by Bob Burke
‘Go, go, go,’ I roared.
Jack disappeared down the tunnel and I followed as fast as I could. Thankfully, someone–most probably Edna–had taken a bath since my last passage through the drain, as it wasn’t quite as unpleasant as previously, making our progress relatively more comfortable than before. In front of me, Jack was sliding away down the tunnel and I tried pigfully to keep up with him. Behind me I could hear voices raised in argument as the Orcs decided whether or not to follow us.
‘You go first,’ said one.
‘Me? I’m not going in there,’ said another in reply.
‘Ma’am will be very angry.’
‘Well you go, then.’
‘I’ll go if you go first.’
As is usual with Orcs in these situations, they then started squabbling and this soon erupted into a fully blown brawl. Orcs are good like that–low attention spans but high animosity. By the time we reached the main sewer, they’d probably have either all killed each other or forgotten all about who they were chasing in the first place. We made our way through the water back to the ladder and climbed up to the street.
As we headed back to the car, it struck me that Edna would be somewhat miffed that I had stolen back the lamp. She would be probably even more annoyed that she hadn’t had the chance to slap me around a bit. I figured it wouldn’t take her too long to track me down–especially as both my apartment and office were in the phone book.
I was going to have to come up with a plan to resolve this dilemma and this had to be the plan to beat all plans. In fact, this one had to be a doozy or I was quite possibly going to end up revisiting the sewers–this time face down and probably not breathing.
11
I Have a Cunning Plan!
With Jack safely dropped off home, I decided to lie low to try to avoid detection by all the various factions that were by now, presumably, scouring the town for me–and that didn’t come any lower than the Humpty Inn chain of hotels. It was the cheapest and least reputable hotel chain in town. If they were any seedier you could have used them to feed birds. Fortunately, their very seediness meant that they were the perfect place to hide out as no one noticed, or even cared about, who was in the rooms.
Comfort wasn’t high on the list of facilities offered by the hotel. The bed felt like it was made of rocks, there was a strange fungus growing on one of the walls and, yes, the room was lit up by the garish purple light from the neon sign that ran vertically along the front of the building and flashed on and off at regular intervals. The curtains didn’t do much to block this light out as they looked to be made out of tissue paper.
The room had one very important feature, however–a working bathroom. Despite the imminent threat to my person, the first order of business was a long, hot, luxurious shower. I have to say I wallowed. If someone had broken in and pointed a gun at me, I’d have told them to get on with it and died a happy pig. Of such little pleasures is life made.
After my shower, and smelling a lot better, I sat at the wobbly dresser and studied the lamp carefully. It was as battered as its photograph suggested. The amount of dents in the metal suggested it had had a long and interesting history–quite a bit of which seemed to involve it being used as a football. It was so tarnished it was hard to make out what its original colour was. Try as I might, I couldn’t open the lid. Although it didn’t look to be sealed shut in any way, it just would not lift. I tried using a knife but it wouldn’t budge. It was one stubborn lid.
There were no markings of any type on the surface, or at least none that I could see. I did contemplate dropping it in a fire to see if the flames revealed any mysterious writings but I didn’t actually have a fireplace and I figured that a match wouldn’t be quite as effective. In all probability, the room was so flammable even lighting a match would have caused it to catch fire.
I put the lamp on the dresser and stared at it. Then I stared at it some more and, just as I was about to give up, I stared at it especially hard. It didn’t make any difference; it still sat there mocking me with its dullness and downright shabbiness.
Then I had a really outrageous idea: what if I rubbed it? What was there to lose? There was certainly a lot to gain, assuming the rumours were true. If all went according to legend then I was on the point of leaving all my troubles behind. Wealth beyond my wildest dreams was within my grasp. No more worries; no more Aladdin, mysterious stranger or Edna. And that could be a real result rather than just a turn of phrase.
The more I thought about it, the more it appealed to me. What could possibly go wrong? I figured that the more I thought about it the more likely I was to talk myself out of it. Best be decisive and take immediate action.
