The Anagram

by Russell French

  “You’ve got nothing on me. You can’t hurt me, human! Do your worst—I’m indestructible!” The goblin leader scoffed the words with total contempt into Gareth’s face.

  “Think again, fiend. Feast your eyes on this!” Gareth forced Pierre into a sitting-up position and twisted his neck round none too gently so that he was facing Beth. She slowly and deliberately set about unfurling the picture until she was ready to turn it round and thrust it in Poivre’s sneering face.

  “What’s this? Some kid’s painting? Something you stole from a child’s nursery to try and fool me? You’ll have to do better than that! I’ve told you. You cannot harm me.”

  “Look closer, old man. This is by your friend Gilbert Dark. You know Gilbert, don’t you?—he of the revolting wife and rancid hovel of a studio. Look at the title: Proud Parents. You were seen leaving his foul little shop with your partner and child after that nasty hybrid creep had secretly painted you. You didn’t realise what he’d done though, did you? You knew we’d got something from Dark, but you didn’t know what. That’s why your thugs couldn’t find it when they attacked us and it was pretty well hidden anyway. They didn’t know what they were looking for. But we knew. We cracked the code. We worked out the secret message. This is YOU, Pierre Poivre, YOU!” Gareth finally felt the feeling of anticipation he had nurtured for so long now being fully gratified.

  Poivre did look more closely this time, cockily at first, but gradually in increasing agitation as he began to realise what he was gazing upon. He began cursing to himself, quietly at first, then louder and louder, wild screaming goblin incantations, which even though they meant nothing to his listeners in themselves, were obviously increasingly obscene and pure evil. Gradually the chanting descended into a wild noteless lament, an atonal primeval howl that would have curdled the blood of any monster or ogre, of any race or creed. Eventually, three goblins burst into the room and quickly dragged their gibbering leader away. Others came to take stock of the situation, assessing how to dispose quietly and efficiently of the two corpses, one inside and one outside, without drawing unwarranted attention to themselves or anybody else.

  Theeth, pale and hoarse, staggered to his feet and promptly collapsed into Beth’s outstretched arms. His breathing was rasping and laboured and he had no strength whatsoever in any of his limbs. A number of gnomes, including his son, appeared as if by magic to tend to him.

  “Will he be all right?” Beth asked anxiously.

  “We cannot tell yet,” came the reply. “At least he is still alive. Now we must leave here before undesirable people start making enquiries.” They made their way swiftly back to the old van. The bodies of the two dead Breakers had disappeared, as had any trace of their ever having been there. The great confrontation was over.

  39

  In spite of their triumph, there was an understandably subdued atmosphere as they travelled cautiously back across the river. The ancient vehicle did its best to conceal itself from the all-seeing eyes of Joe Public as it crept back over Waterloo Bridge. Beth and Gareth sat very close to one another, neither wanting to let go of their partner, in case they might lose them. Should they be feeling triumphant? Had they achieved everything they set out to achieve? Well, Etheridge and Patterson were dead—hard to believe they would be missed or mourned by anyone other than their nearest and dearest, if indeed they had any, that was. And Pierre Poivre? He had been in a dire state, barely able to speak or indeed move. Not only had he been physically vanquished but his pride had also been struck a quasi-mortal blow. In spite of the doubts he had expressed to his two partners in crime, he had honestly believed he was invincible, unconquerable, that that silly old fool Theeth, (who was actually no older than Poivre himself) posed no threat to him whatsoever. His arrogance on being faced with the picture had been staggering. Would he recover any, some or all of his powers? Would he even live? Nobody would know for the next few days at least.

  And what of Theeth? Had they managed to rescue him in time? Surely the effects of the alcohol, now they had not proved fatally toxic, must gradually start wearing off? But there must be doubts that he too would ever be the same again. Yet the other two deaths must strengthen his position. It would take time, wouldn’t it, for PP to get new recruits up to the required standard, particularly as Gareth and Beth had proved themselves to be so strong? Again, only time would be the arbiter.

