by S. B. Davies
If only it was a human construction, thought Dave, there would be access doors all over the place, each liable to gentle persuasion with an axe.
Why did a vast intellect like Engineer want some tiny piece of petty vengeance? What’s the point? I saved its arse and the planet too. All I get in return is my wife back, my daughter back and a mildly dangerous adventure in the world’s largest manufacturing facility. Hang on; hold hard one minute. Dave cast his mind back.
‘Interest, intrigue, excitement. Have you any idea how long I have swum in the Sunless Sea? How dull it is to watch over a machine that never fails? I may sleep for many years, but I still have to wake. Do you humans not keep pets?’
There. That was it. Now I have plan. A bloody stupid plan with frightening consequences for failure, but I’m buggered if I’m going to sit here on my tod, without a decent whiskey, company or even a cup of tea.
The Noggin pounded on Fergus’s back as they freewheeled down the smooth path to the M7. It passed him a note.
‘Stop’
Fergus let the tandem rolled to a stop at the bottom of cutting. The Noggin jumped off and handed Fergus another note.
‘Want go the Library’
‘What? We are going to the Library,’ said Fergus and the Noggin took back the note and scrawled on it.
‘Want go Library Head Branch’
The Noggin pointed the other way up the M7. Fergus remembered Dave saying in his best pontificating Yorkshire voice: ‘Until then a word of caution, under no circumstances go past the Huddersfield junction. Seriously, that is the road not travelled by.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Fergus. The Noggin shook it head so hard little bits of detritus flew off. ‘And why?’
The Noggin wrote:
‘Never been. Have books never read by Noggin. First chance, last chance. Please.’
Fergus looked at the small hairy haystack, it seemed to beg; if he could see its eyes he was sure they would be staring up at him with soulful longing.
‘Why not? The Library Head Branch it is. Not far?’
The Noggin nodded and pointed at Fergus.
‘You want to drive?’ asked Fergus and again the Noggin shook its head.
Fergus stepped aside and let the Noggin perch its self on the front seat. It only just reached the handlebars.
The dog swivelled around in the basket and barked something.
‘We’re going to the Head Branch of the Library,’ said Fergus.
The dog yawned and muttered something, it sounded familiar.
‘Stuff it Fido, you can wait a while,’ said Fergus, ‘Or walk back. The dog stared for a long moment, then faced forward again and gave a short bark, followed by a long howl that sounded like the Palaver battle cry. Fergus wondered what he was getting himself into. Then again Dave always said ‘Everything starts and finishes at the Library.’ Fergus kicked off and they wobbled a sharp turn to the left and headed off up the less prosaic part of the M7.
Fergus peddled steadily for what seemed like hours. They rushed along the surface of the Causeway and it seemed the same, except the moss was gone and the roadway was a tortoiseshell of smooth cobbles. The transition was sudden, the air turned cold and the light green summer sky went black, as if someone turned the light out. The dog yowled; it seemed excited. Fergus was not so sanguine; anything that excited a dog was bad news for a human.
Dave swam naked in the warm, buoyant waters, the compass’s green glow, like an atomic will ‘o the wisp sat on his chest. It was a peaceful, enchanting experience, swimming in the utter dark and silence, disrupted only by the stomach clenching thought of what should happen as soon as one of the big lads noticed his intrusion. There was a swirl of water and Dave’s conviction wavered. He closed his eyes and thought of Maeve. That helped.
When it happened it was almost an anti-climax. Dave went from one warm wet environment to another, only this one smelt of fish and pressed down on him like a freshly oiled hippopotamus. Dave tried not to struggle, but that lasted only as long as air in his lungs. He kicked and clawed at the tough, slimy surface in desperation, all confidence in his cunning plan lost in the panic. As his limbs lost their strength and his brain slipped into warm darkness, he felt only anger and regret.
Fergus stepped off the tandem and let it fall on its side. He didn’t know what to expect, but not this. The moment they stopped the Noggin leapt off and ran straight through a door in a nearby building. The dog also jumped off and now sat looking at Fergus with a bored expression, as if waiting for a card trick.