I grabbed the lamp with my left trotter. It wasn’t easy but I managed it. Holding it level with my eyes I contemplated it one last time; it was still as dingy and battered as before. I slowly raised my right arm and, taking a deep breath, I brought the lamp towards my trotter and when they touched, I rubbed the surface furiously.
There was a…well…nothing actually. No sudden clap of thunder. No flash of light. No puff of smoke. No intimidating eastern gentleman with a trail of vapour where his lower legs should be. No deep and terrifying voice shouting ‘I am the Genie of the Lamp. What are your wishes, my Lord?’
Nothing!
The lamp still sat there silently mocking both my efforts and me. Either that or it wasn’t as highly positioned on the alchemical plane as had previously been speculated. With a grunt, I flung it back on the dresser and headed for the bed. As I prepared for what looked like a very uncomfortable night’s sleep, I took one last look back. Something about the shape of the lamp tried to trigger a thought at the back of my mind. My mind, however, was refusing to play ball and the door marked ‘Free Association’ stayed resolutely shut. In the off chance that my subconscious would do what my waking mind couldn’t, I stumbled into the bed, pulled the flimsy blankets over me and was asleep in seconds.
I was also awake within seconds as the synapses in my brain–that had steadfastly refused to work earlier–set off a chain reaction that jolted me back to full consciousness. I sat bolt upright in the bed with a large grin on my face.
‘You are so clever,’ I shouted gleefully. ‘No wonder you wanted to steal the lamp. If it was me, I’d probably have done the same. Any wonder it didn’t work when I rubbed it.’
The beginnings of a really dastardly plan began to form in my mind as I tried to figure out where the nearest Internet café was. As I dressed, I thought I heard a noise from the corridor outside my room. I padded carefully to the door and put my ear against the wood. Fortunately, the quality of the workmanship was as poor as everything else in the hotel. The door was so thin I could hear clearly what was happening on the other side. As per usual, it didn’t bode well for me.
‘Is this the room?’ whispered a voice–very low and very guttural; very Orcish, in fact.
‘Yeah, he only checked in an hour ago,’ replied a second voice I recognised as the concierge from downstairs. So much for anonymity. Obviously Edna’s grapevine was very efficient. Once he’d heard she was looking for a pig, it didn’t take the concierge too long to make both the obvious connection and the inevitable phone call and no doubt pocket the reward.
As I was only seconds from having a horde of Orcs explode into my room I had to think very fast. I grabbed the dresser and pulled it in front of the door. It wouldn’t be a barricade–more a minor hindrance–but it might give me a few seconds’ head start. Grabbing the lamp, I ran to the window, forced it open and prepared to drop onto the fire escape that I realised at the last minute wasn’t there. Well, I did say it was a seedy hotel and safety regulations obviously weren’t high on management’s list of priorities. As I quickly tried to formulate a Plan B, there was a splintering noise from the opposite side of the room and the door was reduced to matchwood under the onslaught of a variety of crude swords and axes although, in fairness, you could probably have broken it down with a rubber knife w
ithout too much effort.
The horde swarmed into the room–or at least would have if they hadn’t, yet again, fallen over each other in their eagerness to get me. It appeared that Madame Edna had placed a very high bounty on my head.
‘There he is,’ growled one, stating the very obvious as they could hardly have missed me sitting on the window ledge. ‘Get him.’
There was only one thing for it. Taking a deep breath, I swung my legs over the ledge and threw myself at the neon sign. My luck was in and I managed to grab the crossbar of the letter ‘T’ in Humpty. My luck wasn’t in for long, however, as, with a screech of metal, the whole letter detached from the wall and slowly fell outwards and downwards. Like a demented stuntman, with my skin glowing purple, I clung on for dear life wondering if the rest of the letters would stay fixed to the wall. My question was quickly answered as, to my total lack of surprise, the other letters advertising the hotel slowly peeled away from the hotel wall and down towards the ground in a gigantic neon arc.
