by Bob Burke
If walking caused some discomfort then climbing the stairs was an exercise in agony. Every step upwards jarred another aching limb or my torn muscle. I felt as though I’d been skinned and roasted over a roaring fire. Everything burned or stung in some respect after my tunnel experience and, with my luck, there was no obvious hope of easing this agony in the near future.
When I eventually dragged myself to the top of the stairs, all I wanted to do was lie down and be mothered. As there wasn’t a mother to be seen in the vicinity and as lying down would probably result in me not getting back up again for probably quite a few months, I willed myself to go on and through the door.
Fortunately, the door wasn’t locked, as I probably wouldn’t have been able to bend down to try my luck at another lock-picking attempt. Opening the door slightly as quietly as I could, I peered down the corridor. It looked more used than the one I’d just left but there didn’t appear to be anyone on guard that I could see. Pushing the door open just enough to squeeze through I squelched carefully down the corridor towards the next flight of stairs.
I managed to climb three flights before meeting anyone. On the third floor landing two henchOrcs were standing guard. Now the reason for my cunning disguise could be revealed. Most of Edna’s troops were Orcs–not too smart and not too alert but very handy in a fight. Looking like them, although a trifle larger, I might be able to make my way around the building without being too obvious.
I was about to find out how convincing my costume was. Keeping my head down, I shuffled towards the guards. As I got close, they recoiled at the smell. Good, at least they wouldn’t look too closely. It also appeared as though I actually smelled worse than they did–which in itself was quite an achievement and something that, in other circumstances, I might have taken some (but not a lot of) pride in.
I knew some very basic Orcish–which to all intents and purposes sounds like a flu-ridden gorilla strangling a hyena–so when they hailed me I muttered something along the lines of being required on the third floor in order to relieve a sentry there. At least that’s what I think I said; I could have just as easily asked the sentries for some hot, buttered toast and a glass of dragon’s blood. Sometimes it was difficult to get those choking sounds just right. I must have been convincing (or smelly) enough, as they let me pass without examining me too carefully. Can’t say I blame them. If I had been on sentry duty, I wouldn’t have been too eager to examine me either.
I made my way up another, and hopefully last, flight of stairs. At the top I paused for breath and to give my long-suffering body some respite. A long corridor, covered in a luxurious red carpet, stretched out in front of me. Suits of armour lined the corridor, one beside each door. With one exception, all the doors were made of very ornate patterned wood. The exception was the door behind which, presumably, all Edna’s interesting stuff was kept.
I walked up to it. It looked like a standard metal security door: grey, impregnable and securely locked. Heaving yet another of my many sighs of resignation, I took the lock pick from my pocket, cleaned it as best I could and began to jiggle the levers in the keyhole.
After ten minutes or so it had become clear that I was never going to add breaking and entering to my long list of skills. My efforts to pick the lock had resulted in very sore trotters, a rising sense of frustration and a door that steadfastly refused to be unlocked. Maybe I was doing something wrong or maybe it was just that the Masterblaster wasn’t actually the state-of-the-art tool I had been promised. In any event, I suspected that hitting the door with whatever implement was to hand wouldn’t be quite as successful as it had been down in the sewer. As I sweated and struggled, I became aware of a conversation from behind the door.
‘How’s he doing?’ said a rough-sounding male voice.
‘Not too good,’ came the reply. ‘He’s been out there for a quite a while now and he still hasn’t managed it.’
‘How long do you think we should give him?’ said the first voice again.
‘I dunno,’ replied the second. ‘But I know I’m getting bored just waiting here. The fun is going out of it.’
‘Let’s not wait any more,’ said the first voice again. ‘Let’s just do it now.’
‘OK. On a count of three: one…two…three.’
Before I had a chance to make any kind of sense of the conversation, the door swung open and two pairs of hands reached out and grabbed me. Hauling me into the room, they threw me unceremoniously to the floor where I lay panting, aching, smelling and trying to get my bearings.