He stood in a quadrangle. It could be King’s College Cambridge, green immaculate lawn, old stone buildings, all it needed was a white haired don to wander past with a chicken on a lead to complete the picture. This was the Dark Library Head Branch? Amazing, yet disappointing. Where were the transporters, flying cars, and spindly towers stretching into the clouds? Fergus wanted tall, serious looking aliens in silver capes and was disappointed.
The dog barked and Fergus looked round. There was a don, without the chicken it was true, but undoubtedly a university don, black gown, mortarboard and an unworldly, benign air of someone who, though they have lost their chicken are sure it will return home soon.
‘You must be Mr Fergus Loaf. Welcome to the Dark Library. You on the other hand are Canis Mirabalis,’ said the Don staring at the dog, ‘Reconnaissance expert and assassin. No entry for you. Please wait in the refectory.
Now Mr Loaf what can we do for you? So very rare to get a human visitor, not since that sofa chappie, mad as a hatstand I recall. And you will take your Noggin home with you I hope? We are so overcrowded and the books can only take so much loving attention. Jolly good, let’s get cracking then, hmm?’
Fergus was overwhelmed, but somehow relaxed and blurted out.
‘I want to find the way home for the Tuatha De Daanan.’
‘Indeed, an honourable quest, however there are complications. Let’s go to my study. You do like tea and crumpets, hmm?’
‘You try my patience Trellis,’ said Engineer, as he stood over Dave lying in a puddle of water on the dock.
Dave gasped and sucked in air like a man rescued from the guts of a thirty-foot long catfish just before he asphyxiated. He was covered in slime and smelt like a chip shop’s fridge.
‘Game’s up Engineer.’ wheezed Dave, ‘Be a good chap and fetch my tweeds, I would hate to lose my pruning knife; it was a gift from Enoch.’
Engineer sighed; it was almost human. Dave’s clothes appeared in a heap in front of him.
‘What now? What now Trellis you have punctured the forth wall of my little game?’
‘We go back to before. I get on with my life, you carry on being a bored, super entity getting your voyeuristic kicks watching us, like a god slumming it a diet of pizza and daytime TV.’
‘Hmm. You’ve spoilt it Trellis, it feels sordid now.’
‘It was always sordid, you just deceived yourself.’
There was silence, then a huge belly laugh.
‘I could get to like you Trellis. So be it. A deal; you carry on and I will watch occasionally. However no more rescues, I don’t want you to expect my help.’
‘I never did.’
‘True,’ said Engineer and waved his hand.
Suddenly Dave was dressed and dry, stood in a bubble of utter darkness, in the distance he could a mountain of fairy lights that approached at a frightening speed. As they got closer Dave could make out the vast squid body of Engineer. Dave expected the lights to slow and to see a vast black eye staring at him. Instead he saw the tentacles as long as football pitches spread out like vast leathery trees and a massive shape with a black beak, like the buckets on an excavator, open wide and swallow him whole. For an instance Dave thought he heard a chuckle, which could only come from a whale or perhaps a demon. Then he arrived home.
Dave sat in his own bath, filled with cold baked beans.
‘Very funny,’ said Dave and stood up. He squelched over the shower and started to un
dress. Through the hissing shower Dave heard a lovely voice he thought he had lost forever.
‘Hard day at the office darling? Here, let me take your mind off it.’
Fergus sat back in the cracked leather armchair and examined the fire. It was as real as could be, the Don’s study was a confused mix of orderly and mess; a clear, organised desk surrounded by tottering piles of books and mounds of papers. It smelled of dust, wood smoke and burnt toast, with a hint of carbolic soap, though that could have been the Don.
‘Is this real? Or are you feeding this directly into my brain?’
‘We could do that I suppose, but to what end? No, this is all real. You must understand that the main Library is vast, it covers most of this world, and so there is room for diversity. We are human you know, though not as you; rather we are re-cycled, plucked from fatal disaster or disease and re-vitalised, so that we can research, catalogue and collate the information about various human and human like races. With unlimited resources almost any environment is possible and this is the current consensus. Of course, the women chose a different environment and we find we work better apart, only socialising together. That said many scholars similar to myself use other places to live and work. Each to their own. I digress; back to the business in hand; you and the Tuatha De Daanan. May I ask why?
