Carpet Diem

by Justin Lee Anderson

  Thus the rule remains intact.

  What it hides, however, is an utterly true fact.

  The best heroes have immaculate timing.

  ----

  A door burst off its hinges and flew across the room, landing somewhere between Simon’s and Harriet’s positions. Nobody heard it land, but everyone turned toward the new source of light, including all three of the heads, interrupted as they prepared to feast.

  Framed in the light was the silhouette of a large, well-muscled man. Simon thought he must be at least six foot five – almost as tall as Bob. He strode into the room as if he owned it, everything and everyone in it. He walked directly to the beast's nearest face, which contorted in confusion.

  The man breathed deeply and, in a voice so resonant it seemed to come from the depths of the Earth beneath him, spoke one word:

  “Out!”

  The beast quivered and, with a befuddled grunt of confusion, blinked out in a puff of yellow smoke.

  ----

  Not only had the man’s voice been audible, it had restored their hearing too. In the eerie, ambient light, Simon could see his friends, backed up against walls around the room and all, miraculously, alive. And sweating. There was a lot of sweating.

  He looked to their saviour, who was smiling warmly back at him as if Simon was a long lost relative who’d arrived for Christmas dinner. He was just as mountainous as his shadow suggested. Simon could now see his ebony skin and elegant black suit. He exuded magnetism, not so much owning the room as dominating it, until it begged for a kind word or a smile.

  “Father!”

  Amelia had regained her movement and appeared back at the edge of the balcony.

  The man looked up at her and smiled.

  “Hello, angel,” he said in that same orotund voice. “You OK?”

  “Yes! Thank God you’re back!” she shouted, tears of relief and happiness welling in her eyes.

  “Well,” Sean said to Bob, “that sorts that out.”

  “What?” asked Bob.

  “I always reckoned she was Priest’s daughter.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Calderon closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, his mood becoming blacker by the minute. Firstly, he was very tired of being stared at by the scum he was forced to share the flight with. It only reminded him of the damage to his face - once a source of considerable pride to him. His mother would have told him it served him right; it was just reward for his hubris. But she’d been dead a long time, and he had long since abandoned the strict morals she’d attempted to instil in him on the streets of Barcelona.

  Also, he was too hot. The damned heating was stuck on, despite it being far too warm onboard, and when he turned the air on overhead, it dried his lips and face.

  If it weren’t for the fact he’d probably be arrested on landing, which would irritatingly delay his journey by at least a few hours, he most likely would have slaughtered one of the lowing cattle in the toilet, to make himself feel better.

  He decided to settle for spiking the gin of the elderly woman next to him with a slow-acting poison, which would leave her perfectly healthy for a good hour or two after the flight.

  By then, he’d be well beyond the reach of the local law.

  ----

  Harriet was in lust. First, she had Sean, who had saved her life at least once in the last few hours and very possibly twice. Then there was this new guy, who she wanted very little more from than for him to allow her to cover him in whipped cream and lick it all off.

  Now.

  She reached up to reassuringly touch her necklace. This had to be Priest, and Dear God Almighty, even with the Priest-resistant necklace on, she wanted him. He smiled and she melted, the aches and bruises of the battle disappearing as she imagined the two of them in a deep, warm bubble bath together.

  Then it occurred to her that perhaps, if she asked nicely, she could have both men at the same time and make them into one big pretzel.

  She looked down at her blood-spattered hand and realised the evidence of her recent murderous activity was fairly … evident. Perhaps her lascivious thoughts were less than appropriate, just at the moment. Especially considering she’d just killed the mother of his daughter.

  Still, she was optimistic.

  Simon sidled up to her. He looked uncomfortable.

  “You all right?” she asked, without a hint of condescension.

  “I think so. Though I might have wet myself a little,” he joked.

  Harriet cracked a smile and resisted torturing her nephew. Just this once.

  ----

  “I found some rope!”

  Prisoner came barrelling back onto the balcony, panting heavily and dropping an end of rope over the edge. It took him a moment to realise that his frantic hunt, while noble, had been somewhat redundant.

  Sean and Bob looked up at him. The giant was leaning heavily on the Irishman as they moved across the room towards Harriet, Simon and … him! The usurper who’d stolen his island!

  “Thanks, mate,” Sean called up to him, “but I think we’re grand now, ta.”

  A crowd had started to form, milling back into the room now that all the roaring and crashing and bleeding had stopped.

  Priest stood over Ingrid’s body. He hugged his daughter as she sobbed into his chest.

  “It’s my understanding that you three are legitimate guests on the Island and that you annoyed my ex-wife. My daughter tells me it wasn’t your fault and, honestly, that’s no surprise. Could I invite you to join my wife and I for dinner, this evening? After you’ve had a chance to rest, of course.

  “Oh, and you, sir,” he said, turning to Bob, “should see Edoard. He’ll fix that for you.” He nodded toward Bob’s wounded posterior.

  Sean looked as if he’d been punched in the chest.

  “Boss, do you know where Edoard is?”

