There did not appear to be any difference in taste between this water and the water back on Earth other than the taste of stale sweat.
Tinker, being a dog, was used to drinking from all sorts of muddy puddles, ditches, and, not to forget the canal, so Pol guessed the taste would not matter to him anyway.
Once he had slaked his thirst, Pol settled down outside his porch to make himself another two spears. Because there were so many thorns still attached to most of the branches, it took Pol a while, using his puny penknife, to remove them all. Ended up with quite a pile of thorns, which he brushed into a heap to one side. He also fashioned a bow, using a flexible branch about four feet long plus a single strand of rope, which he had unraveled from Tinker’s extending lead and used this as a bowstring. He wound a couple of strands of the coarse black hair he had retrieved previously from beneath an umbrella tree around each end of the bow to prevent the bowstring from slipping off. Quite a nice job he had made of it too, even if he did say so himself.
Earned him a few smarty points and a mental pat on the back.
Twelve almost straight arrows of varying lengths, with sharp thorns for points, lay beside the bow, as did a small pile of feathers, which he had salvaged from the second leg of Roc.
Roc feathers, he called them.
His intention was to fix a couple of feathers to each of his arrows using some more of the tough hair. In theory, the feathers should go some way towards helping the arrows to fly straight.
Perhaps...
Chapter 60
Tinker had slunk away to curl up in the shade of a larger boulder whilst Pol remained sitting on the boulder he now regarded as his ‘chair.’ It never occurred to him to wonder why he was not feeling the least bit sleepy now even though, by his watch, he had been awake for more than seventeen hours, which was something of a record for him, as the time by his watch was now two am. By his reckoning, this ought to be very early morning of his third day on this planet, some thirty-nine hours since he’d left home. However, according to the sun in the sky, it was still about mid afternoon on the first day, and this bothered him. It bothered him a great deal.
‘I’m going to have to sort something out, time-wise. If I’m going to be here for a while, I need to be able to measure the passing of time, according to the sun, especially after the battery in this watch dies. A sundial of some sort might be the best way to do it.’
The cogwheels ground slowly around until an idea started to form.
‘I suppose I could always set up a pile of rocks and make a few scratches on the ground, to start with. Perhaps one for each hour by my watch. Twenty-four instead of twelve. Then, I can mark off the position of the sun against each hour mark to see how it’s progressing. It might give me an idea about how long one of these days is.’
Chuffed, Pol gave himself a whole heap of smarty points and a couple of mental pats on the back.
Clever sod.
He could picture it now. Over to the right on a piece of almost flat ground. Poke in a tall stick. Draw a circle in the sand as best he could. Make a mark on the ground with each passing hour. By the time the sun did eventually set, he would be able to work out how many hours made a day.
Easy.
Just then,
As he was pondering this, Pol heard the noise.
Somewhere in the distance, a long, drawn-out, haunting wail rent the air. Sounded like a lost soul, crying in the wilderness. The sound sent a cold shiver down Pol’s spine.
‘That’s no Roc,’ he thought. ‘Got to be some kind of wolf, by the sound of it. Proves there must be other animals around here.’
However,
Knowing this did not cheer him. Rocs. Wolves. What else was there? Lions? Elephants? Giraffes? If so, he would have to be more alert than he had been up to now. His life would depend on it.
Tinker woke immediately at the sound and quickly stood up to face the distant forest. His ears pricked up, his tail went down, and his hackles stood up on end. He took three steps forward before dropping anchor, and stood as if he were rooted to the spot. He remained silent as he stared at the distant forest with a frightened, wary look in his eyes...
Chapter 61
Pol was in two minds about whether his water pots would be strong enough to carry water up from the river so he carried both empty pots and two boots full of water back to the cave. Then he and Tinker made four more trips. On each trip, Pol refilled his boots, carried them back to the cave, and poured the water into the two pots, which he had placed in his larder.
