Lieutenant Arkham: Elves and Bullets

by Alessio Lanterna

  The streets of Tallia are deserted, but this morning the reason is not simply the slower pace of life in a coastal town. The cafés are packed with stunned people discussing the incredible event. I find a small hotel where the owner, a kind lady around the age of fifty, refuses to let me pay for the room when she finds out I’ve escaped from Nectropis. She offers me a cup of hot coffee and a croissant, she can hardly stop herself from bombarding me with questions. I wonder if she knows her, who knows, maybe she works on the corner.

  Rea’s dream was always to open a bakery. ‘What kind of a dream is that?’ I wondered the first time we talked about it. In the end, it isn’t such an unthinkable aspiration for someone with her background. The smell of freshly-baked bread in the place where her uncle worked was her last happy memory, before he died and she, still under the age of twelve, was kidnapped and sold as a sex slave by the orange walrus: Ugube.

  “I’ll wait for you forever,” she promised many years ago, before she boarded the train of hope. That’s why I chose the train tracks instead of the portal.

  It’ll take a while, but I’ll find her. I’ll surprise her while she’s mixing the next batch, covered in flour, wearing a funny ankle-length apron, her blonde hair around her shoulders in place of the heavy make-up that enslaved her during her entire adolescent life. She must be twenty-nine by now. We’ll run towards each other like in the films, hold each other tightly and melt into a passionate kiss.

  “You’re free now, my love,” I’ll murmur in her ear. “I’ve sorted everything with Ugube forever.”

  Two hundred grand is quite an amount, but it won’t last forever. I could always auction off the Altra, it’s last service will be to make my life more comfortable. We could open a chain of bakeries all over Tallia, if she wants. Enjoy the beach, and who knows, maybe get married. Have children. Grow old together.

  Happy ending.

  The phone rings. It’s not the ringtone of my mobile, it’s the flat ring of the landline.

  I lift the receiver and come back to the real world with a jolt.

  “Hello, hello? Guerin, are you there? Hello?”

  My mother sounds worried.

  “Hello, Mum.” I haven’t even got the energy to get annoyed at the sound of the name I loathe.

  “Praise be the Celestial Spouses! Are you all right?”

  Amazing. She sounds sober. She must have just woken up.

  “Yes.”

  “I called your mobile but I could never get through…”

  “It’s broken.” – I glance at the pile of putrid clothes.”

  “What’s going on?!”

  “The Lovl’Atheron tower has exploded.”

  “May the Father preserve us… Guerin, I’m frightened. Can you come over, please?”

  “Mum, you can see what’s going on. I’m on my way out, we’ve all been called in.”

  “The supermarket’s been looted, I heard gunfire!”

  “Lock the door. It’ll be fine.”

  “But I’m frightened!”

  Fuckingpaininthearsealcoholicbitch. When you’re shitting bricks, you suddenly remember you’ve got a son, don’t you? I’m no longer the weakling ‘not even half the man my father was’ who deserves to have the empty bottles from your latest drinking binge thrown at me. No, now you’re scared shitless and I’m ‘Guerin, son’. I hope your cirrhosis eats you up once and for all, that way I won’t have to put up with your loathsome voice any longer. Fucking bitch.

  “Everything’s going to be just fine. I have to go now.”

  “Guerin!”

  I hang up. Then I disconnect the phone and crack open the second can. Fuck, how I detest that name. Probably because she’s the only one left who calls me that.

  “… in place of those who could benefit from it. For instance Ecatomb, or the nation of ogres.”

  While I was daydreaming there has been a shift amongst the guests. Now there’s an analyst from an international politics magazine on the soap box. In the meantime, visual images of the devastation are being broadcast, filmed by the crew flying over the wounded city. A brown-haired elf from I don’t know which bloodline of perverts answers the analyst. He’s afraid, too, it’s written all over his face.