‘Well, there’s this woman-’
‘Enough Mr Loaf, I understand. Hmm… Well… Let me give you some background.’
The fire was lower and Fergus had finished many cups of tea by the time the Don had given him the potted history of the Tuatha De Daanan. Fergus leant back in the armchair and mulled it over.
‘Thoughts Mr Loaf?’ said the Don.
‘If I turned up and demanded to visit the Library, they would have to let me in?’
‘Indeed, an immutable duty of all sentient races, unless of course they wish to lose their library rights. One point, how would they know? You would be on the outside of a locked portal.’
‘I could send them a letter.’ mused Fergus.
‘Indeed you could. A formal request from the Library would have greater weight,’ said the Don and poured himself another cup of tea from the bottomless teapot, sat warming in the hearth.
‘You’d be willing to do that?’
‘We humans must stick together and one wouldn’t want to stand in the way of young lust. We all remember it you know, blow off the dust and you can find a gland or two even in this mausoleum,’ said the Don and smiled.
‘Thanks,’ said Fergus, ‘How long will it all take.’
‘Why Mr Loaf, we are technologically sound. It is already done. I have dispatched a Port Nav to your Noggin. It will show you how to use it.’
There was loud knock at the door.
‘Ah, that will be your guide,’ said the Don, rose from his chair and opened the door. A Noggin strode in and squeaked something. Its hair was a dirty rust colour. The Don squeaked back and ushered Fergus from the study.
‘I hope everything works out Mr Loaf, please come back and relate your adventures, it will make a valid addition to our archives. Good day, and don’t mind the Noggin, it’s one of the plumbers.’
‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Fergus.
‘Something else I can help you with Mr Loaf?’
‘Yes, Dave, I mean Dave Trellis. He’s trapped in the Workshops. I need to rescue him.’
‘Mr Trellis is well known in this establishment. One moment I will check; we have access to the surveillance network.’
The Don disappeared onto his study. Fergus stood outside feeling awkward, he was sure the Noggin was staring at him.
‘Good Lord!’ shouted the Don from his study.
The Don returned to the corridor.
‘I located Dave on the surveillance network. You will be pleased to know that he is no longer in the Workshops, he is back at the Allotments and, shall we say, busy at the moment.’
‘That’s fantastic news. Thank you…’
‘Professor Turing, but you can call me Alan.’
‘Thanks Alan, now let’s see if we can make this all work out with an ending worthy of your archives.’
‘All the best then and next time, see if you can bring some beer, the here stuff is good, but not quite the real thing.’
‘Sure Alan and thanks again for everything.’
Fergus followed the rusty Noggin along wooden floored corridors and down stone stairways until they entered a huge vaulted hall; long wooden tables and benches filled most of it. About halfway down sat a bored dog and an annoyed Noggin.
Fergus felt conspicuous lining up the tandem in the middle of the immaculate grass of the Quad, and kicked off firmly trying for a graceful start. Perhaps he should have warned the dog and the Noggin, who were slung sideways off the tandem. Ignoring the mutters and squeaks, he tried again and this time failed to get enough speed to penetrate the portal. The dog walked off in a huff, so Fergus and the Noggin set off once again and made it through. Shortly afterwards the dog caught up and leaped straight into the basket on the front of the tandem. It sulked all the way to the junction with the M7.
Chapter Eighteen
In the final analysis, you’re just a meat sack taking up space. Get over yourself.
Dave Trellis
One Life, One Woman, One Shed
Dave took another small Yorkstone slab from the pile and handed it to Enoch, who neatly chopped a complex shape that fitted into the almost complete cairn. Enoch lowered his sword.
‘Sadness.’
‘Aye, but victory too. Don’t forget that. There will always be sacrifice when the good stand up for what is right and proper. Consider the alternative.’
Enoch nodded.
‘Who is this one for?’
Enoch consulted a list.