Job done. Now, he would he and Tinker would have plenty of water to drink and some for cooking Roc meat…
Chapter 62
The pub was crowded, the air inside very hot. The revolting stench of stale sweat and beer filled his nostrils. Because of the amount of people in the room, the thin, weedy, underage boy had to force his way through. Muttered feeble, insincere apologies to those people whom he had to, gently ‘nudge’ to one side or on whose feet he trod in his eagerness to reach the bar.
The boy was so thirsty; certain, the first pint would surely turn to steam as soon as it touched the back of his throat.
‘I really need a drink.’
He reached over the shoulder of a small, bald-headed, fat man and thankfully grabbed a hold of the pint glass full of something, which the barman was holding out towards him. Why should the barman care if he was under-age? Another three months and he would be old enough to buy alcohol legally so stuff them.
He tipped the glass to his lips and made to gulp down the dark brown liquid.
Glug, glug, glug.
What the...
Nothing.
The glass was empty!
But,
It had been full to the brim only a few seconds beforehand. He knew it had been full because he had seen it, with his own eyes.
“Where’s my beer gone?” he shouted loudly whilst glaring accusingly at the bald-headed man.
The bald-headed man made a question with his eyes.
‘Eh?’
Tipping the glass upside down and raising his voice, the boy repeated his question.
“Where’s my beer?”
Holding the glass up in the air, still upside-down, as if to show it was empty, he cringed when beer suddenly began to fall out of the glass. The dark liquid cascaded onto the bald man’s head, and ran down his face. Soaked the front of his shirt. The bald man did not appear to notice the beer, and turned his head away. Carried on talking to the tall, blonde-haired girl with the big nose, as if he had already forgotten about the young boy.
The boy tapped the bald-headed man on the shoulder and tried to point out the mess the beer had made on his shirt.
The bald-headed man ignored him and continued to chat to the girl with the blonde hair and the big nose, oblivious to the prodding finger.
“Ah well. If you don’t care, I don’t either,” mumbled the boy.
He turned away from the bald-headed man and licked his lips. He was so hot, was still thirsty, and he still needed a drink.
‘I want a drink.’
He reached out and grabbed a glass of beer off the old woman with a face like a witch.
“I need a drink,” he explained.
The old woman threw him a toothless smile and nodded her head as she watched him with interest. There was an evil glint in the old woman’s eyes.
The boy gratefully tried to empty the glass. But, this glass was also empty. Same as the previous glass had been. Nothing in it. He gawped at the glass, his frustration increasing.
‘Where the Hell has the beer gone?’
The lights overhead flickered for a moment, then, went out, leaving the room in darkness save for the glow from the fire flickering in the grate. Large shadows danced on the walls and ceiling, some appearing as grotesque specters, which added to the already gloomy atmosphere
The boy blinked a few times and held up the now empty glass, as if he was examining it in the depressing half-light radiating from the b
urning logs in the fireplace.
“It’s a bit on the weak side,” he grumbled to no one in particular. “There’s not much taste to it.”
Never is in an empty glass.
The old woman gleefully rubbed her hands together and cackled with delight.
“Serves you right for pinching my vodka, you thieving bugger,” she hissed.
He curled his top lip and tossed the empty glass over his right shoulder. He leaned forward and growled threateningly at the witch.
“It’s not vodka, you silly bitch. It’s beer. You’ve been done, woman.”
She made another cackling laugh, rubbed her left hand on her crotch, and thrust her hips towards him.
“Yeah, once, when I was twelve,” she said with frothy drool dripping from the corners of her mouth. “He was a huge brown man with a turban and a big cock.”
She seemed to think this was funny.
The boy did not. He angrily pushed the witch out of the way. Went in search of something to drink.
Sweat was making the boy’s shirt stick to his skin. His throat was dry, burning.
By this time, he was gasping for a drink.
“I need a drink,” he howled to no one in particular and the room in general.
