by Barnaby Yard
“Thank you young man," said one huge lady who looked like she quite possibly wrestled bears for fun, as she took a cup. One large finger jamming into the delicate handle and filling it entirely. The rest of the cups vanished with various ‘thank yous' and ‘Ooh just what the doctor ordereds'. Spencer returned to the kitchen where a fresh batch of cups were laid out ready to go. He noticed that the finer cups had run out and there were one or two mugs dotted in to the group now.
Three more trips and the narrow street was now full of people. The noise of hundreds of squawking conversations was deafening as it echoed around the buildings which leaned over the gathering crowd, bouncing their words back at them. Spencer had been joined by the others outside the Strang’s house, all of them were watching in silent awe. Mrs Strang came out of her small door with a large copper pan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other and proceeded to bring them together with such force that the pot was denting inwards with each blow. Almost at once the crowd grew silent and turned to look at her as she climbed up onto a small ledge that protruded from under the kitchen window, raising her a good head or two above the crowd.
“Right. Can everyone ‘ere me alright?" she bellowed across the gathered mass in front of her.
The was a chorus of replies from all over.
“Ooh yes thanks Mrs Strang."
“Lovely and clear here Mrs Strang!"
As the clamour died down it became apparent that someone was talking amongst themselves towards the middle of the group. Spencer felt the silence somehow become deeper. People were edging apart at the front as Mrs Strang’s gaze bore into them. A path opened like a wound into the crowd, splitting back until it reached two young women. One of the girls was facing away from the front of the crowd, loudly whispering into the other's ear and was clearly oblivious to the stares that were facing them from all sides. The other girl was not. She had a look of abject terror on her face, her eyes widening and filling with tears as she looked up at Mrs Strang whose eyes were burning so fiercely you could probably have made toast in front of them given a sufficiently long fork.
“Elsie Partridge!" Mrs Strang bellowed. The girl who had been talking stopped and spun round like she had been stung. It was only as she turned that the full horror of the situation dawned on her. The was a pause so pregnant, it felt like triplets would tumble out of it at any given moment.
Mrs Strang eventually broke the silence.
“So then Elsie. Did your Ian get his ointment I sent over for that nasty rash ‘ee ‘ad?"
“Er... yes... thanks," replied Elsie in a pained voice. It occurred to Spencer that it looked like Elsie was developing a nasty rash. She was certainly squirming and fidgeting enough.
“Good. Well you tell ‘im not to go climbing in any more bushes doing gawd knows what then eh?"
“Yes. I mean... No! Oh! I mean..." Elsie spluttered back.
“Yeah, I dare say you do! Well anyways, back to why we’re ‘ere." The crowd closed back again as if commanded by some secret signal Spencer had missed. Elsie vanished into its midst, much to her relief. Spencer had the feeling there had been another conversation going on which he hadn’t heard. One that had taken place just underneath the one with the actual words in it.
“I think most of you ‘ave ‘eard what’s been ‘appening. Now we ain’t no strangers to doing what needs to be done to put food on the table, and if that means sometimes relieving those buggers that have more than their fair share of their burden, then so be it. But I ain’t for running around pretending to be in charge of the bloody place, or for turning on those what gave you a start in life. Now I ‘eard a lot of lads from round ‘ere ‘ave got ‘emselves mixed up in all this business." Mrs Strang paused and looked intently around at the crowd, some of whom were shuffling uncomfortably under her gaze.
“Now, when some of our own goes astray and starts thinkin’ they can swan about like Lord Muck, what is it we do? We bloody well take ‘em down a peg or two. Now I want the word put out that all these buggers better well be at home like good lads having a nice meal what is cooked by their loving mother ‘oo only wants the best for ‘em. Alright?"
There was an immediate sing-song chorus of ‘Yes Mrs Strang’ putting Spencer in mind of a class of school children, despite the average age of the crowd being old enough to have forgotten school entirely.