‘Archibald Smethers, dentist and potholer.’
‘Aye, Dentist; still got one of his fillings, never stinted on the gold amalgam. Sound chap, always pestering me to get down the catacombs, always felt bad refusing him. Any road, what did I decide as to his epitaph.’
Enoch looked at the list once more.
‘Filling his last cavity.’
‘That’s grand, had a lousy sense of humour did Dentist. The joke’s on him this time.’
Dave slid the stone onto a flat white plate and pressed a button. There was a flash. A small cloud of smoke and dust puffed into the air. On the surface of the stone, in perfect gothic script, were inscribed those very words in a bright yellow metal.
‘Shame we couldn’t use gold,’ said Dave, ‘That would be asking for trouble and bronze is almost as good.’
‘Tenth time Dave, try new tune,’ said Enoch.
‘Like yourself?’
‘Image is warrior. Speak rough, sound tough.’
‘You certainly fooled Fergus.’
Enoch grinned, ‘I wonder how his endeavour proceeds?’
Fergus felt itchy all over. So much for the luxury of silk; his codpiece was riding up and the gorget felt like a noose; still it was nice of Uncle Bran to lend him his old armour. He was even more grateful to Boadicea finding him a docile horse, amenable to surreptitious sugar lump bribery.
Fergus sat on the horse waiting. In front was a small hill, topped with a ring of tall Beech trees, behind a column of two hundred Tuatha De Daanan in full ceremonial armour and beside him was Boadicea, stunning in gold and leather carrying the royal banner of her father’s house. Below him on a stout, Shetland pony sat the Noggin staring at a small device. It looked up at Fergus and shook its head.
‘It’s time. Let’s go,’ shouted Fergus and nudged his horse. It didn’t move. Fergus leant forward awkwardly with an outstretched hand and offered the nag a sugar lump. The bribe accepted, the horse walked forward and the column started to move.
‘Nothing’s happening.’ whispered Fergus to Boadicea.
‘Patience, my love; they’re duty bound and must comply.’
The column started climbing the hill. Fergus searched the scenery for any sign of acti
vity, his stomach gripped by anxiety and his bladder reminding him of a common issue with full armour. Mindful of Boadicea’s matter of fact explanation of the usual solution, yet unsure of her sense of humour he decided to hold on for as long as possible.
Then the ground shook and with a deep grumble, like an old man disturbed from an afternoon snooze, the earth opened. A ragged entrance, like a garage door covered in lawn, opened. By the time the column reached it, a long, stone tunnel appeared and in the distance the exit showed clear blue sky and sunlight, contrasting the grey clouds above.
As they entered the tunnel, Boadicea nudged her horse closer to Fergus until their knees touched and reached out to him. He leant over and kissed Boadicea.
‘A fabulous victory my love,’ said Boadicea, ‘No-one can deny you are a hero after this. Finally we return home after so many millennia.’
A huge grin, spread over Fergus’s face and then as Boadicea moved away, he slipped sideways and fell off his horse.
The early morning sun shone on St Catherine’s allotments, turning the sandstone walls gold and lifting the dew in a fluffy blanket of mist. Two stone-faced terraces curved inside the huge, circular walls, their symmetry broken by the barbican on one side and a dark tunnel entrance on the other.
Dave Trellis watched the allotments come to life as he sipped tea on the veranda.
‘It’s quite lovely; sunshine, the scent of jasmine and breakfast for two with white tablecloth and best china,’ said Maeve as she reached for another slice of toast.
‘Scent of compost more like and breakfast for two won’t last; the bloody council are trying to build shoeboxes for the desperate on my land. I will illustrate exactly where they can shove their compulsory purchase order, with a pop-up edition of Grey’s Anatomy.’
‘Get over yourself Trellis,’ said Maeve.
‘And there’s the wedding,’ said Dave, ‘can’t be doing with all that pomp and circumstance.’
‘It was nice of Boadicea to lend you armour, after all you are the Knight of Honour.’
‘That was a plot hatched by both of them in a fit of drunken giggles and I will have my vengeance. I get to give a speech; they didn’t think that one through.’