  Priest removed a sleek and sexy little tablet device from a pocket and tapped the screen. Simon wondered how all these magical / immortal / weird people managed to get hold of all the great gadgets. Maybe they all shopped at Amazon. Holy Crap.

  “In his room,” Priest replied.

  “Come on,” Sean said, supporting Bob, “I’ll take you.”

  ----

  Daniel was in a huff. Again.

  Faunt’s teleporter had shown up out of nowhere and said Faunt would be “obliged” if they would show her the same hospitality they would have shown him. If he ever left his house.

  “What harm can it do?” Lily turned to Cherry. “What are your thoughts on True Blood?”

  “Ooo. What season?”

  “Three, I think.”

  “Awesome. Got any beer?”

  “I’m sure there must be some in that kitchen. Wait until you see this TV!”

  The girls wandered off without even a “by your leave” to Daniel.

  He had the distinct feeling that Lily wasn’t taking this nearly as seriously as he was. Which was probably a good thing. He’d already seen what happened when someone failed his father. And he wasn't going to end up living like that.

  He was going to claim the Rug. He knew exactly how to get it - and have a little fun with the Demon in the process.

  He couldn’t wait to see her face.

  ----

  “I am so sorry, mate,” said Sean.

  “Me too,” added Bob.

  Ki sat in a chair in the corner of Edoard’s room, sipping at something that appeared to be tea.

  The room was as opulent and garish as Bob would probably have expected from a wizard. The plush furniture was a rich purple, often laced in gold. The four-poster bed, on which he now lay with his wounded buttocks exposed, was intricately carved in dark oak, and the sheets were of the softest cotton. Around the walls were a number of aged, wooden bookshelves holding a combination of old leather-bound books and what Bob could best sum up as 'trinkets' – little carvings, bottles and statues which seemed to follow no pattern of taste or style whatsoever.

 
; There were also elaborate oil paintings on the wall which, while he couldn’t actually see them moving, he was almost certain were not quite the same each time he looked at them. Some were of battles; a few seemed to be royal courts, while one was just a motley collection of characters standing around a candle, in a cave.

  “It seems that I will live,” Ki said, gently, “so I suppose there is no harm done. Would you mind, however, telling me what it was all about?”

  Sean grinned. “If I just say ‘a woman’, is that going to be enough?”

  Ki sipped his tea.

  “From most people, no. From you, my friend, I expect no less. The one with the nice breasts?”

  Sean nodded. “If it helps, she was the one who skewered the auld bitch - with a beer bottle.”

  “Do you know,” Ki said, closing his eyes and smiling, “that does help.”

  Edoard appeared back from the side room he’d disappeared into just after Bob and Sean arrived.

  “This is going to hurt, I’m afraid. I had another serum, which is painless, but I used it all on Ki and it takes eleven hours to make more.”

  “It’s OK,” said Bob, “to be honest, I’m glad to be alive to feel it.”

  “Amen to that, son,” said Sean.

  “And to be fair, it was my fault.”

  “It was not!” cried an indignant, female voice.

  Edoard jumped as he began emptying the bottle onto Bob’s exposed rump, spilling some of the potion on the bed sheets.

  “Damn!” he yelped, and ran back into the side room.

  Bob took a sharp breath as the liquid that did land on him bit hard into his wounds. He also lifted his head to see Amelia, who was standing in the doorway. She rushed to the side of the bed and knelt down, facing him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was all my stupid mother. She can be so horrible! Do you know, she was most upset about the fact that she thinks you are somebody’s servant? I swear, she’s going to have to do a lot of grovelling to make up for this.”

  Rooms can fall into comfortable silences, when old friends sit by a fire, come to the natural end of a conversation over a glass of wine and feel no need to fill the quiet with meaningless words.

  There are nervous silences, when a couple who have finished a date and retired to one of their houses for ‘coffee’ run out of witty bravado and both know that the next thing they do will either lead to pleasant fumbling or fumbling embarrassment.

  There are odd silences in elevators, when one of those present loudly breaks wind and the rest of the strangers desperately try to pretend they didn’t hear anything. And even if they had, in fact, heard something, it certainly wasn’t funny. Not a bit.

  Then there are those silences; the painful, awkward, somebody-please-God-say-something silences.

  These come in many forms and can range from disconcerting to utterly crucifying. But it is difficult to beat the silence that descends when a room full of men don’t know how to remind a nice young girl that they recently played a significant role in the violent death of her mother. Not without making her cry, anyway. And making attractive young women cry comes quite high on the list of things said men would prefer to avoid.

  The three men were dumbstruck, jaws metaphorically agape, looking at each other for some hint as to how to broach the subject of her mother’s mortal coil being well and truly shuffled off.

  Thankfully, Edoard came bustling back into the room with another bottle and a cloth to attack the spill on his bed sheets.

  “Oh, Amelia,” he said, “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she answered chirpily, “She totally deserved it. She has no right to hold it against any of you. I mean, summoning the Furies; what was she thinking?”