“Right, well off you go then," Norbert’s mother finished and dismounted the ledge. The crowd began to move off slowly, funnelling out of the little close chattering in whispers as they left.
“Those of ‘em ‘oo knows what’s good for ‘em will back home by midnight no doubt. I’m just glad our Norbert wasn’t silly enough to get mixed up in all this business," she said, and marched back indoors.
“Right," sighed Spencer. “We better start getting things ready. Do you know what you need yet Albert?"
Albert had looked like had been in a trance. He was staring at a large pad of paper in his hands and had been scribbling on it furiously throughout Mrs Strang's speech.
“Yes!" Albert shouted excitedly, suddenly looking animated. “It should be no problem at all! I’ve made a list of things here. Of course I don’t know this place in the same way I know my own, but if I could ask these two lovely ladies to accompany me I'm sure they could help me find the right way?" He was looking at the twins and beaming a smile that Spencer thought looked slightly unhinged, but which seemed to have a rather more happy effect on the two young women who giggled and went into a huddle.
16
Double Ended Vibobbler
“And you’re sure?” Spencer was talking to Nebwett and the twins who were surrounded by bits of paper, all of it used in furious scribblings.
“I think so Mr Blake, we won’t know ‘til we try it though.” Normally Spencer wouldn’t have trusted someone like Nebwett, or Norbert for that matter as far as he could throw them. Which, now he thought about it and their size, was probably a decent distance. He did however believe in Nebwett’s ability with technology. For starters, he had managed to make a working copy of a Vibobbler, which was no mean feat bearing in mind nobody seemed entirely sure how the thing worked. He had had a fast and in depth conversation with Spangler where Spencer only caught a few words he recognised such as string theory and wavelengths, the rest appeared to be gibberish.
Afterwards he had sat with the twins, the Vibobbler he had used to come to this world in front of them, and scribbled furiously as they talked.
“And this will take three of us you think?”
“I think so Mr Blake. One at each end and then one in the middle to turn the handle. I call it the ‘Double Ended Vibobbler’. The twins exploded with laughter. Spencer was determined he wouldn’t give in and join them, but the effort of keeping a straight face made his jaw ache.
“Right, good name,” he replied to a confused Nebwett who was looking at the twins like they were aliens.
“I’d like to be the one turning the handle if that’s ok Mr Blake?”
Suddenly Spencer didn’t need any help to stop laughing.
“Are you sure Nebwett? We don’t know what will happen when we do this, where we’ll end up, or even if we’ll make it at all.”
Nebwett pulled himself to his full height (which was less impressive than it sounds), puffed out his chest and threw his shoulders back.
“I know Mr Blake, and I am ready to do what needs to be done to save everyone. From what I've learnt ‘ere, and what I know about these ‘fings, this will get a whole load worse if don’t I do something.”
“Right, good. Well done.” Spencer was taken back by the passion of the little man. “You better get on then.” He left them to it and walked outside to where Albert and Colin were grappling with a large metal box which stood on a small cart against the wall of the Strang’s house. He was shifting it about, lining it up so the weight was distributed evenly.
“Have you come up with our distraction Albert?” Spencer said joining him next to the cart.
“I
hope so. It’s something I’ve been tinkering with for a while for my... well you know, my little atmospheric enhancements.” Spencer thought back to the thunder and lightning Becky and he had seen in the morgue.
“Yes, I know.”
“I’m going to need a few people to help me though, someone to stoke the boiler, some to hold the trumpets.” Spencer paused while he considered this, then decided to just wait and see what this thing was, and go and get Albert what he needed.
“Ok, I’ll get some bodies to help.”
“Bodies!” Albert cried. “And I'm a mortician! Very good Spencer, very good!”
Spencer smiled at him and walked away, hoping his face hadn’t betrayed the fact that he hadn’t meant to make the joke. Turning, he saw Mrs Strang turn the corner of the small close with a gang of young men and women behind her looking sheepish.