Weaving in among the crowd of people in the room, the boy tried to steal drinks when he thought no one was looking, but he was always caught in the act.
Everyone laughed and pointed at him as he desperately worked his way around the room. Some people pulled their drinks out of his way whilst others simply turned their backs on him, or pushed him to one side.
Not one of them volunteered to give him a drink.
“Give me a drink,” he cried in desperation.
Just missed being able to grasp a glass of cloudy wine from a giggling blonde girl by a matter of inches.
All he got by way of reply was more laughter.
“Assholes!” he shouted.
This brought yet more laughter and a group of young girls threw jeers at him.
“Sod off...”
“Get yer own bloody drink...”
“Glug, glug, limp dick...”
“Don’t you understand?” he pleaded staggering towards the trio of girls. “I’m really thirsty. I need a drink. Someone give me a drink.”
In unison, the girls backed away from him and quickly disappeared into the crowd.
He turned around and desperately looked back towards the bar.
For some reason, the bar appeared to be a lot further away than it had been a few moments beforehand. He valiantly fought his way back through the tangled crowd, using his elbows to good effect, and reached out to pat the bald-headed man on top of his head.
“Pass me a drink over, mate.”
The man shook his head and laughed at him.
The blonde-haired girl, who had somehow grown even taller, also laughed at him.
The barman laughed at him as well.
“Sod off, then,” growled the boy angrily to the room in general. “The lot of you can just sod off!”
The bald-headed man turned around and, for no reason, slapped another man, who was standing to one side, around the back of his head. This man turned his head around and snarled at the bald-headed man. His big, werewolf-like teeth began to drip green-colored drool whilst blood started to run from his left eye. To the boy’s astonishment, there was a big sword sticking out of this man’s left eye.
The blonde-haired girl reached over and pulled the sword from the werewolf-man’s eye. The eyeball came out with the sword, still stuck on the point. The girl held the sword aloft and yelled something about having scored ‘Kelly’s Eye.’
Someone else shouted, “Bingo!”
The bald-headed man laughed aloud and barked at the other dark-haired girl, the one with the big ponytail sticking out of the front of her head. In reply, she smacked him in the face and huffily turned her back to him. The bald-headed man’s snout protruded from his face, his razor-like teeth gleaming in the dull light thrown out by the now roaring fire nestled in the middle of the room, and he bit into the blonde girl’s nose, ripping it from her face.
The blonde girl burst out crying, made a high-pitched scream, and poked a long spear into the bald-headed man’s right eye. Blood spurted out of his eye and sprayed all over the blonde girl’s semi-transparent blouse, which made her cry even louder.
Everyone started to laugh at the sight of blood dripping down the front of the girl’s clothing, including the bald-headed man, who, for some unknown reason, had now turned into a big, brown, hairy bear with long yellow teeth.
“Come on, you silly buggers. Stop messing around,” pleaded the boy as he tried to nudge his way towards the bar. “I told you, I need a drink.”
The crowd closed in and pushed him away from the bar. Eventually, he gave up, licked his salty lips, turned away from the bar, and ambled disconsolately over towards the fireplace, which now appeared to be situated on the far side of the room. People eagerly parted and allowed him free passage; they didn’t seem to mind him walking away from the bar.
“That’s funny.” He made a puzzled frown standing in front of the fire. “How did the fire manage to change places like that?”
The original fireplace no longer had a place for a fire; it was built from solid rocks, which formed a square, and had a layer of flat stones on top of it. There was no opening, and no chimney.
“I need a drink!” shouted the boy stamping his feet in frustration with tears beginning to form in his eyes. He sat down on the stone floor, cross-legged, in front of the roaring fire with his elbows on his knees, and his hands cupping his chin, making a huge sulk.
No one took any notice of him. They all carried on talking and laughing, and ignored his plaintive pleas.
Thirst forced the boy to stand up and try once again to push his way through the crowd towards the bar, but it was like trying to swim against a strong current. Everyone seemed to be set on preventing him from reaching it.
