Anything but Ordinary

by Nicola Rhodes

  ‘Add your light to the sum of light,’ she murmured to herself.

  ‘Beg pardon?’ said The Director nonplussed.

  Before she could stop herself, she said. ‘I was just thinking about all the people who might have been, but won’t be hurt by the Trogs now.’

  ‘Quite,’ agreed The Director. ‘A nasty bunch, very dangerous. You did a good thing.’ He smiled.

  And Tamar remembered a flaming sword and the words “Protector of The People”. ‘I didn’t do it for praise,’ she said shortly. ‘Once you start down that path, everything goes wrong.

  ‘If that’s all sir …?’ she half rose in the seat – her mind elsewhere.

  The Director nodded amiably, but he was vaguely perturbed by her sudden divergences and her apparent distance.

  ‘Well,’ he said to himself after she had drifted from the room. ‘That could have gone better.’

  * * *

  ‘So, what has everybody found out?’ asked Denny.

  ‘That’s easy to answer,’ said Stiles sardonically. ‘Bugger all – in a nutshell.’

  ‘Nothing?’ nothing at all?’ Denny sighed.

  ‘Sorry,’ piped up Cindy. She brightened up slightly. ‘But maybe now you’re back, you might have more luck. I mean the computer hacking is more your thing really.’

  They had been told about the washout at the Agency headquarters, but Denny seemed quite cheerful about it really, so no one liked to push it, or point out that actually, in a material sense, nothing much had changed.

  But now his mood was changing again. ‘So, we still have no idea what’s coming to get the Tuatha?’ he said. ‘And if it wasn’t going to cause a bloody disaster for the rest of the world. I’d say we just let them get on with it,’ he added viciously.

  ‘I’d agree,’ said Stiles. ‘But for the fact, that we’re already involved. Those spirits, or whatever they are, have been inhabiting people. Our people. And we still have no idea who else.’

  Denny rubbed his head wearily. ‘I know, I know. Keep on it. I’ll give the Aethernet a try again’

  ‘Oh, no you do not,’ said Hecaté firmly. ‘You are exhausted. First you need to rest.’

  ‘But we don’t know what kind of time frame we’re working in,’ objected Denny. ‘Whatever it is could be on its way right now.’

  * * *

  Two mud coloured figures writhed in the dirt, like creatures climbing out of the primeval ooze.

  ‘Really Fulk,’ said the smaller figure, ‘why don’t you look where you’re going?’

  ‘Biit diifficuult wiith juust the one eye,’ muttered Fulk peevishly.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Nuuuthing,’

  The car was ruined. Fulk had driven it headlong into a ditch, upon which it had toppled over impressively and bounced away sideways ending up in heap on the other side of the road. Fulk and his master (who had been on top of the car anyway) had been thrown clear and landed in a muddy puddle at the bottom of the ditch. His mistress was not in a good mood.

  ‘I’ll be glad when this is over,’ she said. (She was currently a female).

  They heaved themselves to the side of the ditch and sat almost companiably in silence, collecting their various thoughts.

  ‘How much further Fulk,’ she said suddenly revealing her train of thought.

  ‘Twao aand a haalf morre daays shoulld doo iit,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm, without transport?’

  ‘Steaal caar,’ suggested Fulk.

  She grinned widely cracking the dried mud on her face. ‘I like your thinking,’ she beamed. ‘Let’s do it!’

  ~ Chapter Eight ~

  Counting down to wedding hour… two hours and counting. Denny was nervously getting into his morning suit – nervous, not because he thought she would not show up – but just nervous in the way bridegrooms are always nervous.

  Stiles, on the other hand, was terrified. If she didn’t show up then Denny would be devastated, probably permanently. And it would be mostly his fault. Carrying on with the wedding had been his idea in the first place.

  Cindy was applying her makeup for the fourth time. She kept crying and ruining it.

  ‘Weddings make me emotional,’ she explained to Finvarra (dressed to the nines in a beautiful and flamboyant velvet suit, in an elegant dove grey. He looked like a visiting prince) who seemed to accept this explanation without query.

