Uncanny Kingdom: An Eleven Book Urban Fantasy Collection (Uncanny Kingdom Omnibus 1)

by David Bussell

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m not evil, Joe.’

  ‘I never thought you were, honest! Not for a second!’

  Annie said nothing.

  ‘Okay, for a little bit. Tiny, tiny bit. I thought. Possibly. There might be a small chance of it. Sorry.’

  ‘Oi, Janto!’

  I turned to see a wall of a man strolling toward me. He had a head the size of a barrel, fists the size of bowling balls, and he did not look at all happy to see me.

  ‘Janto, you vicious piece of shit.’

  ‘And hello to you…?’

  ‘I heard you were back. Didn’t believe it. Couldn’t. But here you are, after everything you did. Just sitting there.’

  I stood slowly, hands held up in surrender. I sensed that this wasn’t an old friend about to offer me a handshake and a round of beer. I’m quite perceptive in that way.

  ‘I’m not sure what it is I did in the past to annoy you,’ I said, ‘but I’m a very different man now.’

  ‘So, it’s true,’ said the giant man, grimacing, the veins on his temple bulging, fit to burst. ‘You don’t have your memory, don’t have your powers.’

  ‘I have some powers.’

  ‘He can make a little ball of fire appear,’ said Annie, trying to help me out. The giant man laughed long and hard. It was a touch demoralising.

  ‘You ruined my life, Janto. And now, I’m going to ruin yours. Permanently. By killing you dead.’

  ‘Right. Shit.’

  The man pulled a rather large knife from his belt and licked his lips. I tried to make fire appear in my hand. I failed to make fire appear in my hand. Stupid magic-dampening bubble! Oh, I’ll take Annie to Mickey Finn’s, I’ll feel safe there. Great idea, Joe. Another winner.

  ‘Joe, be careful’ said Annie.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I replied. ‘I’ve got this.’

  ‘You know how to stop him?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted, ‘it just seemed like the thing to say.’

  ‘Here I come, warlock!’ cried the giant.

  ‘Joe, you’ve got to…’ then Annie paused, looking past the giant advancing man, confused. ‘Is that a fox with an axe?’

  And yes, praise be to every god man ever created, it was.

  ‘All hail the saviour!’ said the Fox, axe aloft, and for once, I was very, very happy to hear it.

  10

  The drive home was not an entirely comfortable one.

  The Fox had dispatched the enormous beast of a man before he could swing his knife once. The Fox really is quite a vision to see in action. A beast with a battle-axe. It wasn’t the first time my furry little friend had pulled my arse out of the fire, either. He was like my personal, bushy-tailed, snack-loving, guardian angel.

  ‘So,’ said Annie, having sat beside me in silence for much of the drive. ‘I like your foxy friend.’

  ‘Thanks. Well. He’s not a friend exactly. Or maybe he is now. I suppose he is. Point is, I’m sorry.’

  ‘What is it you’re sorry for?’

  ‘I think everything. I think sorry for everything just about covers it.’

  ‘Why did the huge man want to kill you?’

  ‘I’ve lived a… questionable past. I’ve done bad things. Very bad things.’

  ‘Are you dangerous, Joe?’

  ‘No!’ I replied, then said it again but with less volume. ‘I’ve mentioned that I’m a warlock; I was one of three trusted with looking after Cumbria from bad things. Apparently, somewhere down the line, I became one of those bad things. But I’m not bad now, I don’t even remember the old me. You can trust me. Honest, guv.’

  ‘I can trust you?’

  ‘Yes, one-hundred percent. Absolutely.’

  ‘But you can’t trust me?’

  That slid the knife in a little. I can’t deny it was well deserved, though. ‘I’m sorry. I seem to be saying that a lot.’

  ‘Yeah. You don’t make a great early impression.’

  ‘You know, I’ve heard that from more people than I’d care to admit.’

  Annie smiled, then rubbed my arm, sending my stomach swirly again.

  It was late by the time I got back to my flat.

  ‘Hey, Fox, are you here? Just wanted to say thanks again.’

