Entanglements

by P. R. Mason

  The man saluted and followed her command, disappearing through the arch. He appeared a few seconds later nudging Colonel Crowder ahead at the point of the rifle’s muzzle.

  The young woman approached the colonel and looked him up and down.

  “Ghoul,” she pronounced with a sneer without even examining his teeth. As she cocked the rifle, Crowder recoiled and held up a hand.

  “No—“ he began.

  She fired a shot to his gut, knocking Crowder back even as a black oozing wound opened.

  “Okay. Do it,” the young woman directed her companions. Each of the five humans pulled a sword from beneath their trench coats and began cutting off the heads of the fallen ghoul soldiers. I had to turn away from the gruesome sight. Who were these humans? Would Rom and I be treated to this brutality next?

  As if sensing my questions, the young woman approached Rom and me.

  “I’m Sergeant Amy,” she said. “Of the Human Resistance, First Division.”

  “Amy.” One of the young men spoke as he knelt beside one of our duffle bags. He’d extracted a gun from inside. “Weapons."

  Sergeant Amy grinned. “Humans with weapons like that? I know who you are.”

  Rom and I glanced at one another.

  “You’re off worlders." She pointed her gun at me. “I think the general will want to meet you."

  * * * * *

  Without our map I couldn’t be certain, but it seemed Amy and her resistance troops were leading us away from Buckingham Palace. Away from the prince and Juliette. Not that we had any choice. As with Crowder, Amy seemed cordial but clearly we were going with her whether we liked it or not.

  Rom and I walked in the center surrounded by the five young men and their weapons as Amy took the lead. On the city's ground level, my impressions from the walkway of the bridge were confirmed. The streets we traveled were narrow and like something out of a Dickens novel allowed to sit fallow for a hundred years. The area was dirty and crumbling.

  Struggling a bit to keep up with her pace, I called out to Amy. “Those ghoul soldiers back there?”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought the ghouls only came out at night.”

  “They prefer the darkness,” Amy replied. “But only direct sunlight truly harms them. Here, with the coal dust in the air, the drizzle, and the cloud cover, they can pretty much come out whenever the prince wants them to.”

  The group stopped in front of a church which had much of its façade covered in vines. Sergeant Amy walked to the door where she rapped three times, paused and then rapped two more. The door opened a crack and then the crack widened. We proceeded inside. Amy led us past the door sentry and down the aisle of the nave between the pews.

  Before we reached the altar, she stopped.

  “Don’t dawdle during the next bit,” Amy said. “And whatever you do, don’t step on any bones.”

  Amy turned right and ushered us down a flight of stairs and into the church crypt filled with tombs and caskets in varying states of decay. We entered a catacomb where bones adorned the walls and littered the dirt ground. I stepped carefully to avoid a femur that had fallen into the path. However, I heard a crunching sound and saw that Rom’s right foot had landed on a jawbone.

  “Bloody hell,” Amy screamed. “Now you’ve done it. You’ve awakened the Pretas.”

  As the last of her words echoed off the catacomb walls, ribbons of mist emerged from the bones surrounding us.

  The ribbons twined and braided together to form gauzy and translucent figures. The ghosts of two women and one man whipped around us. The man rose into my face. His mouth opened and an ear-splitting wail erupted.

  I tripped over myself backing away from the spirit and felt a bone crunch under my heel.

  “Aaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee,” one of the female ghosts squealed in fury. The other female spirit zeroed in on a resistance fighter and nipped at his neck. The fighter screamed.

  “Don’t move,” Amy shouted at me and Rom. “Don’t step on any more bones.” Amy turned to the fighter next to her. “Hurry, stupid,” she demanded. “Bread.”

  The fighter fumbled into a pack he carried as one of the ghosts flew at me and nipped at my shoulder.

  “Ow,” I wailed and swatted at the ghost. Of course, my hand passed through it. How could a non-corporeal being have such sharp teeth?

  The third ghost bit at Amy.