  Hecaté, already resplendent in clinging purple silk and a large floppy hat, was adding the finishing touches to the cake

  Dawber had been invited at the last minute as a guest (the only one really) and was hanging around the house like a spare part. He only had one suit – the one he had arrived in. But since it was impeccable, no one had thought of offering him another.

  ‘Everyone looks so pretty,’ observed young Jacky One. Cindy’s son and her stepson, for reasons not worth going into at this point, were both called Jacky. Jacky One and Jacky Two looked cute in miniature morning suits that they had uniformly protested against wearing until Cindy said that if they did not, they would not be allowed to come.

  ‘Doesn’t Mummy look beautiful?’ confided Jacky two to Stiles, as she finally floated down the stairs in pink chiffon and a bright smile, and was quite surprised to find he agreed.

  The small anonymous chapel that they had agreed on was in a beautiful and obscure part of Italy. They had decided to take their honeymoon there afterwards, but now it seemed that even if Tamar turned up, that part would have to be cancelled.

  It would take them about five minutes to get there, they estimated. Less, if they had not been forced to teleport to an unobservable location first and walk the remainder of the way.

  They arrived ten minutes before the ceremony was due to begin. Even in the cool shade behind the thick stone walls, Denny began to sweat.

  * * *

  There was no way in hell that they were going to let her out of here today, Tamar knew. Even though all the calendars in this place told her it was August 5th, she knew it was not, she knew exactly what day it was. And the fact that they were trying to fool her that it was not, meant that today of all days, they would be taking no chances.

  She had a backup plan for this eventuality of course, but it was a long shot – a very long shot. She just hoped that she had not mistaken her man.

  ‘Slick,’ she said softly tapping him on the shoulder from behind. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said amiably. ‘What’s up?’

  She took a deep breath and crossed her fingers. ‘I need you to get me out of here,’ she said. ‘Right now.’

  * * *

  She was now ten minutes late for the ceremony. Stiles, waiting at the door, to give her away (he also had best man duties, which I’m sure is not proper) was fingering his collar nervously.

  Denny was in worse shape, but Dawber leaned forward encouragingly from his seat and whispered. ‘Brides are always a bit late, it adds to the drama.’

  Denny gave him a weak smile. ‘She does like a bit of drama,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘There you are then,’ said Dawber. ‘Give it a bit long…’ He was cut off abruptly by the sudden swelling of music filling the tiny church. The unmistakable strains of “Here Comes The Bride”.

  Stiles, walking beside an extremely pale and agitated Tamar, was grinning rather foolishly. Denny nearly fainted with relief.

  She stopped at the altar and looked questioningly at Denny who swept her suddenly into a crushing embrace and held her as a drowning man might cling to a life preserver.

  Only Cindy, turning away to dab her eyes, noticed, at the back of the church, leaning casually against the door frame with his arms folded, a very good-looking man with white blond hair, taking in the scene with a mocking gaze and a strange look of resignation on his face. She wondered who he was. He caught her eye and winked.

  ‘What a fool,’ he thought. He had known there was someone. There was always someone. And that someone was never him.

  He had known, th
e minute that she had asked him to help her, that he might regret it. He had also known that he would. And no questions asked.

  One day, he thought, he might learn, but he doubted it. He had always been a soft touch where women were concerned. It was this (perfectly genuine) softness and inability to hurt a woman or turn down even the slightest request that had made him such a success with women, of course. But you had to expect to get burned sometimes. He had been burned this time all right. She had read him perfectly. He did not regret it though. One look at her radiant face and how could he? ‘I’m too soft, that’s my trouble,’ he thought.

  The blonde looked interesting though. He wondered vaguely if she was attached. Probably to that stick in the poofy suit sat next to her.

  Then there was the other dark haired woman, a real beauty that one, but she had “married” written all over her. He almost laughed aloud at himself. ‘At least you don’t have a broken heart, he told himself.’

  *

  ‘Man and Wife.’ intoned the padre in heavily accented English. It was done, finally. They were married at last.

  ‘You may kiss the bride,’ the padre informed Denny, who was way ahead of him.