  I poked my head in each of the limited amount of rooms my flat contained, but it seemed like I was alone. I sloughed off my coat, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and flopped onto the couch.

  I was convinced now that Annie wasn’t the evil animal killer who was clouding my vision. I mean, I was a good eighty-five percent sure. Eighty-seven percent, even. But the blocking of my insight magic still felt as though it may have been a measure designed to stop me specifically, so the spectre of it being someone who knew me, or was at least aware of what I could do, hung over me like a bad smell.

  My wind was whirring, so I flicked on the TV, hoping to quieten it down so I could be tucked up in bed as soon as possible.

  So of course there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Balls.’

  I stood, unhappily, and waited a few seconds, hoping that the mystery knocker would realise they had the wrong door and bugger off.

  There was another, more urgent knock.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m coming.’ I paused at the door. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Paul, Paul Travers,’ came a voice, stumbling over its words.

  Paul Travers. The sweaty-browed man who’d, briefly, wanted to hire me, and then legged it.

  ‘Can this wait, Paul? It’s a bit late.’

  ‘Please, I need to tell you things, need to tell you now, before… before…’

  I heard a pained, muffled grunt as his words trailed off.

  ‘Paul?’

  I threw the door open, worried he was having some sort of attack, or perhaps even being attacked. Paul Travers was on his knees, bent over, hands gripping his stomach.

  ‘Bloody hell, come on.’

  I helped him up and guided him inside. His knees were jelly, so I had to take almost his entire weight.

  Depositing him on the couch, I darted over to the sink and poured him a glass of water. He accepted with trembling hands, getting more of the liquid on his clothes and my couch than down his throat.

  ‘I’m not going to lie, Paul, you don’t look great.’

  It was an understatement. His skin had a yellow hue to it now, his eyes bulged, he trembled, and he was coated in sweat.

  ‘I need to tell someone.’

  It looked to me like the only thing he needed was a hospital. ‘Okay, how about you tell me as we drive on over to Carlisle A&E, eh? That sound good?’

  I tried to lever him up and towards the door, but showing surprising sudden fortitude, he pulled himself out of my grip and staggered back until the wall stopped his journey.

  ‘No! I need to tell you! You need to know before it’s too late!’

  ‘Too late for who? For me?’

  ‘No. Yes. Maybe. Too late, too late.’ He screamed and doubled over, gripping his stomach.

  ‘Paul, what are you on? Have you taken something?’

  He looked up, a strange grin on his face. An insane grin.

  ‘Me? It’s not me. Not me at all. Not just me. It’s Joan Smith. And Fred Collier. And Mary Pekar. And Mike Almond. And on, and on, and on. One by one, it was all of them. An infection spreading all over the village. All over Combe. I think I’m the only one left.’

  Combe Village. I knew of it: a tiny little place, right on the southern edge of the Lake District.

  ‘People are sick?’ I said. ‘Have you not, I don’t know, called in a doctor or two?’

  Paul stood and leaned his head back against the wall, that strange grin that I did not care for at all still stretched across his face.

  ‘Not sick. No one is sick, Mr Lake. Do I look sick?’

  ‘Yes. Obviously. Really, really sick.’

  His eyes snapped wide and his jaw yammered silently, as though he were trying to stop himself from speaking.

 
‘Paul, I really think we should—’

  ‘When…. when Mr Many Mouths…. when….’

  He began to giggle in a way that made my skin crawl.

  ‘When he comes to…. when…’

  ‘Paul, you came to me for my help because something strange was going on in your village, so tell me, what is it, what’s wrong?’

  ‘When Mr Many Mouths, comes to town, the town becomes Mr Many Mouths.’

  ‘Yeah, that doesn’t really help.’

  ‘Mr Many Mouths, Many Mouths, Many Mouths!’

  And then something surprising happened.

  Paul Travers’ face began to change.

  His head twitched back and forth at inhuman speed as he screamed. His head bulged and crunched and shifted until his face was gone, and in its place was a multitude of large, yammering mouths. Toothless, gummy, horrors.

  And they all said the same thing.

  ‘When Mr Many Mouths comes to town, the town becomes Mr Many Mouths.’