On the street below, three Orcs that had obviously been asked to guard the hotel entrance looked up vacantly as I fell towards them. Taken completely by surprise, they didn’t have time to get out of the way as a large glowing ‘TY INN’ and a purple-hued pig landed on them. For once I got lucky as I dropped on the largest and fattest of the Orcs and was exceedingly grateful for the soft landing. Unfortunately I didn’t have the time to express my gratitude properly, seeing as the rest of his buddies were about to come charging out of the hotel in hot pursuit of my blood. In any event the poor guy was unconscious and I didn’t have the luxury of enough time to even write a thank-you note; not that I would have anyway–I wasn’t that grateful!
Checking to ensure I still had the lamp, I slowly got to my feet and raced–well, staggered actually–down the street. Seconds later, what was left of the Orc posse charged from the hotel and, spotting me limping towards the next intersection, howled in triumph as they ran after me.
I now had two objectives: evade my pursuers any way I possibly could and, assuming I was successful and didn’t end up skewered by a large and rusty spear, get to an Internet café so I could send the most important email of my life.
I made the intersection and ran up the next street looking for something–anything–that might get the Orcs off my back. All I could see was the usual collection of seedy bars, dodgy clubs and occasional pawnshop that seemed to proliferate in the more disreputable parts of town. Despite my vain hope, there didn’t appear to be any obvious cavalry-corning-over-the-hill-type rescue operation waiting for me. I had to admit it was looking grim. I could hear the grunts and shouts of the Orcs as they gained on me. Surely it was only a matter of seconds before I became a pork kebab.
Then I spotted it: a possible way out of my current predicament. Limping across the street, I staggered through the doors of the Tingling Finger Bar and Grill, hoping that the name reflected the nature of its clientele. I almost fell to my knees in relief (and pain and exhaustion) as every elf in the bar stopped what he was doing and stared at me in surprise.
Hanging on to the door for support with one arm, I indicated back over my shoulder with the other.
‘Orcs,’ I gasped. ‘Following…me, trying…to…kill…’
I couldn’t get any more out and clutched the door, trying to catch my breath.
Despite my semi-coherent gasping, they got the thrust of my message quickly enough. Then again, all they really needed to hear was ‘Orc’, as it tended to provoke an almost Pavlovian response when uttered in the presence of an elf. All the rest of the message was just supplemental information.
As any reader of fantasy fiction will tell you, Orcs and elves are sworn enemies. All it takes is for one to unexpectedly bump into the other at, say, a movie premiere for a small-scale war to break out. As a rule, hostilities usually only cease when one of the two opposing sides has been rendered totally unconscious–or worse.
It was no surprise, therefore, when my arrival resulted in the entire bar suddenly changing from a bunch of happy-go-lucky elves (if elves could ever be described as happy-go-lucky) trying unsuccessfully to get drunk to an efficient and very hostile fighting machine waiting for their enemy to burst through the door.
They didn’t have long to wait, as the leading Orc pushed his way in, to be met by the heavily moisturised fist of the lead elf, the impact of which drove him back out again and into the arms of his colleagues.
‘Orcs in the pub; blood will be spilled this night,’ shouted one of the elves as he followed his leader outside to give both moral and physical support. Within seconds the bar was empty, apart from the barman and me. Like barmen the world over, he nodded at me and continued to clean glasses with a pristine white cloth as if nothing untoward had actually happened. Maybe his customers poured out of the bar every night in search of a row but I doubted it; elves usually preferred a quiet drink as opposed to a full-blooded brawl–except, that is, where Orcs were involved.
Still hurting, I staggered to the bar and looked up at the barman.
‘Back…door?’ I asked him.
He indicated a door at the back of the room with a brief twist of his head.
‘Nearest…Internet…café?’ Barmen usually knew everything about the locality; I just hoped this chap was one of them.
