Both men saw Belinda and they maneuvered Billy around to her, jabbing and feinting at him until his back was to Belinda. She held onto the hilt with two hands and swept it back like a cricket bat, ready to swing with all her might.

  “Billy! Watch out!”

  Belinda swung. Billy dodged aside like a boxer, and I swear she just barely nicked him. The tip of her sword bit through one slender link of knotted cord in a single square of mesh behind Billy’s ankle. But once the cut was made, Billy began to unravel. He stumbled back, losing all shape, turning into nothing but a heap of nets animated only by gravity and the usual laws of physics.

  The heap that had been Billy fell on top of me and dragged me down. The men rushed over, peeling off nets until there was but one layer between us. The man in the grey suit reached into his coat pocket and removed a transparent plastic cylinder that looked something like an Epi-pen. He jabbed the thing against my arm. Something popped. I felt a mild sting, the quick and shallow jab of a needle.

  “Ow! What the fuck was that?”

  “Your penalty,” said Belinda. “The pellet that Frederick injected into you will eventually stop your breathing. No doctor can diagnose it in time to make a difference. There is no antidote. So do not bother seeking help. Your death will be relatively painless, though, I’m sorry to say, not necessarily pleasant. You have some hours before the symptoms start. You are free to go now. Maybe you will want to say goodbye to the girl in the house. No worries. We did not harm her. We did suggest it might be in her best interests to stay inside. I am so sorry that we had to eliminate you, Mr. Moody, but I tried to warn you.”

  “It was never my idea to go back. I wanted nothing to do with them.”

  “And yet you did return and you did participate in the fighting. I warned you—explicitly—what would happen.” She shrugged and sighed. “What’s done is done. But such a waste. You might have been a good candidate for Penult someday.”

  “How much time do I have left?”

  “I can’t say. It varies from person to person,” she said. “More than twelve hours. But less than two days, most likely. Do not bother involving the authorities. Those who matter know of us. We have … immunity … so to speak.”

  She turned abruptly and strode off towards the door, the men close behind. She lingered by the door and took one last glance before continuing on her way. The men exited and pulled the door closed behind them.

  I got up and brushed myself off. Other than a mild burning where they had injected the pellet, I felt fine.

  I stepped out of the shed and into the bright sunlight. Everything felt so surreal. Ordinary things—sea gulls, fence posts—looked alien to me, as if I were seeing them for the first time. Was this the last morning I would witness on this planet?

  I didn’t know what to do first. Even though I knew firsthand that this whole finality of death thing was over-rated, it did not lessen my panic one iota. I was not ready to die.

  ***

  I wandered the streets of Stromness, searching for an NHS clinic. I wanted to make absolutely sure that what Belinda said was true, that there was no antidote for whatever ricin, and that the stuff they had injected into my arm really could not be identified. I had no reason to disbelieve her, but who knows? Maybe they were shitting me.

  I had the hardest time concentrating, but I’m pretty sure it was anxiety clouding my mind, not yet the poison. When I finally spotted a red cross on a building and made my way towards it, a fancy car pulled up behind me. The driver charged out and slammed into me. He grabbed me and dragged me over to the passenger side and stuffed me into the front seat.

  He got in and peeled out, heading for the meadowlands beyond the town center.

  “Jeez kid! What the heck are you thinking walking around out here in the open?”

  “Wendell?”

  ”They’re onto you. The Pennies. They’re here … right now … on the island.”

  “I know. They already found me.”

  “They did?”

  “Yeah. They cornered me in this warehouse and injected me with this stuff they said is gonna kill me in two days or less.”

  “Oh shit!”

  “I was … I was just heading for that clinic back there. To get checked out.”

  Wendell glanced over, his eyes lingering a little too long.

  “Kid. If they gave you what I think they gave you, no doc is gonna be able to help you.”

  “That’s what they said. But … what is it you think they gave me?”

  “Nothing fancy. That’s not their style. They’re old school. They keep away from magic thought I’m sure they’d be damned good. If I had to guess, it’s most likely ricin. They don’t like to be around when their victims die. They call that mercy. They’re cowards that way.”