  11

  I’ve seen more than my fair share of terrifying sights over the last few months, but the thing I saw before me now—the thing that the damp-foreheaded Paul Travers had morphed into—that really beat them all. He was like something from a nightmare. Something that gave me that deep fear, that deep dread, way down in the very core of my being. And he was in my home.

  It’s a wonder I didn’t pee my pants on the spot.

  Okay, full disclosure, perhaps a drop or two did squeeze out.

  ‘Paul are you… okay…? Yes, the question may have been a mite redundant.

  ‘Mr Many Mouths, Mr Many Mouths Mr Many Mouths,’ Paul babbled from his, well, many mouths.

  The mouths all jabbered and chattered at once, each dripping with saliva.

  At this point, the most obvious move would have been to bolt out of the door, jump behind the wheel of the Uncanny Wagon, and get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, as I reached for the door handle, I found something yanking me back. That “something” was a tongue which had shot out of one of Paul Travers’ many icky maws and wrapped itself around my wrist.

  ‘Fox? If you’re around, now would be a really good time for you to start swinging that axe of yours!’

  I tried to pry the horrible, wet thing off of me, only to find a second tongue hurtling towards me and seizing my other wrist.

  ‘Paul! I’m not quite sure what’s going on here, but surely we can talk about it?’

  The answer to that question proved to be a resounding “no”, as a third tongue shot from another mouth and wrapped itself around my throat, tightening its grip and cutting off my ability to breathe.

  All in all, I’d say I was in a bit of a tight spot.

  Trying not to pass out as more tongues hurtled towards me, I focused on seeing the magic that filled my flat. Meanwhile, whatever it was that Paul Travers had changed into made its way slowly towards me.

  ‘Mr Many Mouths, Mr Many, Many, Many Mouths.’

  Then I saw it; saw the waves of brilliant bright colours swirling and swooshing about the room. I closed my eyes and willed it into me.

  The tongue around my neck coiled tight, turning my windpipe into a pinhole. I could feel my lungs burning, my vision blurring at the fringes.

  ‘When Mr Many Mouths, comes to town, the town becomes Mr Many Mouths.’

  He was just a few feet away from me. It was now or never. Either he’d step closer and do something horrible to me, or I’d pass out and die.

  As my lungs screamed for air, I tried to make my hands ignite with flames. A desperate last gasp. The problem was, my brain was going fuzzy and I couldn’t quite concentrate on the command. This resulted in something unexpected and, actually, better. My hands didn’t ignite. My fists didn’t erupt into flames. Nope; instead, my entire body began to blaze.

  I heard every mouth Paul Travers had screech in pain, and then I was launched across the room. Flung away as every tongue that he’d used to hold me caught light.

  I landed heavily over the other side of the breakfast counter, gasping for air. I peered over the edge of the counter to see Paul thrashing around the room, scorched and in pain, his tongues, now partially blackened, retracting back into their mouths.

  ‘Sorry, Paul. Looks like you’re going to be lisping for a while.’

  He turned his attention back to me, so I threw a toaster at him. It glanced off his head and sent him reeling. Seizing the moment, I raced for the door, only for another tongue to wrap around my ankle and tug me back, sending me whirling through the air and crashing into the TV.

  I staggered up and looked down at the smashed television set. No more Frasier for this poor sap. Paul straightened up and his many mouths giggled.

  ‘You can do what you like to me,’ I spat, ‘but how dare you break my TV!’

  Paul screamed and ran at me, but this time I was able to fight back without the distraction of being throttled. I didn’t panic, didn’t listen to the part of my brain yelling, ‘Run, Joseph, you’re gonna die!’ Instead, I concentrated on the magic in the room and focused it into a laser point.

  He was so close now that I could feel the breath of his many mouths. This was the moment. Feet planted, I pushed forward with my hands and allowed the magic to punch through them. Paul’s mouths gave a small note of surprise as he was lifted from his feet and hurled through the air, through the front window, and out into the street.

  ‘Yes!’ I said, giving myself a high-five.