  Finally, the fighter pulled out a few pieces of white bread. Amy quickly broke them into pieces and tossed them about the catacomb as if she were feeding pigeons. Somehow her offering appeased the ghosts. They stopped biting at us and circled the bread chunks instead.

  “Come,” Amy directed. “And be careful this time, morons!”

  “What were they?” I asked as she led us through more tunnel.

  "Hungry ghosts called Pretas," she replied. "Damn whoever brought them over from India. They’re a problem almost every time we use that entrance.” She glared at Rom. “Particularly if someone lacks the brains to keep from treading on the bones.”

  We eventually reached a staircase of earthen treads topped with planks of wood. The stairs led us into the midst of what seemed to be an 1800s era kitchen crowded with a number of armed, ragtag people stuffing their mouths with food. They barely glanced at us as we passed.

  Amy marched us through a series of halls until we reached a ballroom with an enormous, but dusty, chandelier at its center. Any household furnishings that had once been there had been replaced with a bustling headquarters of armed combatants. Numerous tables and desks were scattered throughout the room. Situated at one end of the room was a blackboard and in front of it stood an imposing older woman speaking to a group huddled around her.

  “Excuse me, General,” Amy called to the woman. “You’ll be interested in our new friends.”

  The woman left her group and strode toward us. There was something familiar about her. Tall and “big boned”, as Petra would have said, the woman was probably over fifty with gunmetal gray hair worn in a bouffant. She dressed more formally than the rest in a tweed suit with pearls around her throat.

  As the woman approached, she scrutinized Rom and me. Sizing us up no doubt.

  Yes,” she commented while completing her examination. “Very interesting, Sergeant.”

  “Rom and Kizzy,” Amy introduced us. “This is General Margaret Thatcher.” The general scrutinized us through narrow eyes. After a few seconds she nodded and said, “Off worlders.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “We have had other humans appear before,” the general noted. “Humans that appeared to spring out of the air. Humans from other worlds.”

  “No—” I began.

  “Don’t bother to deny it, dear.” She gave me a kindly smile and a pat on the arm.

  “Our reconnaissance reported the recent arrivals of three others through the Tower Bridge,” Sergeant Amy informed us. “The last arrival was immediately taken by the prince’s guard. So we've kept the spot under surveillance since then.” She glanced at the general as if for praise. “And it paid off. We destroyed fifteen of the guard today including their colonel.”

  “Good work, Sergeant Amy.” The general saluted her before turning back to us. “Come sit down and have a cup of tea.” Her kindly grandmother tone was back. She snapped her fingers. One of the armed men at the general’s back stepped forward. “Three cups of tea,”

  “Right away, General.” He saluted and scuttled off.

  We sat down at the table and another of the resistance soldiers came forward carrying our duffle bags. He took two guns out and laid them on the table in front of the general.

  “From these armaments it appears you have come here on a mission." The general's eyes gleamed with excitement.

  There was no point in denying it. I glanced at my watch. Twenty hours, forty-five minutes and twenty-three seconds until the portal sealed. We had to enlist this woman’s help. My gaze went to Rom and he nodded as if knowing my thoughts. />
  “Yes,” I said. “We’ve come to rescue my stepsister and her friend. They’re captives of Prince Leopold.”

  “So these weapons were for use in fighting the prince and his minions?”

  “Their rescue must be immediate, else their lives will be lost,” Rom told her.

  Our eyes met. Somehow I knew he did not want me to talk about the sealing of the portal.

  “Would you be able to spare anyone to assist us?” I asked. “We could use a guide to the palace.”

  The general seemed not to hear me.

  “How is it you return to your world?” she asked with a smile. “Forgive my bluntness my dear but we are desperate. The number of humans alive in this world dwindles daily under the onslaught of the monsters. Obviously, your world interests me especially if you can obtain more weapons for our use.”

  “Perhaps weapons could be obtained,” Rom offered. “The portal shall be reopened by our colleagues upon completion of our mission.”