“Allo Mr Blake. Now I ain’t rounded all of ‘em up yet, but these ‘ere are a start.” She said, pointing to the group behind her who were attempting to look like it was pure coincidence they were following her, and that they were definitely still rebels and that doing what your mum said didn’t change that.
“Right, excellent.” He scanned the group who all avoided his gaze. “If you want to go and help Albert over there, that would be great. You’ll all be given jobs later when we’re ready to go. The group slouched off in the direction he’d waved them in and he moved across the street to Becky who had appeared from around the corner after Mrs Strang's gang.
“Hey,” he said, trying to appear nonchalant, but it was hard when he was wondering if this was the last time he’d ever see her. “Any news?”
“Well pretty much all of the people who’d joined up to Garsh’s militia have gone home. Word went round pretty quick once Mrs Strang had given her little talk.” They both smiled at the recollection.
“Good, sounds like we’re almost ready to go. Look, Becky, if things don’t go...”
“No.” She held her hand up “We don’t do this mushy goodbye stuff until afterwards.”
“What if there isn’t an afterwards?”
“Then it doesn't matter. If we say goodbyes now, we’re saying it because we’re scared of what might happen. If we’re both here after all of this, then we’ll have a drink and say what we think.” He opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off.
“That’s my final word.” She smiled at him and walked off towards the Strang’s house.
17
Distractions
Lord Garsh stared out of the high window of the palace across the rooftops below. There was no smoke, no glimpse of banners or projectiles that gave any clue as to what was going on. They had all heard the noise as they had begun the inspection in the courtyard. It had sounded like half the city had taken to the streets. He had sent out a small group of men to see what was going on with strict instructions to report back within fifteen minutes. It had now been twenty. The door opened behind him.
“Ah, Mr Pall,” he said turning. “I take it you have heard that there is a little ruckus outside?”
“I have,” said Pall gruffly, leaning against a tapestry that was pretty close to priceless. Garsh winced slightly, but continued.
“It seems our men are late in supplying reconnaissance, could you please go and... hurry them up?” Pall grunted and left the room. He really hated working with the man, but he was useful.
~~~~
Four grumpy looking young men stood in front of Spencer. They were each holding huge thick, paper tubes which snaked away into a large box that sat in the middle of the street. Three of them were having some difficulty in controlling the tubes as they were also trying to hold both hands over their ears. Each tube was emitting a deafening cacophony of noise. Shouting, drums banging, screams, there was even some chanting, but Spencer couldn't make out the words.
The only one of the four not having issues with either the size of the pipe or the noise was someone Spencer had been introduced to as 'Post'. Apparently this was due to him being as deaf as one. He was enormous and held the tube with ease. He wore a vacant grin and beamed around at the scene.
Behind the four men, Albert Bulber was scurrying around frantically pulling levers and twisting dials which shot jets of steam out from the wooden box which heaved and creaked in the road. Despite all this tremendous effort Spencer couldn't see what difference these tweaks were making, the machine seemed to chug on regardless. He stared at the box again. Albert had assured him that it was safe, but he'd done it with a slightly lopsided grin and a faraway gleam in his eye which had suggested to Spencer that he would have at that moment said anything that allowed him to continue working on the contraption. He was like an excited puppy, or a giddy lover.
He had been bouncing around, chattering away at a hundred miles an hour ever since they had asked him if he could help to make some sort of distraction.
The palace guard should be responding soon. He poked his head out to the narrow street which ran past the large, dumpy building and saw in the distance a group of men moving towards them wearing bright red uniforms.
“Ok, they’re coming. Colin, you keep an eye out and let Albert know so that he can move the machine back when they start getting nearer. Keep drawing them back into the city.”
They both nodded in agreement; they looked worried. To be truthful, Spencer was too. He had no idea how this was going to play out, and even if they were successful, they still had one final job which in all probability, would kill him.