‘Well, paint my backside green and call me a goblin,’ said a loud and very familiar voice from right in front of me. ‘If it isn’t Harry Pigg, crap detective and failed burglar. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone take so long to pick a lock. What kept you?’
My eyes ran slowly up past two legs so fat they were doing GBH to a pair of green stretch trousers. They traversed a torso that suggested its owner enjoyed several square meals a day (quite possibly a few circular, triangular and oval ones as well) and up to a face that defined new levels of ugliness, even for a witch. Imagine Jabba the Hutt with bright red lipstick and a long off-blonde straggly wig and you may get some idea of just how repulsive Edna–for it was she–actually was.
She grinned at me, which was a particularly unpleasant experience as it showed off a mouth with teeth that varied in shades of yellow and green, and that gave off a breath so unpleasant that I almost smelled good in comparison.
‘There I was, wondering exactly what was so special about that lamp I took from Benny when suddenly you appear, stinking to high heaven and apparently eager to take it back.’ She looked me straight in the eye–or at least as straight as someone whose eyeballs rotated in two different directions could–and leaned forward so our faces were almost touching. ‘Looks like you’re the man who can answer this most intriguing of questions. What a timely arrival, eh?’
She was about to slap me enthusiastically on the shoulder but quickly reconsidered when she saw what I was coated in.
She turned to the two henchOrcs who had dragged me into the room. They were small but very mean-looking.
‘Tie him to a chair and hose him down,’ she ordered. ‘I’m not asking him questions until he smells better than he does now.’
She walked towards the door and, as she opened it, she appeared to have an afterthought.
‘Oh and I’m going for a bath, boys,’ she said with a malicious gleam in the eye that was currently looking at me. ‘So no need to use up all the hot water on him, is there?’ And with a long, loud and unpleasantly mocking laugh, she left the room.
10
Anyone for Pizza?
As you can imagine, it doesn’t take too long for two very burly henchOrcs to tie a relatively defenceless pig securely to a chair–even a pig that they had to keep at arm’s length owing to the smell. And there was going to be none of that slowly working the trotters free while being interrogated either. These guys were pros in the tying-up game. My trotters had been tied to each other, then to my body and then to the chair. I felt my extremities begin to go numb as the ropes constricted the flow of blood. The only way I was going to free myself was by diligent use of a chainsaw and there didn’t appear to be one conveniently to hand. I had been trussed up more securely than Hannibal Lecter; all I was missing was the hockey mask.
While the goons located a long hose and began running it out of the room and down to the nearest bathroom, I took the opportunity to have a closer look at my surroundings. As I expected, bearing in mind what had just happened to me, the lamp was nowhere to be seen. The room itself was relatively bare. All it contained were a few chairs, a long table and what looked like a drinks cabinet. Considering where Aladdin had kept the lamp, this room was a bit of a surprise. I had expected more hi-tech surveillance and security systems.
A large oval mirror hung from the wall directly opposite me (presumably deliberately, so I could see just how bad I looked). Without going into too much detail, my sk
in was no longer a fetching shade of pink and the new coloration wasn’t entirely due to bruising. What was left of my Orc costume was sodden and covered in a variety of strange substances that didn’t warrant a more detailed forensic examination.
It looked as though whoever had supplied the plans to Mr Big had led him up the garden path (and into the garden shed whereupon they had hit him across the back of the head with a shovel), as there certainly wasn’t any sign of a lamp here.
Even I couldn’t figure out how to rescue myself from this particular predicament. Apart from the unpleasant experience of being hosed down with cold water, I also had the pleasure of Edna’s interrogation to look forward to–and I was assuming this was going to be a little bit more intense than just having a bright light shone in my eyes while she shouted ‘you will answer the questions’ at me.
I was still looking around the room when the Orcs came back in. From the expression on their faces, it appeared as though they were relishing the thought of hosing me down. Can’t say I blamed them; I was looking forward to a shower myself–albeit a somewhat hotter one than the one I was about to receive.