  End of Part One

  Part Two - HUNTING FOR LOKI

  ~ Chapter Nine ~

  Many people have their wedding night ruined in a variety of interesting and upsetting ways. From an ex lover – or even spouse turning up and laying claim to one half of the happy couple right down to the hotel catching fire, being flooded or taken over by terrorists. Sometimes it is because the hotel has not actually been built yet (but there are worse things than camping out on the beach with someone you love). However, it could only happen to Tamar and Denny that they had their wedding night ruined by the inopportune arrival of a large wolf in an Armani suit.

  Denny took it calmly, as was his wont. Nothing, but nothing, was about to disturb his happiness at the moment. But Tamar – as was her wont – was ready to take his head off.

  Even The Director seemed to have realised that his timing could have been better. He shifted awkwardly and backed away as Tamar, wrapped in a hastily grabbed sheet, advanced on him with such a look of ferocity on her face as would have intimidated the gods.*

  *[She practiced this look regularly – shattering quite a few mirrors and leaving a trail of transmogrified household object in her wake]

  Denny lay back on the bed with a look of amused chagrin on his face. ‘I wouldn’t want to be that guy for any money,’ he thought.

  Of course, he did not know who the man was. He and Tamar had already agreed to save all explanations until the next day – there were other things they wanted to do tonight. But his senses told him that:

  a) Here was trouble (so what else was new?) And …

  b) What was standing awkwardly in the small honeymoon suite backing away from his enraged wife (wife?) was not, strictly speaking, a man.

  Tamar was swearing fluently in Greek and Arabic and backing The Director into a corner, while he was holding his hands up defensively and trying desperately to placate her. He looked terrified. Denny was trying hard not to laugh. It was pretty obvious to him that Tamar was not actually going to hurt the intruder, whom she clearly recognised – she would have done it by now if she were going to. Denny decided it was time to take a hand. He rose lazily from the bed and casually interposed himself between Tamar and the interloper (phenomenal cosmic powers will make a person feel at ease in almost any situation).

  He grabbed Tamar by the arms (no one else would have dared, but Denny had never been afraid of Tamar even before he had his own powers)

  ‘Who is he?’ he asked quite naturally.

  Tamar spat furiously. ‘νόθος,’ she said.

  Denny knew what she had said (she had used this word to describe Askphrit all the time) but this remark, being no more than an insult was not sufficiently illuminating. He tried again. ‘But who is he? Or rather, what is he?’

  ‘Λύκος,’ said Tamar, who seemed unable to revert to English. Denny did not know this word. It sounded like it might be another insult, but he was not sure.

  ‘What was that?’ he said calmly.

  Tamar took a deep breath; Denny’s calm was translating itself to her. She looked steadily at him and said clearly. ‘I said, he’s a wolf,’

  Denny’s face cleared. ‘I thought he wasn’t human,’ he said. ‘What does he want?’

  ‘Ask him,’ Tamar said stroppily.

  ‘I’m asking you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Help,’ interposed The Director. ‘I need your help,’

  ‘You’ve got a nerve,’ snarled Tamar, turning on him again.

  The Director responded quite mildly. He seemed to have recovered his equilibrium quite rapidly since Denny’s intervention. ‘I suppose you could say that,’ he agreed. ‘But I was only following orders.’

  ‘Whose orders?’ asked Denny, before Tamar could take off at him again.

  ‘Why should we believe anything you say,’ she snapped at him before he could answer. ‘You’re a wolf.’

  ‘Tamar,’ said Denny warningly.

  She turned on him. ‘No, she yelled. ‘You don’t know – what he did, what’s he’s done.’

  ‘I think I have a pretty shrewd idea,’ said Denny. ‘Kidnapping, memory modifications, imprisoning a load of people in a disused Djinn bottle.’

  Tamar’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve been there?’ she asked aghast. There was no other way he could possibly have known.

  ‘Looking for you,’ he affirmed.

  Tamar melted at once. ‘You did?’ I didn’t know.’

  ‘No, you weren’t there,’ he said.

  The Director interrupted again at this point. ‘You were in my facility?’ he asked in surprise. ‘How on Earth …?’

