……….
Six scooped a ladle of porridge from a heavy bowl and dumped it unceremoniously towards a plate. At least half of the sticky mixture landed on the floor.
“Who’s next?” she then asked a group of four men, all huddled around a small cocktail table in the bar, each grubbier than the last having spent the night cleaning potatoes at the farm.
“Erm, me, I guess,” one of them said, holding up his dish in preparation for her next deposit, which duly arrived both in the plate and on his hands and overalls, bits even splashing onto his black, wiry hair.
“Blimey, I hope she’s a better knight than she is a waitress,” he whispered to his colleague, who, with outstretched hands and closed eyes, was now preparing to receive his own dollop of hot breakfast.
“What was that?” Six stood with the dripping ladle in hand, glaring at the wiry haired man, his face smeared with mud and grease.
“Oh, I said it’s great we’re getting served by a knight and not paying for this,” he answered quickly.
“Hmmm,” Six said, serving his friend. “Well, you know how it is, even you farm boys get a free meal once a day.”
“Yes, but its not often we get it from such glamorous staff, is it?” the first man laughed as he picked flakes of oatmeal from his shoulders.
“Especially not in a dress like that,” his colleague leered before enquiring, “any chance of a coffee, gorgeous?”
Six blew some hair out of her face as she considered the request. Waitressing was hot work, she’d already had to take off Tucker’s sweatshirt and dump it on the bar – much to the joy, it seemed, of her male admirers. “Erm... No,” she said finally, before turning to another table.
So far, Six had detected little untoward in the house of Al and her grandfather. In fact, she was ashamed to admit she had become more concerned that her outfit might get stained than anything else, which was why she was serving breakfast at arm’s length.
This is ridiculous, she thought, I’m never going to find out what happened to Lord Truth waitressing in a bar. I just need to confront Grandpa and...
And there lay the problem: watching the comings and goings at Al’s Bar was a far more pleasant alternative to accusing your own flesh and blood of murder. I’m such a coward, Six thought glumly. I should have just insisted we talk earlier. But what if he did kill Lord Truth? What then?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Al and one of his waitresses, Daphne, talking agitatedly. She sidled towards them, dealing out more porridge as she went.
“Where are they, Al? They’ve been gone for ages,” the waitress said. She glanced towards the open door of the cellar behind her. “They’ve never been this long before.”
“I don’t know, Daphne, they’re probably just lost in the tunnels or something.” The old barman smiled as though he already knew he was being watched, a toothpick clenched between his teeth. “Just stay calm, okay? They’ll be back by dawn, I’m sure of it.”
“This is all my fault,” the waitress cried. “If it wasn’t for me, begging him to buy us one of those tree houses, Sid would never go out and do your dirty work. I know what you’re up to, Al, you and that bloody cook.”
Six skirted another table, hoping to get a better view of the pair as they stood squabbling behind the counter.
“Hush, now,” Al said, patting the woman’s back. He pushed his spectacles up his long nose, his gaze drawn like Daphne’s towards the open cellar door.
“What’s the point in smuggling stuff back from the burial mounds anymore, anyway?” the waitress continued. “It’s not like this place is secure is it? The rate we keep getting robbed.”
“What’s the point in smuggling?” Al spat the toothpick from his mouth. “Daphne, can you hear yourself?”
“But that’s twice now we’ve been turned over in as many months,” she whined.
“Well, you’re preaching to the choir there,” Al nodded. “But security is Giles’s department, not mine. You need to talk to him about that.”
Six bent to tie her shoelace.
“Oh, I’m through talking to him. Lord alone knows what’s going on in that old codger’s brain anymore. I’m going to talk to Sir Justice, Al. I’m going to tell him everything, you just watch me.”
The barman was angry now. “Daphne, you need to get a hold of yourself.”
Six rose in time to watch Al grabbing the waitress’s arm when the old man caught her eye. “Come along Knight Six,” he called to her. “There’s no time for dawdling. I’m sure there’s plenty more customers here keen to appreciate your hard work.”
Six turned to find a host of eager faces staring back at her, most of them wearing porridge either on their heads or down their crotches. “I think I’d settle for a little less appreciation of my outfit,” she said quickly.
“Well, maybe you should change, my dear?” Al replied, taking Daphne by the arm and leading her from the bar. “After all, you wouldn’t want to get it dirty now, would you, nice dress like that? Anyway, Daphne not feeling too well so I’m going to take her upstairs. Won’t be long.”
Six watched the pair climb the steps just as another waitress came out of the kitchen, her arms stacked with plates full of bacon and eggs, sausages and burgers. The meals were met with a chorus of approval and Six took her opportunity to dip behind the counter and peer into the cellar herself.
I wonder what’s down there that’s got them so uppity? She thought, untying her apron. And what do they mean about the bar being robbed twice?
Six dumped the heavy ceramic bowl back on a shelf. “Porridge is cold,” she said to no one in particular as she began descending the stairs.
……….
“It could have been wolves,” Tucker was finding it hard to keep his sandwiches down, his eyes from staring at the mangled corpse. “It looks like it could have been wolves.”
“It looks like a bloody mess, Mister Tucker,” Sir Justice countered, his rifle still in his hands. “But I donnae think it was wolves.”