Grinning at each other, the two henchOrcs lifted the hose, aimed it at me and began to twist the nozzle. I turned away to shield my face and braced myself for the freezing deluge. There was silence, then two loud clangs in quick succession and the sound of the nozzle hitting the ground. After another brief pause this was followed by two more thuds–this time slightly further apart and much heavier. More importantly, I didn’t seem to be getting wet.
I looked around very slowly and not without some trepidation as I had no idea what had just happened. To my utter amazement, both Orcs were lying unconscious on the ground. Standing over them, wielding a large metal leg–presumably borrowed from one of the suits of armour outside–was a very satisfied-looking Jack Horner.
‘Jack,’ I asked, somewhat stunned at this unexpected turn of events, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘Hey Mr Pigg,’ he said cheerfully, ‘I’m rescuing you. I told you you’d need my help.’
‘But how did you find me?’ I asked weakly.
‘C’mon Mr Pigg,’ he replied. ‘You smell very strongly of shi…I mean poo. How difficult do you think it was to find you? I just had to follow my nose. Anyway, you left a trail of muddy footprints all over the building. It was easy.’
‘And you got in how exactly?’
‘Almost as easy. After I followed you here, I just bought a pizza from the takeaway around the corner, stuck a red hat on my head, called to the front door and said I was delivering a super pepperoni to Grazgkh. There’s always a Grazgkh around, it’s the Orc version of Joe.’
And I was supposed to be the detective!
‘Then I just made my way up through the building, following your trail,’ he continued, obviously enjoying himself. ‘These Orcs aren’t too observant, are they? Not one noticed me all the way up. Then I crept up behind those two guys and hit them over the head with this leg.’ He swung it around with some relish. ‘They were so busy with the hose they never heard me.’
‘Good work, Jack,’ I said. ‘Now, can you untie me and we can get the hell out of here before someone discovers I’ve escaped.’
‘Righty-o,’ he replied and went behind me to untangle the spaghetti of knots that bound me to the chair.
After a few minutes I still hadn’t noticed any relieving flow of blood coursing back into my numb trotters.
‘How are things going back there, Jack?’ I asked.
‘Not too good, Mr Pigg,’ Jack replied. ‘I can’t seem to get these knots undone.’
‘Well, try to find something that you can use to cut the ropes,’ I said, scanning the room for anything that might have a sharp edge. ‘But hurry. I’m sure Edna will be back soon, suitably refreshed, smelling very nice and eager to inflict pain.’
Jack began searching the room frantically, shifting bits of furniture aside as he looked for anything that might be used to set me free. As he searched I struggled to loosen the knots but my efforts were as fruitless as his. I could see that he was beginning to panic so I tried to calm him down.
‘Take it easy, Jack. You need to calm down and focus. There must be something here we can use.’
‘But I can’t see anything, Mr Pigg.’
As I looked around the room yet again, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Inspiration struck me–and it was probably the only thing that had struck me recently that hadn’t hurt me in some form or another.
‘Jack,’ I said urgently. ‘Take that thing you hit the goblins with and throw it at the mirror. Cover your eyes as you do.’
After a moment’s incomprehension, Jack suddenly understood and, grabbing the metal leg, he flung it at his reflection. There was a loud crash and shards of glass flew in all directions. When the noise died down, Jack slowly brought his arm away from his eyes and scanned the floor for a suitable piece of glass. He picked up a shard so big and sharp it looked like it could have beheaded an elephant and, with great care, began sawing at the ropes. As they began to fall to the ground, I could hear what sounded like a small army pounding across the floor overhead. Someone (or lots of someones) was coming to investigate the noise and I really didn’t fancy being here when they arrived.
‘Come on, Jack,’ I muttered. ‘Speed it up, speed it up.’
‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ he replied, panting from the effort. ‘I don’t want to cut my hands.’