  “It is unthinkable that a few days after signing an important joint agreement of

  reciprocal non-interference, Ecatombe had a direct role in this tragedy. As for the ogres, I believe their public condemnation to be genuine. Millions of ogres live and work each day in Nectropis, and many were involved in today’s catastrophe. The days of Khanato, when expatriates were silenced by, have gone forever…”

  Pious delusions, mine and his. Foolish hopes, as Gilder said.

  The truth is that the Devil’s argument is far more convincing. I switch the TV off and sit all alone, smoking and drinking in the darkness.

  Nobody can change the way they are, Arkham. And even if they could, would you? Not someone like you who mercilessly massacres dozens, maybe hundreds of innocent people.

  You murdered your best friend without so much as batting an eyelid, and why? Because he got in the way, he didn’t want to support your brutal plans. Beron was a good man, but you… you said it yourself once, you know? You are a vile, infected piece of shit.

  Also Cohl, good old Cohl, he hit the nail on the head, mostly. He was smarter, more capable than you, even wiser than you, despite his young age. He really deserved to get away with it.

  You, however, were holding the winning card. A trick, a gift from the friend who less than an hour later you slaughtered like a dog, leaving the love of his life a widow, a woman who has always greeted you like a member of the family in their home. You tricked him and you won, well done.

  The truth is you’re a second-rate thug, Arkham. One of those characters in films who don’t even have a name, the only time anyone speaks to them is to say ‘kill the good guy!’, and then they die miserably, humiliated by the main character. That’s it, that was the right ending for you. You’re worthless even when you’re at the peak of your success, you leave with a half-empty briefcase you could have filled up, because you didn’t have the balls to ask for more. Valan was right when he called you… what was it again? An erect worm.

  Angrily, I grab hold of the Altra and hold it to my temple.

  At least have the courage to rid the world of your presence.

  Come on you bastard, pull the fucking trigger. At this range there’ll be nothing left of that psychopathic brain of yours.

  An then Rea, ah! You’re comforting yourself with these ravings to fool yourself that you still have a soul, hidden somewhere in your colon, which survives despite your constant efforts to shit it out. Rea loved Aldenos, you wanker! And no wonder, he was a great man. He sacrificed his life for her, what did you do? You paid the ransom? Do me a favour. Your pathetic. She felt sorry for you, she felt like she owed you, that’s why she said that thing at the station. You can’t be so stupid as to think that a gorgeous girl, finally freed from slavery, would wait for a man with a rotten-hearted man such as yourself?

  The Pale and hell, on the other hand, have waited long enough.

  So get on with it. Shoot, you coward!

  Shoot!

  SHOOT!

  I fling the Altra against the wall and it dents slightly.

  I bellow and yank at my hair.

  Okay then, demon, you win. I haven’t got the balls to actually go through with it. I’m corrupt, I’m a coward. I’ll carry on, and put off the eternal punishment I deserve again and again. It’s my nature, this evil. Being wicked.

  But there’s one thing I can accept. Something I can, and indeed will.

  If I have to be the bad guy, then I will be the great bad guy.

  No more being a doormat, no more living like a toe rag, no more bullshit!

  Here’s what I’m going to do.

  I’ll lie low in some brothel or another, the Papillon maybe, for a few days. Somewhere where nobody asks any question, where they bring you Onirò in bed
and blow solat directly into your lungs.

  When and if you come out, things will be different.

  The memorial services were held the following Sunday. The death count after the attack is over three thousand, but nobody knows the exact number of wounded and missing people. Most are expecting a dramatic final total.

  Ten empty, white symbolic coffins are carried round the four main ringroads and converge at the Cross surrounded by grieving crowds, The structural damage is not as bad as was previously thought, thanks to the magical shield from the remaining towers and the unfinished municipal bastion. Undaunted, they continued to perform their role as load-bearing pilasters of Nectropis. Nevertheless, a small portion undergoes round-the-clock maintenance to avoid collapse after the night of the catastrophe.