  “I see.” The general eyed Rom doubtfully. She glanced at me and I nodded as if to confirm what he’d said. Her eyes narrowed and she frowned. Just as suddenly her manner transformed into the kindly grandmother again. “I will consider what you’ve said. I’m certain we can come to some arrangement.” The general snapped her fingers. “Sergeant Amy, please show our guests to a room where they may rest and freshen up.”

  “We don’t have time.” I struggled to keep my eyes from the watch around my wrist.

  “You shall just have to make time.” The general scowled.

  One of the resistance soldiers seized my arm roughly and pulled me to my feet. With three other guards, Amy conducted us out of the ballroom.

  All I could think of was how the seconds were slipping away, so I didn’t take note of my surroundings as we moved until we stepped into a conservatory and a grouping of plants caught my eye. Suddenly, the plant was right in front of me, rising high from a number of pots.

  “Stop,” I shouted, as our procession would have passed the Downy Woundwort.

  Sergeant Amy, startled, did indeed stop.

  “This had better be good.” Her brows converged in an angry frown. “I have other duties to perform after I get you two situated.”

  “That plant,” I said, pointing. “I need some of its leaves for a poultice.”

  Comprehension dawned on her.

  “Was one of you bitten by a ghoul?”

  “It is I,” Rom answered her.

  “Let me see the bite.” Sergeant Amy approached him.

  Rom pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and unwrapped the bandage. The redness now extended over his entire forearm and traveled up over the elbow to the shoulder.

  “This bite is very advanced.” Amy placed a finger against his skin. “You’re hot to the touch. I think it's too late for the cure.” Her tone was nonchalant and she moved as if to continue taking us out of the conservatory.

  “No.” I refused to budge.

  “A cure would require a poultice once a day for three days." She cast the comment over her shoulder. “I’m not wasting three of our plants on a hopeless cause.”

  “Tell the general if she expects our help with weapons, I expect help with a cure for Rom,” I shouted. “In fact, it’s a condition of any cooperation on our part.”

  Sergeant Amy’s stopped and turned. Her eyes glared at me but she said, “I’ll tell the general.”

  Rom and I were taken to a bedroom and padlocked inside. The bars prevented a quick exit out the window. Rom sat relatively calmly on the bed while I paced impatiently.

  “Kizzy.” Rom patted the bed beside him. “Sit. You wear yourself away.”

  Before I could answer there was a knock and the sound of key in the lock. The door swung open and the general stood at the threshold flanked by her armed guards. Sergeant Amy hovered at her back.

  “I have given due consideration to your request for assistance,” the general advised. "I’m afraid an assault on the palace to rescue your friends cannot be authorized.”

  “Fine,” I said. “We’ll go alone. Just give us our things back.”

  “That won’t be possible either. We have need of those weapons.” The general waved her hand as if saying goodbye to my request.

  And Petra thought I was a bitch? This woman was an iron bitch if there ever was one.

  “You do not realize how depleted our forces are,” she continued. “Sending fighters with you would be a fool’s errand.”

  I’d been going on a lot of those lately.

  “All right.” I shot a glance at Rom. “We’ll go without our things.”

  “No.” The general shook her head. “You’ve both been drafted. You are in the Resistance now. We mount a major operation in thirty-six hours.”

  “Thirty-six hours." I cringed. “That’ll be too late. The portal—”

  Rom jumped up and put a hand on my arm. “Our friends will not survive that long.”

  “If our friends aren’t rescued the portal won’t reopen,” I warned.

  The general considered me for a few moments before she said, “That is just not logical. I believe you can open the portal when you choose.”

  “Well, you’re wrong.” I tried to bluff.

  The general’s jaw clenched and she turned on her heel to leave.

  “Rest. You’ll need your strength for the assault," she called walking out of the room.

  “I want that Downy Woundwort,” I yelled after her as the door was closing. “Or the next person who comes in here won’t live to tell about it.”

  The securing of the lock clanged.