  This response served only to further confuse the men. Including, now, the wizard, who spilled rather more of the new liquid than he intended, yelped again, and started frantically dabbing at the sheets with the cloth.

  “Em…” Bob started, and then realised he had no idea what was going to come out of his mouth next.

  “I’m sorry,” Ki eventually said, calmly, “I understood she’d been killed.”

  “Oh yes,” Amelia agreed enthusiastically. “And she will be very embarrassed about that.”

  More silence.

  “Ah,” Edoard looked up from his sheets, which he had apparently decided were either fine or beyond saving, “I take it she was under a preservation order?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Amelia answered, “her and all her friends. They’re like weeds – always popping back up again when you think you’re rid of them.”

  “A preservation order?” Bob found some words, at last.

  “Yes,” Edoard explained, “It’s a peculiarity of the island. Priest has the – I suppose ‘right’ is the correct word – to grant virtual immortality to anyone he chooses while they are here, by slowing their ageing process to virtually nil. In some cases, however, he can also have them resurrected should they be killed by violent means. It’s part of his ‘deal’.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got one, too,” Amelia chipped in. “It’s nice to know you’ve got a safety net, you know?”

  “Really?” Sean asked with interest. “Sure, I didn’t know it could extend to that.”

  “Nor I,” said Ki.

  “Anyway,” Amelia said, keen to change the subject, “how are you?”

  Bob stood up.

  “Better, I think.”

  “Yes, those wounds are healing nicely,” Edoard agreed. “But you should get some rest. And some trousers.”

  He handed Bob what appeared to be a sarong, which the giant wrapped around his waist.

  “Yeah. First, I think I need sleep,” he said.

  “Would you like me to come with you?” Amelia offered. “Just to keep an eye on you, I mean,” she quickly clarified.

  Bob breathed deeply.

  “Please don’t think I’m holding any of this against you, because I’m not, but I think I need just need some time to … recover.”

  Amelia nodded, but her smile betrayed her disappointment.

  “Of course,” she said, her voice quivering slightly.

  With that, she turned to Sean and put her hand on his arm.

  “Thank you,” she said, quietly, “all of you.” She looked at Ki and Edoard individually, then left almost as suddenly as she had arrived.

  Luckily, she made it out before the men saw the tears welling in her eyes and awkwardly felt they had to do something about it.

  ----

  Gabby slammed the door shut behind them as they stumbled back into their room.

  “Holy Mother!” she panted. “That was … wow!”

  Luke sat down on the bed.

  “I know,” he nodded sagely.

  “It was … wow!”

  “It was almost a disaster. But it was almost an answer too, wasn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” Gabby started to come back down. “Didn’t you see them, with the swords and the torch … and the Furies?”

  After being shut out of the chamber in the rush of the crowd when The Furies appeared, the pair had managed to find themselves a vantage point into the room from the side of the balcony. They’d nearly been seen by the strange man from the cage when he moved Amelia, which would have drawn more attention to them than would have been ideal, but he’d been so busy looking for rope that he didn’t even look in their direction. Thankfully, it hadn’t occurred to him that the drape they hid behind would have made a pretty decent rope substitute.

  “Yes, I saw it.”

  “Wasn’t it … exhilarating?”

  “Well, I suppose so, but… I think we need to talk about something.”

  “What is it?” she asked, sitting beside him.

  “Maybe that’s the only solution.”

  “How do you mean? Debovar was almost killed.”

  “I know.”

  Luke left the silence to fill
the empty carriages in Gabby’s train of thought.

  “You mean, you think he should have died?”

  “Well, it’s an answer, isn’t it? If he’s dead, they can’t get the location of the Rug from Faunt, and they have to start again.”

  “OK, but then Faunt kills us, right?”

  “Probably. But isn’t it worth that?”

  Gabby sat in stunned silence. While she’d always said she was willing to risk her life for this cause, she hadn’t expected to come to a point where she actually had to decide her own life was expendable. Luke stood and paced.

  “No,” she finally said, firmly.

  “No, it’s not worth it?”

  “Yes, it’s worth it, but no, it’s not a solution.”

  “Why not?”

  “Who owns the Rug if we’re dead?”

  “Well, whoever Debovar leaves it to in his will, I suppose.”

  “Yes, but they’re not going to find it, are they? I doubt he has everything listed somewhere. Which means it’ll stay right where it is, in our attic. And when we’re dead?”

  “The house will be sold, I guess.”

  “And the new owners will find the Rug. It’ll be theirs by default. Now, with it being so close to where they were already looking, how long do you think it will take them to find it?”

  Luke sighed. “Not long.”

  “And without us to protect it?”

  “OK, I see your point.”

  “If we die, we’re just putting off the inevitable, not stopping it.”

  She was right. God, he loved her.

  She walked to him, placed her hands gently on his face and looked deep into his eyes, smiling. Tears ran down her cheeks as she said, “We’re still alive. We’re. Still. Alive. While we are, there’s hope. There’s always hope.”