‘Cut hands will be the least of your worries if we don’t get out of here soon.’ As I spoke, the ropes binding my trotters fell to the floor. Despite the pain as the blood rushed back in, I grabbed the glass off Jack and attacked the other ropes binding me. The sharp edge cut cleanly through them and I stood up–a little bit unsteady but ready to accelerate out of the room as fast as I could.
‘Good work, Jack. Now let’s not be here.’ I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door. As we were halfway across the room he stopped unexpectedly, almost pulling me off balance. I turned to him. He was looking at the broken or in fascination.
‘Jack, what are you doing? We don’t have time for admiring our reflections.’ I was on the point of lifting him onto my shoulders and carrying him out when I saw what he was looking at. What he had broken wasn’t a mirror; it was a door cleverly disguised as a mirror. With the glass surface now all over the floor we could see into the room beyond and sitting on a shelf (along with what I suspected was a lot of very expensive and probably very stolen artifacts) was what looked like Aladdin’s lamp. It certainly looked battered enough.
‘Nice one, Jack, I take it back. Get to the door and tell me when the ravening hordes charge down the corridor. If I’m quick enough we may be able to grab the lamp before they get here.’
Jack peered cautiously around the door.
‘Nothing out there yet,’ he reported, ‘but there’s definitely someone coming. I can hear lots of grunting, stomping and shouting. Hurry up.’
Very cautiously, so as not to cut myself on the jagged edges that were still embedded in the rim, I sidled through the doorway and into the storeroom beyond. Not even pausing to look at what other goodies might be on the shelves, I grabbed the lamp, stuffed it into my wetsuit and reversed just as carefully back out again. Once I was safely back out of the storeroom, I ran out the door, dragging Jack by the scruff of the neck as I went. Together we ran back down the corridor towards the stairs. As we did so, a horde of Orcs brandishing an interesting array of sharp and pointy objects came around the corner at the opposite end. Immediately spotting us (not that it was too difficult) they roared angrily and gave chase.
Fortunately for us, there were so many of them and the corridor was so narrow that they fell over each other in their eagerness to catch us. This slowed them down enough that we were able to get to the stairs. The two Orcs that manned the guard post on the landing tried to block our way but my impetus, speed and bulk bowled them easily aside and they tumbled down the stairs in front of us.
Tucking Jack under one arm, I threw a leg over the banister and slid down, trying to maintain what was a very precarious balance. For once, Jack didn’t treat it as a theme park ride; presumably he was as scared as I was. The banister itself spiralled down in wide arcs all the way to the ground floor so I had no hairpin bends to navigate, which was probably just as well because with the rate we were accelerating, any sudden departure from the stairs would probably have resulted in us splattering against the wall at the far side of the room. Spotting a number of Orcs running up the stairs towards us I yelled at Jack to hold out his metal leg (which he’d shown the good foresight to hold on to) and he cut a swathe through them as we passed, their bodies cascading down the stairs like ugly skittles.
We reached the ground floor and flew off the end of the banister. Fortunately, the thick carpet broke our fall and we avoided a collision with any of the furniture. Dizzy but otherwise unhurt, we staggered to our feet and ran through the door to the basement. Grabbing the leg from Jack, I placed one end on the ground and wedged the other under the door handle. It wasn’t going to hold our pursuers at bay for long but might give us enough of a lead to enable us to get to the drain safely.
As we charged recklessly down another flight of stairs there was a very satisfactory thump as the first of our pursuers hit the door, followed by more thumps and much shouting as the rest of the pack hit it (and the leading Orcs) with equal force.
‘Quickly, Jack, let’s go,’ I urged. ‘It won’t hold them up for long.’
Jack nodded and picked up speed. Now he was beginning to leave me behind. Willing my body to one last effort, I caught up with him and we ran for the manhole. As we reached it, there was a loud splintering from behind us as the door finally gave way. We only had minutes before the Orcs reached us. Grabbing Jack, I threw him into the tunnel and dropped down behind him.