  I had him out of my house, but I couldn’t just let him get away. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to—I still have a healthy amount of the coward in me—but stopping monsters is my job. My very much unpaid job. So, after a rueful swear word or two, I made my right fist ignite with red hot flame and ran out of the front door in pursuit.

  I half expected to find Paul running right back at me, eager to carry on the battle, but as I burst onto the street I found him sprinting in the opposite direction, tongues trailing in the road behind him.

  ‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ I shouted, feeling macho for perhaps the first time in my life.

  I threw my hand forward, sending a ball of fire in his direction. He failed to heed the warning shot though, so I gave chase.

  I managed to keep him in view for the first quarter-mile or so, but then a combination of Paul apparently being some sort of jogging machine, and me having all the stamina of a sedentary sixty-year-old asthmatic, left me outpaced and bent over, coughing and wheezing. Soon, Paul Travers and his weird multi-mouthed head had disappeared from view.

  So that was certainly quite the thing. Paul is apparently some kind of monster, but was he the same monster that was responsible for all the animal slaughter? It seemed a likely connection. Perhaps Paul Travers was Cumbria’s own Jeckyl and Hyde.

  After a sit down and a smoke, I made my way home, only to almost unleash another ball of fire and set my flat alight as an intruder appeared from behind the breakfast counter.

  ‘Hi,’ said the Fox, waving hello with his axe.

  ‘Christ, I almost barbecued you, Fox,’ I said, sinking into the couch and looking glumly at my broken TV set. I’d only had it a year – just long enough for it to be out of warranty. I’d even splashed out on a brand new one rather than my usual habit of only buying second-hand and, if possible, third-hand goods.

  ‘What has happened?’ asked the Fox. ‘Another battle? Did the large man from the public house track you to your home?’

  ‘Yes to the first question, and no to the second. I don’t suppose you know if the Red Woman was behind this?’

  ‘The Red Woman does not want you hurt, nor does she feel the need to push you anymore. You know that already, she told you so herself.’

  ‘And I’m just supposed to believe her, am I? And you too, for that matter.’

  ‘As the Red Woman has said, you will soon want to sit on your throne without her having to threaten, trick, or beg.’

  Fat chance of that. ‘By the way, where were you? I called for you and
you didn’t appear. I could have used a helping hand… well, paw at least.’

  The Fox straightened and growled in displeasure, ‘I am not at your beck and call, Magic Eater. I am my own fox, and I come and go as I please.’

  ‘Right. Sorry.’

  ‘I serve nobody. Not anymore. I will not.’

  ‘I said I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry about what?’ said Eva, who I turned to find swaying in the doorway

  I let out a little cry of surprise, which I styled out and turned into a high-pitched, ‘Hello’.

  ‘I said, what are you sorry about?’ repeated Eva.

  I looked around, but the Fox had made himself scarce. Eva began looking around the flat too, eyes lidded with suspicion.

  ‘No one!’ I assured her. ‘Just me. And myself. And I.’

  ‘I heard you talking to someone,’ replied Eva, her voice low and serious. To say there was a little tension in the room would be an understatement. ‘Why do I feel more and more like you’re keeping shit from me?’

  ‘No shit, no shit,’ I said, my voice still a little too high to sound convincing.

  ‘You know what’ll happen if I find out you’ve been messing around with any of that Dark Lakes bollocks again, don’t you?’

  I nodded, and don’t mind telling you I felt both a little scared and a little ashamed. I didn’t like keeping my dalliances with the Lakes and its inhabitants from her, but I also feared what her reaction would be if she found out. But what did it matter anyway? I wasn’t the old me, I wasn’t about to go to the bad side, I wasn’t going to become that monster again. If only I could make her believe that. If only I could convince her to trust me.

  Detective Myers stepped in, breaking the awful silence.

  ‘Hey! Detective Maya Myers! There you are! And what a lovely jacket that is you’re sporting. How’re the migraines?’

  ‘Break in?’ she asked, ignoring the question and looking around at the broken window and the knackered TV.

  ‘Not quite. I invited a man in and he turned into a monster. And I do not mean that figuratively.’

  ‘What kind of a monster?’ asked Eva.