  “So what do I do?”

  Wendell pulled the car over beside a hayfield on the outskirts of the village. He looked at me with a softness in his gaze, a level of kindliness that I had never thought him capable.

  “It’s a damned waste. I know you didn’t like working with us, kid. But … I think you might have come around once you realized what we were dealing with.” His eyes wandered. “What you do next is up to you. I’ll take wherever you want to go. You’ve got one day, basically, that you’re still gonna be able to do anything. Whatever that is, is up to you.”

  The way he is talking to me had a way of making the truth sink in. This was it for me. This was really the end. The bottom fell out of my stomach.

  “No. This can’t be real.”

  The world turned wavy through a sudden gush of tears.

  “There’s not even time to go home. Wherever that is these days. Fort Pierce, I guess. America. But … there’s no time.”

  “Kid. If you cross back with the roots, you need to get yourself up into the highlands. Away from that core. You near any mountains over there?”

  “No. I’m on a boat.”

  “Sea level? Dang. That’s the worst place you can be.”

  “Wasn’t my idea. We’re heading for Penult. For a raid.”

  “Really? By boat? What the fuck?”

  “One of the beetles was having trouble … so … we stole a boat.”

  “You have bugs! Good. First thing you do is get your ass someplace high. Two miles up, at least, where the core can’t reach you.”

  I just looked at him. “No. I think I’d rather go back to the Deeps.”

  “What the fuck kid? Are you crazy? Why don’t you want to be a Freesoul?”

  “Nah. I really don’t give a crap anymore. The Horus can take me for all I care.”

  Wendell grinned.

  “I see what you’re doing. Talking nonsense to psych yourself out. Get the roots to come and take you. Smart thinking.”

  But I was being serious. Tears were just rolling out of me now. I never felt so weak.

  Wendell’s grin eroded. “Listen, by tonight you’re not gonna be in any condition to do anything useful. If you have anything you need done, you’d better do it now. Make some calls. Eat a last meal. Whatever.”

  “Okay.”

  “So what do you want to do?”

  “I want to live.”

  “Yeah, well. That’s not gonna happen. You’re alive right now that’s the best I can do for you.”

  �
�Then … why should I bother? There’s no time.”

  “No time? You’ve hours. Maybe even days. Every minute you can look around and appreciate this world is … precious. I know my time will come, sooner than most, my profession being risky as it is. I take advantage of every moment I can. I hardly ever cross over anymore. Not the way I used to. But today’s all about you, kid. What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not ready for this.”

  “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat while you can still enjoy it. Then we’ll get you situated someplace quiet and cozy.”

  “Can … can we bring Jess?”

  “Of course!” said Wendell. He put the car in gear and turned the car around, heading back into Stromness. At least my eyes had begun to dry and Jess wouldn’t have to see me like this.

  ***

  We pulled up to the stone wall outside the cottage and I got out. Jess came rushing out the front door all excited when she saw me coming up the walk. She stopped short when she saw Wendell behind me.

  “It’s alright Jess. He’s a … a friend.” It felt weird saying that about Wendell.

  “Thank goodness you’re alright. Those people, did they—?”

  “No Jess. I’m not okay. They got me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They poisoned me. With something bad.”

  Her eyes flitted about.

  “We need a purgative. To make you vomit. We need to get you to the clinic ASAP.”

  “It’s no use Jess. Wendell thinks they got me with ricin.”

  “Pretty sure,” said Wendell.

  “Surely, the clinic can do something?”

  “No. Not if it’s ricin.”

  “What if it’s not? How did they—?”

  “Listen, Jess. I only have one day left. Let’s gonna waste it. I feel pretty good right now, but I don’t know how long that will last.”

  “Oh, but James! I had such good news to share. The ladies … they found her.”

  “Found … Isobel?”

  “Yes! They even have an address. In Scotland!”

  “Is she alright?”

  “We don’t know. The place she’s staying is kind of off the grid. Fiona and Britt are hoping to rent a car, but without you and those bottomless cards of yours, they’re getting a little short of funds.”