  ‘Shut up,’ snapped Tamar and Denny together.

  ‘It took me ages to work it out,’ said Tamar. ‘But you must have figured it out right away. You’d have thought that I, of all people …’

  ‘Perhaps you felt sort of at home there, sort of familiar you know, but hard to pinpoint.’ said Denny. ‘Whereas I … I just recognised it as a horrible place that I had been in once before. I knew it as soon as I was taken inside.’ He shuddered feelingly. ‘That horrible feeling when you get sucked in – urgh.’

  ‘Okay, why don’t you tell us what’s going on,’ said Denny turning to The Director.

  ‘Oh Denny,’ wailed Tamar. ‘Can’t we just get rid of him? Surely this can wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘There is no time to waste,’ said The Director. ‘My new orders are to tell you everything. A terrible war is coming …’

  At this Denny looked up alertly.’

  ‘If we don’t stop it …’ he shrugged helplessly as if words failed him.

  ‘Terrible devastation?’ said Denny. ‘The world will be swept away in the battle for dominion,’ He was quoting Leir directly.

  ‘Ah, nuts!’ said Tamar in comic resignation.

  ‘What do you know about it?’ asked The Director in surprise.

  But Tamar had long since ceased to be surprised by anything Denny did or said. It seemed perfectly natural to her that he knew all about it.

  ‘Clearly not as much as you do,’ Denny told him. ‘I know the Tuatha are preparing for a war. Who is their enemy?’

  ‘I should start at the beginning,’ said The Director. ‘You don’t know a good restaurant in these parts, do you? I’m starving.’

  *

  ‘My master is Odin. You have met, I think,’ said The Director wiping barbeque sauce of his chin. He had just eaten, to Tamar’s disgust, five large plates of special ribs.

  ‘Then you are Fenrir,’ she said in surprise. ‘Why didn’t you just say so?’ A thought struck her. ‘Hey, you’re even older than I am. Why were you acting so surprised at my age? ’

  ‘I didn’t remember,’ he explained. ‘You have experienced the memory modulator. Odin used it on me also. I did not know who I really w
as for many years, very many years actually. Odin sent me to Earth over a millennium ago, in the form of a man. And I formed the agency in a crude shape even then, to fight the evil underbelly of the magical world in Odin’s name, but he always kept me in the dark.

  ‘But now, finally Odin has revealed his plans to me and returned my memories. For, you see, now the final challenge is at hand, the day that Odin has foreseen. Loki has escaped from Valhalla.’

  ‘Loki?’ oh no, that’s bad.’ Tamar was horrified.

  ‘It’s worse than you know. You have heard of the Tuatha?’

  ‘I should say so,’ said Denny ironically.

  ‘Of course, of course, you said,’ said Fenrir. ‘Well, Loki is the enemy of the Tuatha.

  ‘That story goes back a very long time.’ he continued. ‘Needless to say, it was Loki’s fault in the first place.’

  ‘No kidding,’ interjected Tamar sourly.

  ‘Wasn’t Loki stripped of his power by Odin?’ asked Denny.

  ‘Not stripped,’ said Fenrir, ‘it was more that he had it hidden from him, and … Well, he’s looking for it, here on Earth. When he finds it, he will go into battle with the Tuatha and, as you said, this world, and its people will suffer the consequences of a battle that has nothing to do with them. My master aims to stop that from happening.’

  ‘How exactly?’ asked Tamar, getting interested despite herself.

  ‘With your help,’

  ‘And this is where we came in,’ said Denny leaning back in his chair.

  ‘Why should we?’ said Tamar. ‘After all you’ve done?’

  ‘Oh, come on Tam,’ said Denny chidingly. ‘Terrible devastation, innocent people caught in the crossfire, Armageddon. You know we have to.’

  Tamar rolled her eyes.

  ‘I realise my master has gone about this all the wrong way,’ said Fenrir, glancing apprehensively at the ceiling as if expecting a vengeful thunderbolt from above. ‘But he doesn’t understand humans too well you see? He understands using his power to achieve what he wants. He does not ask for help, he gives orders, he manipulates. But he means well.’