  “What the hell are we going to do?” I rounded to face Rom. “They're going to hold us here for thirty-six freakin' hours. The portal—”

  Rom put a finger to his lips and inclined his head toward the door. Just then a four-foot by four-foot portion of the bottom of the door lifted. A silver tray slid into the room and the trap door snapped shut.

  On the tray sat a teapot with two cups and a china plate of finger sandwiches and cream-colored linen napkins. How very civilized. Also on the tray sat a mortar and pestle, a pile of Downy Woundwort leaves, a vial of oil, and a handwritten note on how to prepare the healing poultice.

  Eighteen hours, nineteen minutes, nine seconds until the portal sealed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Waiting sucked. We had nothing to do or say after we’d treated Rom’s arm, eaten the sandwiches and drunk the tea.

  Jump out of my skin? I was ready to jump out of my bones.

  “Let us talk about something,” Rom said. “The silence increases the volume of my thoughts.”

  “Mine too.” My fingers tapped against my thighs. “But what should we talk about?”

  “Any topic.” Rom covered my fingers to stop their movement.

  “My last trip to London was before my parents divorced." I gazed at my lap. "Even though Adam was only a couple of years old, he came along. It was our last vacation as a family together.”

  “A happy topic not one of sadness." Rom squeezed my hand.

  “That’s going to be hard to think of under the circumstances.”

  “How did you and Petra meet?” he asked.

  “Oh, that is a funny story." I smiled. "Fourth grade. My family had just moved to Savannah and on my first day of school this little girl came up to me and said, ‘Your hair looks crazy, like you’re schizophrenic or something.' She started chanting 'Skizzy Kizzy' at me.”

  “And Petra beat up this mean girl?"

  “No, silly. Petra was the mean girl.” Chuckling, I twisted one of my electrocuted locks between two fingers. “Anyway, I hauled off and bopped her one in the nose when she wouldn’t stop teasing me.”

  “You struck her?” Rom's eyebrows arched.

  “Yes and after I hit her, Petra held her damaged nose, broke into a smile and said, ‘Feisty. I approve. We’re going to be good friends.’”

  “And you are.”

  “Yes. The best of friends.”

&
nbsp; The sound of a key in the lock brought Rom and me up from where we perched on the edge of the bed to a standing position. When it opened, Amy, with our duffels slung over her shoulder, stood on the threshold holding bandaging materials. She walked in and handed the duffels and the bandages to me. Our weapons were gone from the bags of course. At least the bandages were usable.

  “Very good,” she said, examining Rom’s arm and the green poultice goop packed in the wound.

  As I re-bandaged over the poultice, Amy inspected the remnants of the plant and then handed each of us half.

  "You should eat the rest of the leaves," she suggested. "We think they might ward off infection from the ghoul venom if you get bitten.”

  I gulped down my half. They tasted a little like mustard greens.

  Amy walked to the bed and plopped down. “So,” she said, “You two have to get back to Tower Bridge in about seventeen hours or you're buggered.”

  “We know not—“ Rom started.

  "Please." She held up a hand to halt him. “I heard you talking at the bridge before the colonel appeared. You said the portal will seal and you can’t get back to your world.”

  Glancing at Rom, I could see he was as upset as I at her words. If she knew about our deadline, Amy knew she only had to delay us to stop us from returning to our world.

  “Don’t worry. I haven’t told the general.” She crossed her skinny trouser clad legs. “And I’m willing to help you get out of here.” The way she kicked her top leg reminded me of Petra. “But I have a price.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” I asked. “What price?”

  “When you go back to your world, I want to go with you.” When neither Rom nor I answered, she continued. “You don’t realize how hellish this place is.”

  Oh I think I did realize.

  “So I want to immigrate.” Amy grinned. “I want to go to your world.”

  Rom’s expression said “No freakin' way” and I agreed.

  “Sure,” I said, facing Amy. “You bet. Just get us out of here and to the palace. We have to rescue our friends. Once that's done, you can be first who goes through the portal.”

  Sergeant Amy didn’t seem to notice any deception. My poker face must have become really awesome.