‘Out the door; turn right; two blocks down. It’s called the Cyber Punk. You can’t miss it.’
I thanked him and struggled onwards out of the bar and down the street. The Cyber Punk was exactly where he described it. Looking around to confirm I was no longer being followed, I pushed the door open and made my way to the counter. A geeky goblin (the actual Cyber Punk presumably) sat behind it, glancing through a magazine. I waved a twenty under his nose to get his attention. He looked down at me over glasses that were so thick they could have been used as bullet-proof windows.
‘I need to access the web,’ I said to him and waved the twenty from side to side. His head moved back and forth tracking every movement, his eyes never leaving the money.
‘Pick any one you want,’ he said slowly reaching for the bill.
Picking a terminal at the back of the room, where I was less likely to be seen from the street, I accessed one of my many email accounts. I began to carefully compose the most important email I was probably ever going to send. After typing furiously for a few minutes, I reviewed what I had written. I hoped it was enough to get the attention of the recipient without giving too much away to anyone else that might intercept it.
Dear Criminal Mastermind,
I know who you are and why you stole the lamp. I understand your need for complete secrecy, although transporting me to your hideout ultimately gave the game away (and employing Benny certainly didn’t help your cause, either). To prove I know what’s going on, I offer you this: he who controls the third option controls the power. It may be cryptic but I think you’ll understand what I mean.
I think I can help you. Be prepared to be present at the original drop point early tomorrow morning and take your cue from me. If all goes to plan we may both find ourselves out of this sorry mess for once and for all.
Best regards,
Harry Pigg
After a moment’s panic when I couldn’t remember it, I typed in the address Benny had used previously ([email protected]), hit the send button and my email disappeared from the screen. All I needed to do now was to get the other two players in this dangerous game to meet me tomorrow, and hope I could pull off a very elaborate stunt.
If I was successful, then I would be free of any unpleasant entanglements forever. If not, then I was likely to be caught in a very unsavoury Aladdin and Edna sandwich–with me as the filling.
I borrowed a phone from the Cyber Punk and, with a certain degree of trepidation, I made two very nervous calls. With nowhere else to go, I spent the rest of the night in the Cyber Punk, alternately surfing the web and playing World of War craft.
12
A Gripping Finale
Even early in the morning, Wilde Park was busy. The Three Blind Mice were begging as usual at the main gate. Fairy godmothers fussed around their charges, making sure they were well wrapped up against the morning chill as they played on the swings. An occasional elf jogger in pastel Lycra running gear panted along the pathways. Show-offs–always more concerned with looking good than actually keeping fit.
I had picked the most public area I could find for my dangerous rendezvous: a large open area with a small clump of trees to one side. Hidden in the trees was a very nervous Jack.
I had called him first thing and briefed him on the plan. He wasn’t going to be in any danger but his role was critical. Precise timing was essential so I drilled him over and over on his instructions.
‘You sure you know what to do?’ I asked him as we walked towards the bushes.
‘For goodness sake, Mr Pigg, we’ve gone over it twenty times. Just give me the lamp.’ Grabbing it from my hands he forced his way into the bushes and crouched down.
‘Just wait for my signal, OK?’ I said to him as I walked away. ‘And keep yourself hidden until then.’
He gave me a thumbs-up sign and disappeared from view. I walked to the middle of the park and looked back. Satisfied that he couldn’t be detected, I stood where anyone entering could see me and waited.
I didn’t have to wait long. There was a loud rumbling from above and a helicopter flew low over the trees. It circled the park twice and then landed close to me, the blast of wind from the rotors covering me in dust, potato chip packets and candy wrappers. This case had certainly found diverse and interesting ways of getting me dirty.
Peeling away a potato chip packet that had stuck to my forehead, I watched as Aladdin and my good friend Gruff alighted from the ‘copter. The wind from the rotors didn’t appear to affect Aladdin in the slightest. Nothing stuck to his suit, and his hair moved so little it must have been glued to his head. If nothing else, the man had style in spades.