  The dark wailing of the brass instruments in some way resembles that of the Banshees, who must have had the best orgasm of their non-lives. For once, elves and ogres mix indiscriminately with humans, everyone is united in their pain and swears vendetta against the terrorists.

  The media made up their own story, composed of fundamentalists and international conspiracies, oil interests and double-crossing secret agents. The roles of the various characters were modelled by conjecture until they fitted in with a theory which pleased the public.

  Master Tubgorne, was found as I left him, and when the bomb squad finally managed to identify the type of explosive used he became a hero. With the sawed-off shotgun still in his hand, he had given his life to try and stop the monstrous terrorist attack. Of course, he was wrong to have kept that explosive, but the touching interview with his widow had cleared up any suspicions.

  Cohl, whom they had traced through the bullet, was a more controversial figure in this imaginative reconstruction: for some, an intrepid police officer on the right trail but ultimately defeated; an enemy spy for others. The real star for all the conspiracy-lovers.

  And then, naturally, the martyrs from the Lovl’Atheron family. Sweet, benevolent oligarchs, the harrowing accounts of the few survivors concluded with a moving ceremony at the hearth of the Geno’Atherons. Thus, their downfall was brought about by a little hare, the Geno branch were back on top with a fanfare thanks to another disowned sprog.

  Two examples of injustice make justice, it seems. I’ll keep that in mind, and try to commit only an even number of crimes next time.

  Tessa is amongst those gathered in the square, but she stands to one side and remembers her husband in dignified silence amidst the dark drapes of mourning. I make my way through the sombre congregation and go up to her.

  “Tessa…”

  “Oh, Arkham!” Her face lights up despite her tiredness and she hugs me tightly. “I didn’t know anything, I was afraid something had happened to you, too.”

  “Yeah. I had a car accident and I was unconscious until yesterday.” Which isn’t entirely untrue. Ah shit, I’ve got that lump in my throat again.

  “You’re okay though, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, nothing serious. A slight concussion, but it’s better now.”

  “I know I’ve said this many times before, but…” She struggles for words. “… I wanted to thank you again.”

  “What”?

  “You know, maybe I’m only fully realising it now, how much,” her voice cracks when she says his name, “Beron… meant to me. So, thank you. Thank you for saving his life. He always used to say that, you know? He used to say: nobody has ever done as much for me as that boy has, that old crone!”

  She laughs a little, with heavy eyes.

  “Crone!” She remembers, still smiling. “Once he called me a mountain goat. I had a pan in my hand, I had to throw it away as it was so dented afterwards.

  I put my arm around her and let her release some of her grief, whilst trying not to get infected by sadness. I clear my throat and attempt to continue with my acting master class so as to disappear as soon as possible.

  “Tessa, Beron left me something for… I mean, he was getting on and he had gambling issues.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I take out the small cylindrical key.

  “I think it’s for a reinforced locker at Nexus. I don’t really know what’s inside it, I imagine it’s valuable. I had practically forgotten about it, but when I heard… well, I found it straightaway.”

  She takes it and thanks me again. I can’t stand this anymore, so I give her a peck on the cheek, say goodbye and get the hell away.

  One hundred thousand crowns won’t give Tessa her husband back and it’s not enough to wash my conscience clean, but a I feel a tad better, and perhaps she does too.

  I walk through the back streets behind the sad ceremony, with my hands thrust deep in my pockets.

  Then I catch sight of Lonadir all dressed-up for the occasion. He must have cracked open the champagne when his rivals, the Lovls, suddenly disappeared from the scene, but now he’s sporting his very best contrite expression.

  “ Lonny!” I pop out behind him.

  I can see that not even this tragedy has succeeded in wiping the slate clean. I had high hopes.

  “Well, there’s been a bit of a clean-up, don’t you think? A whole lot less elves to worry about.”

  “How dare you?!” he growls, grabbing the lapels of my brand new raincoat.

  “Calm down, pal. Get your mitts off, and don’t get so excited, I’ve just bought this coat.”