  They reached Tachbrook Street without mishap, disembarked and disappeared rapidly and gratefully into the basement of their building. Theeth was carried gently to one of the rooms and laid carefully on a bed. Female gnomes, distinguished by their long dark skirts, started administering strange-looking and even stranger-smelling potions to their leader. One was obviously a sleeping-draught—after a while the young couple were invited to leave as everybody else also withdrew from the room, which was left in darkness with the door ajar.

  They went back to the room they had been in on their first visit. Hot beverages—soup, tea and coffee—were provided, with bread and cheese, biscuits and fruit. They had not realised how hungry the adrenalin-pumping events of the evening had made them and they tucked in avidly to the refreshments brought for them. Eventually, Bohommen joined them and sat quietly in the chair previously occupied by his father.

  “He will rest now,” he said. “He is out of immediate danger but we do not know what effect this will have on his powers. I must thank you both,” he continued, “for your courage and initiative. Without you, our Theeth would certainly be dead and we would be plunged into crisis.” The younger gnome seemed to have grown in stature since the drama had begun and was already starting to sound more like his parent.

  “There is no need to thank us,” Beth replied quietly. “We are as much a part of this as you all are. We would like to stay awhile as Theeth recovers and then talk to him again, if we may.”

  “That will not pose a problem. We actually have possession of the whole house. You may have the top floor to yourselves. It is self-contained, but you may feel free to join us down here at any time. Your bags have already been taken there, as it happens, in anticipation of your request.” Theeth’s son stood up and extended his hand. Once again, the young couple opposite him were impressed by the increased dignity and gravitas in his attitude as he assumed at least temporary control of the situation.

  “Thank you, Bohommen.” Gareth returned the proffered handshake. “We all hope and pray that your father will make a full and swift recovery.”

  The two humans made their way up to the second floor, found their designated bedroom and flopped listlessly on to the bed. They lay there in silence for some while, then Beth said:

  “How are you feeling? Are you all right?”

  “How do you think I’m feeling?” Gareth snapped back. “I’ve just killed two men. It’s not something you do every day, you know. I told Theeth. I told him. I didn’t want any killing!”

  Beth sat up. “Of course it isn’t. And both were accidents or, at the very worst, self-defence. Good God! I’m a vegetarian, I loathe the taking of any life, human or animal, but even I can see that what took place had to happen, otherwise it would be you and me lying there on that filthy floor. I hope you’re not going to carry it around like your own personal cross for the rest of your life! They were scum and they got what they deserved. You just happen to be the person who did it, that’s all! Nobody could ever blame you for what happened back there.”

  Her sharpness made its mark on Gareth, who rolled off the bed and stood up. Beth was usually so gentle, so mild-mannered. He had never heard her blaspheme before.

  “I suppose that’s the right way of looking at it,” he conceded rather lamely. “What about you?”

  “Well, apart from thinking I’d lost both you and Theeth within a matter of minutes, I’m ok, I imagine. There’s nothing like a bit of death for crystallising the mind, you know.”

  “Meaning?”

&
nbsp; “I thought you were dead, Gareth! I realised in that moment that you were my whole world and that I had just lost everything. As you would say, that is not something that happens every day.”

  Gareth sat down on the bed again, silent. He put his arms round his partner and held her closely to him for several minutes. Neither spoke; a few tears were shed. Then they lay down on the bed and, without even attempting to undress, fell into a deep sleep. The wind rattled against the windows and the rain slapped hard onto the roof but nothing disturbed them. The howling gale continued unstaunched for several hours as though mourning the loss of life, justified or not. But Gareth Llewellyn and Beth Fagan did not hear it.

  40

  The next morning, the rain had relented, the wind had abated and there was even a pale excuse for the sun, trying to make its presence known through the grey but now less-threatening clouds. Gareth realised with some disgust that he was still wearing his blood-sodden sweatshirt from the previous night’s grisly encounter. Angrily, he tossed it on to the floor, took off the rest of his clothes and dived thankfully into the shower. Presently he was joined by Beth and they dallied under the hot water for a lot longer than was strictly necessary. They eventually emerged a great deal cleaner and feeling a lot more at peace with themselves, each other and the world at large.