He turned away from them and ran down a narrow alley which ran horizontally to the broad road in front of the palace. Washing hung on lines strewn across the gaps from apartments. The sight of something so mundane threw Spencer for a moment. In the midst of chasing through the streets of an alternate London hoping to overthrow a despot and return the Queen to her rightful throne, it seemed a bizarre sight.
After he had crossed four streets that the alley intersected, he veered off onto the fifth. Becky was there waiting for him with Spangler. The old man had kept his head down during the preparations, lurking in the alley which ran along the back of the Strang’s little house. He had only come back in, when Becky had gone to tell him they were ready to put their plan into action. The only words he had spoken were to insist that he came with Becky and Spencer, despite their worries that he would slow them down.
“Ok, the guards are starting to move to Albert’s riot, we need to move now.” He led the others to the section of wall which ran across the top of the street he was now on. The wall was lower here, crumbling slightly at the top, there were plenty of handholds. They wouldn’t need them though.
At the end of the street, on the corner, stood a small store that seemed to sell everything under the sun. Its merchandise spilled out onto the street. Buckets and mops stood alongside carpet beaters and sculptures of hideous looking birds made out of plaster. Right on cue, Nebwett appeared from the entrance, staggering under a step ladder, with a long rope curled under one arm.
“Allo! I got them!” he said in a cheerful voice. He looked like someone who was just off to do a bit of DIY rather than a man about to try and overthrow a country’s regime. He took the rope from Nebwett and slung it over his shoulder.
“Ok, quick, straight to the wall. The next guard shift shouldn’t pass here for about fifteen minutes, but I want to be sure.” They had timed the patrolling guards enough times now to be fairly sure, besides, they might have responded to the fake riot if they’d been near enough to hear it when it had started. Still, he worried.
They checked the street in either direction, there were a few people milling about, but no sign of any guards. They placed the ladder at the base of the wall and Spencer climbed up it. He reached the top and pulled himself up, swinging his leg over so he was straddling it. Spangler followed, far more easily and spritely than his grey hair would have suggested, straddling the wall and looking around. Becky came next, sprinting up the steps and leaping from the top she landed on her feet on the wall, and prompt
ly jumped off the other side, moving into a roll like a pro. Spencer was still holding his hand out to help her up and, feeling foolish, turned it into a wave to Nebwett.
“Ok Nebwett, thanks, get the ladder back to the shop and then get to Ingress and start setting up.”
“Right-oh Mr Blake!” Spencer watched him scuttle off back towards the shop. He helped Spangler down the other side before jumping down to join Becky. He landed more stiffly than her and jarred his ankle slightly.
“You ok?” she asked, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. She had been scanning the empty courtyard since she had landed.
“Fine,” Spencer replied rubbing his ankle. Spencer and Becky took a hand each of Spangler who was sat on the wall, with his legs dangling like humpty dumpty. He jumped down, with them easing his fall, and grunted slightly as he landed.
They headed to the nearest wall of the palace without seeing another person and as one, looked up at the window positioned on the first floor above them. A young woman Norbert’s mother had introduced them to as Mabel worked at the palace as a housemaid. Mabel’s head appeared from the window.
“Allo, no one’s about up here.”
“Good,” Spencer replied. “Ready?”
“Yep!” Mabel replied, holding her hands out in front of her. Spencer took one end of the rope and threw it up towards her outstretched arms. It failed to reach even halfway on the first attempt, the second was wildly wide of the mark.
“Damn. We’re going to need something to weight the end of it.” They looked around the courtyard, but could see nothing. Something nudged against his foot. He looked down and saw a tortoise. It had the word ‘prat’ written on one side. He bent down and picked it up, feeling it’s weight in one hand.
“Spencer, you can’t.” Becky looked appalled.
“I don’t see what we’ve got much choice, time’s running out.” He wrapped the rope around the middle of the tortoise and tossed it a few inches in the air, feeling the weight of it. It was too heavy. He lifted the tortoise to his face. It stared at him with it’s slow, solemn eyes and blinked.