  He lets go, albeit unwillingly.

  “Thank your lucky stars there’s already been enough bloodshed.”

  “Oh, this city is always thirsty, you know that better than I do.”

  “Control your faecal vomit, and tell me how you’re involved in this attack.”

  I cackle, but a shiver runs down the length of my spine.

  “Look, the fact that you wanted me dead is pretty obvious, but I’ll be honest with you, I’m not really sure what kind of stunt your little cousin tried to pull off.”

  It’s crucial that he thinks I’m not aware of the elves’ secrets.

  “However, one thing is clear, my friend. Good old Gilder shot my dearest friend Beron and he prepared this succulent dish to get revenge on the colonel and his family of horny perverts.”

  “If you’re insinuating that…” He gets even more threatening, but I stop him right there.

  “You hares have got this annoying habit of saying that other people insinuate,” I stab him in the chest with my index finger, “but as I’ve said before to far more dangerous people than yourself, I never insinuate. Tomorrow morning, make sure you show up in my office, if you don’t want the press to get hold of what I’ve got. And believe me, you don’t want that to happen.”

  The threat takes a minute to sink in.

  “You are attempting to blackmail me!?”

  “Ssh, Lonny.” I shush him up when several people turn to see who is being so rude “You’re embarrassing us. Anyway, you’ve hit the nail bang on the head.”

  He controls himself and lowers his voice to an irate mutter.

  “In the unlikely event that I would want to listen to you, what is it that you want?”

  “Political support, maybe money as well, but we’ll see about that later on.”

  “What for? Have you got it into your head that you want to be mayor?”

  “I want Ugube’s patch.” This takes him by surprise.

  “You want what? You must be out of your mind.”

  Once again I laugh in his face, with all the arrogance I can muster.

  Which is considerable.

  “Don’t get there too early, I like to sleep late in the morning.”

  He has no choice but to obey.

  “You’ll crash. You’ll crash and burn, and I’ll watch your flesh melt, it’ll be a little taste of what’s waiting for you in eternal hell.”

  “Suck my dick.” I am an inch away from his fucking face. “I know you Feltus like that. Gilder told me.

  This time I leave him there to fume, turn and leave, my hands ram
med inside my pockets again.

  “You’ll crash!” he yells behind me.

  I laugh to myself, savouring his frustration.

  “YOU’LL CRASH!”

  He shouts even louder, with absolutely no concern for the ceremony taking place, but now he’s reduced to a mere noise which blends in with the ceremonial music.

  Amidst the dunes, bloodied by the scarlet dawn, a sand crab emerges from its underground den.

  It doesn’t know, or it doesn’t care, that it is an insignificant moment within the cosmic balance.

  It doesn’t know, or it doesn’t care, that one of its kind once steered the future.

  It scrutinises the horizon in pursuit of that particular twinkling which means food.

  Primordial instinct reigns within those black beady eyes.

  Its desperate race begins once more, indifferent to the millennia.

  A single, clear, urgent task.

  With every ounce of strength.

  By any means.

  Survival.

  Might get a quick fuck, too.

  Just saying.

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  Table of Contents

  Lieutenant Arkham Elves and Bullets Last night, a dot in the middle of four zeros

  Just like any other Wednesday

  Thursday – the early bird catches the worm

  Hungry

  Thursday night (but it feels like Monday morning)

  So, what is it, Thursday or Friday? Right, Friday

  The long night of an extremely long Friday

  Why am I at work on Saturday morning?

  No sun, today

  I get up late on Sunday

  Time to get a move on

  Tonight

  I snap it

  Still tomorrow

  Table of Contents

  Lieutenant Arkham Elves and Bullets

  Last night, a dot in the middle of four zeros

  Just like any other Wednesday

  Thursday – the early bird catches the worm

  Hungry

  Thursday night (but it feels like Monday morning)

  So, what is it, Thursday or Friday? Right, Friday