  In the basement, they were greeted with friendly smiles and encouraged to partake in breakfast, which they did enthusiastically and with gusto.

  “How is he?”

  “He has spent a good night,” Bohommen replied, “Peaceful and undisturbed. He still sleeps. His breathing is more regular. The longer he sleeps, the better he will feel when he awakes. I will inform you, of course, as soon as that happens.”

  “I feel in the mood for some Christmas shopping now,” Beth announced cheerfully to her partner after their meal. “I’ve got my Mum and my sisters to buy for. I think Daniel and his family are coming over as well. And I suppose I’ll have to get you something, Mr Grumpy! What about you?”

  “Like I told you, we don’t really do Christmas. Now Seth’s gone, I haven’t really got anyone to buy for,” he added sepulchrally, before catching her eye. “. . . . except you, of course, and your family.”

  “Do you want any ideas?”

  “Er, no, I think I’m quite capable of managing that much on my own, thank you. Unless you have something you specifically want.”

  “No, no, I’ll look forward to the surprise. I expect you have a lot of experience in the field, anyway.”

  “Aha! The little green eye again. Do you really think I’m some kind of Casanova, some kind of Don Giovanni? Would I be so morose if I was? You’ll have Leporello singing about me next: ‘Mille e tre’. And that was only in Spain!”

  The Mozartian reference eluded Beth this time but there was no way she was going to let on. Just because she had her man back safe and sound, that did not mean she had to let him have the upper hand!

  “Ok, Oxford Street, here we come.” She tucked her arm into Gareth’s and they ambled happily off up the street towards Victoria Station.

  A large Christmas tree twinkled a friendly greeting as they went through the front entrance of the station, having eschewed the opportunity to go in at the side of the building. Although it was a Saturday, there were still plenty of people around, most of them, like Beth and Gareth, bent on making large holes in their bank accounts before the last-minute rush. Perhaps it was a combination of the week-end, the brighter weather and the approaching festive season, but most people seemed a little better-disposed to the world than usual, and more inclined to smile at other travellers. The young couple decided to take the tube to Tottenham Court Road and then walk on up to Oxford Street from there. Once there, they would go their separate ways for a while and then meet up again. Loath though she was to let Gareth out of her sight for more than a few seconds, even Beth had the sense to realise that she could not keep his Christmas present a secret if he was standing next to her when she bought it, nor he hers! Actually, Gareth felt the same way but, as the strong silent type, he was not about to convey those emotions to her or anybody else for that matter.

  He needed to find a good jeweller’s. This was a field in which he had precious little expertise. He watched Beth disappear into HMV and then turned tail and headed off in the opposite direction, down New Oxford Street, through Holborn and into Hatton Garden. He knew he was bound to find a jeweller’s there! In fact, the choice was absolutely bewildering. After hovering uncertainly in front of several enticingly-displayed windows, he found one shop that seemed to have the sort of thing he was looking for, gave a deep breath and plunged bravely in. He explained to the young shop assistant what he wanted, adding that he wasn’t brilliant at this sort of thing and that he needed it to be right. She came back with two or three choices, one of which was exactly what he had in mind, an amethyst necklace with matching earrings.

  “Is this for a young lady?” the assistant, whose name-tag informed Gareth that her name was Sinita, asked cautiously. Well, you can’t be too careful these days, can you? “She has got pierced ears, hasn’t she? You can’t return them once she’s tried them on, you see.”

  Fortunately this question was not beyond Gareth’s compass and he was able to answer confidently that yes, indeed, she did have pierced ears.

  “She’ll love these,” said Sinita with a shy smile. “They’re beautiful. Shall I gift-wrap them for you?”