The boy was about to give up, turn over, and go back to sleep when he set eyes upon the vision of loveliness who had just stepped out of the crowd to stand in a small clear area in the middle of the room. She had well groomed short black hair, which was cut in a bob, dark brown eyes, a pert nose, and full red lips with the top lip forming a perfect cupid’s bow. There was a slight pink hue to her cheeks and when she smiled, he could see her pure white teeth sparkling in the flickering light of the fire. She was wearing a figure-hugging, wraparound red dress with a low cut neckline that showed off her more than ample cleavage. He could see no visible panty-line so assumed she was not wearing any knickers. Red, high-heeled leather shoes completed her outfit.
The boy almost melted when she threw a sexy smile in his direction.
She stood with her hands on her hips, seductively licked her tongue across her top lip, and arched her eyebrows as her eyes sent him an invitation.
He could not resist licking his own lips.
“Shite. I really need a drink,” he groaned.
His eyes boggled and his jaw dropped. He could not take his eyes off the girl.
Sweat poured from his face and ran down his neck, down the front of his chest, and pooled around his groin.
The boy’s heart rate increased and he swore he could hear, and feel, the sound of jungle drums beating in his ears. The room itself seemed to vibrate in time with the pounding of the drums.
Distant drums.
For some reason, he was unable to swallow around a large dry lump, which suddenly seemed to be filling his throat almost to the point of choking him.
“I really, really do need a drink,” he repeated forlornly without taking his eyes off the girl.
The attack was swift, much too quick for him to avoid.
She was on him in the blink of an eye.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips clamped to his lips, and her body molded against his body.
This was the quickest he could ever remember getting aroused to the point of ecst
asy.
He eagerly wrapped his arms tightly around the girl’s waist and hungrily pushed his tongue between her lips, wriggling it around inside...
...fresh air.
“Eh?”
Suddenly,
He opened his eyes.
The girl had gone!
Nothing.
No girl.
No barroom.
No people.
Nothing.
Just an un-earthy silence.
Standing in the middle of nowhere, he was all alone, alone and very hot. Boiling, sweating. His throat was very dry. Parched.
“I need a drink,” he hollered.
Blinking away the tears, he struggled to see through the swirling red mist...
Chapter 63
Lying on a bed of dry grass in his little cave, Pol stared at the bare stone ceiling and panted for breath. Moaned audibly when he realized what had happened.
‘Aw, bugger!’
“Nooo!”
He must have fallen asleep.
He had been cuddling, not the beautiful girl of his dreams, but his rolled-up fleece. His smelly, soiled sweatshirt was lying in a crumpled heap behind his head where he must have pushed it in his sleep.
Remembering where he was, Pol had half-expected the cave to be in darkness, assuming it to be, sometime in the middle of the night, but it was not.
Turning to face the door of his cave, his eyes were immediately assaulted by the reflected bright rays of sunshine, which angled in through the still uncovered doorway of the porch. Hit the ground no more than two inches away from his face. Illuminated most of the interior of the cave.
Inside the cave, the stale air was hot, very hot. Hotter than an oven.
“Phew.”
Even Tinker, lying at Pol’s feet, was panting. Eyes half closed, as if he were too weary to open them fully.
Pol winced when he moved. Made a sickly grin. His whole body was covered in sticky sweat, made him smell as if he had not had a bath for months. Bloody awful. Both his shirt and his jeans were sticking to his clammy skin. He had taken his socks off before retiring and they were lying in a smelly heap in the porch. His boxer shorts had ‘ridden’ up his backside, were also tightly crumpled to one side of his groin. The pain told him they had been rubbing the skin on the inside of his leg during the night. He envisaged an angry rash and it stung like hell. His throat was dry, felt as if it was sticking together, and he could feel cramp beginning to grip his thigh muscle, the one in his right leg.
Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere) Page 17