  Another difficult job done! This shopping lark wasn’t that challenging after all! He pocketed his purchase triumphantly and set off back towards HMV in Oxford Street, where they had agreed to meet.

  Beth had known her partner would be difficult to buy for. After all, what do you buy for the man who has everything?—everything he needs, anyway, or thinks he needs. She could think of a few bulky items that would go down very well in his flat, but now was not the time. Having scrutinised his CD collection closely, she thought that would be the best way to go, especially as there had seemed to be one or two obvious gaps which, in her considered opinion, needed to be filled. (Why do women want to take over a man’s whole life? Is it because they know better?) So she went for a full version of Handel’s Messiah, with the Huddersfield Choral Society of course, and Simon Preston’s recording of the organ concertos; also some Bach: the St Matthew Passion and the Double Violin concerto, the version by Oistrakh pere et fils, naturally. For good measure, she threw in The Brahms Double Concerto, as played by the Capucon brothers. She knew the Welshman was a big Brahms fan, and there was Theeth’s connection with the great man as well. That would keep him going for a while. Her gifts were safely bagged and out of sight when Gareth finally caught up with her.

  “You look pleased with yourself,” she observed. “Like a cat that’s had the cream. Successful excursion?”

  “Yes indeed,” he replied with a grin. “Nothing to it—easy as shelling peas. We need to shop for your family now.” Beth suggested he could buy Chanel No. 5 for Fran—“She loves it!”—a book token for Gwyn, although he didn’t think that was very exciting, and a large box of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk chocolates for her Mum, who apparently had a very sweet tooth. He would supplement that with some flowers nearer the day. Always a good way to impress a partner’s mother, that: bring ’em flowers! They decided presents for Daniel, his wife Kylie and their three children would be a joint effort and bought appropriate gifts accordingly. They had a late lunch at John Lewis, not the most glamorous of surroundings but more than fit for purpose.

  Feeling energetic and enjoying the unexpected winter sunshine, they decided to walk at least part of the way back. They strolled along Charing Cross Road, through Leicester Square, up to Trafalgar Square and into the Mall. St James Park looked as beautiful as ever even in winter. With Buckingham Palace looming into view, Gareth was forced to admit that he was not a great Royalist and, if pushed, actually leaned towards republicanism. Although, as we alread
y know, Beth was a fellow Guardian reader, she confessed to great enthusiasm for the Royal family, especially the younger element. “That William’s a bit of all right”, she grinned keenly. “He can dine at my table any time!” Gareth chose to treat that remark with the contempt it deserved. For the first time for as long as he could remember, he felt genuinely happy and was not going to let anything spoil the mood.

  They carried on quite happily down Buckingham Palace Road, past Victoria Station and eventually back to their temporary abode in Tachbrook Street.

  “Theeth has awakened,” Bohommen told them quietly on their arrival. “He has asked for you. He would speak with you, if he might.” There was something quaintly endearing about the gnome’s use of English. He had obviously not had as much opportunity as his father to use the language informally and spoken English is nothing if not a colloquial language.

  Theeth was sitting up in bed when they entered his room. With his usual pasty colour, it was difficult to judge how well he was but a light shone in his eyes. He spoke with a struggle; however, he made it clear that he was determined to say what he had to say.

  “I am forever in your debt,” he croaked rather dramatically. “Without your quick thinking, I would most certainly have died.” He drew Beth to him and hugged her with great affection, if not much strength.

  “It’s so good to see you looking so much better, Theeth,” Beth rubbed a tear from her eye as she spoke. “We thought we had lost you for a moment or two last night.”

  “It is most encouraging to know that mints can at the very least slow down the reaction to alcohol, if not counteract it altogether. I will always have a supply to hand from now on. And you, Gareth? I trust you were not harmed in your struggles? You have done us and the world in general a great service in ridding us of those two most unpleasant gentlemen.”

  Gareth shook the old warrior warmly by the hand. “No, no. A few mental scars, perhaps, but no physical damage to report. What happens now?” he asked. “Is Pierre Poivre dead, do we know?”