“Maybe a survivor, driven mad from the plague?” Jon Way guessed. Having followed his magical sprites he’d already drifted a little further from the others. “Look, here’s your original body,” he added. “At least it’s still here. Which is more than I can say for the TV you smashed.”
The magician began poking around the busted television set as the other two wandered over, their torches still playing over the graves. Another pool of blood lay next to the body. Jon dipped his gloved hand into it and smoothed the liquid between his fingers.
Tucker stood over him, his torch now focused on the broken pieces of TV. He had no wish to look at the traveller’s body again. He used his sword point to brush away shattered glass, bits of metal and plastic. “I can’t see any sign of the crystals,” he said.
“Perhaps the wardens took them,” Sir Justice trudged past them, his eyes scanning the crackling snow.
Tucker continued staring at the ground. He had just finished sifting through the television’s wreckage when he came across a small plastic parcel. His sword point pierced it and a thick, dark liquid oozed out.
“Hey, what’s this?” The boy had just bent down to pick up the deflating bag when Jon Way stopped him.
“Wait a minute,” the magician dusted away the snow from the barely covered body. He lifted its head. “Just where would you say you shot this chap, Wilfred?”
“Front of the head, 200 yards, no’ a bad shot,” Sir Justice called back. “Even if...”
“Then, this isn’t our visitor,” Jon interrupted, clearing the earth from the rest of the body. “The blood is fresher and there’s no bullet wound to the frontal lobe at all.”
Tucker turned to look at the corpse. It wasn’t wearing an insulation suit but he recognised his face immediately. “Oh my cheesy balls, that’s Sid Ramsey, the other warden,” he stammered, stepping backwards.
With the snow removed they could see that a single, clean slice had been cut across the man’s torso, all the wa
y from his left shoulder to his right thigh, his head lolling to one side.
“So, where’s our traveller?” Jon pondered.
“I’ve got tracks,” Sir Justice shouted into the darkness, cocking his rifle as he jogged further up the mounds.
“Dead man tracks?” Tucker asked. His head was swimming. Two wardens get killed and a dead body just ups and leaves?
“It’s an animal of some kind,” the sheriff called. “Maybe you were right after all, Mister Tucker? But by the size of it…”
By the time Tucker and Jon had caught up with Sir Justice he had thrown the rifle back over his shoulder and pulled off his helmet. Tucker watched as he lit his pipe, sparks from the flame catching on the metal end of a ladder, just before the sheriff’s arm swung out to block his path.
“I wouldnae step any closer, boy, unless you want to fall about twenty feet down a ruddy big hole, eh?”
“It’s gone down the tunnel?” Tucker stared at the ladder, poking out from the service hatch. He could feel his voice shaking.
“Whatever it is,” Sir Justice puffed on his pipe, the coals colouring his face amber and red. He looked at the pair in the light of the full moon, now low and yellowing in the sky. “Aye,” he said simply.
“You think we’re under attack,” Jon Way said calmly, his sprites poking at the hole as if each arrow was daring the other to dive in. “Who uses these tunnels, Wilfred?”
Sir Justice shrugged. “Just the wardens mostly, usually to smuggle stuff back to the bar. There’s a trap door in the…”
“The bar?” A lump jumped to Tucker’s throat. “Six!”
………...
Six found a stub of candle and some matches on the shelf next to the stairs. Somewhere to her left she knew there hung a light switch but she wouldn’t risk using it and rousing suspicion. Instead, she lit the grimy piece of wax and continued creeping down into the basement, her sneakers squeaking on each polished step.
At first the candle’s flame seemed to make the cellar only darker, blinding her eyes in the thick black. Six blinked and felt instinctively for her sword but it wasn’t there. She had left it in her bedroom as her grandpa had asked her.
Her eyes adjusted to the gloomy light as she reached the floor of the cellar. The room stank of stale beer and Six began to make out the wooden barrels and boxes of farm snacks she’d expected to discover. After all, this was hardly her first time down in the basement. Six listened to the sounds of people eating and talking merrily above.
“English breakfast with black pudding!” a waitress called. “C’mon, who ordered the flippin’ black pudding?”
Six smiled. Now, what were Al and Daphne so worried about? she wondered.
The knight inspected every corner, every crevice in the candle’s pale beam but she could find nothing out of the ordinary. She had just decided to go when she heard a faint tremor from below. Then another, and another. Six stopped and pressed her ear to the floor. Something was moving underneath her.
Slowly, she stood up and began tracing out the edges of the wooden floor with her feet. Thud! Thud! The tremors were coming closer.
What the devil is that?
Thud! And closer still. Six followed the sound to a narrow piece of carpet. She kicked it aside. She could just make out the outline of a…
Smack! Six jumped as a trap door sprang open below her.
Who?
But before she could react, a fist full of needles gripped at the bare skin of her left leg.
“Arrrgggh! Let go!” she screamed, dropping the candle and kicking with her right foot across her attacker. Her trainer connected with something solid and the whip-sharp hand let go, only for another to tear at her dress.
“Hey!” Six yelled, her temper peaking, but her enemy was already upon her. She could smell its rancid breath, saw its demonic red eyes blazing in the dark. A small sliver of light from above caught on a bloody row of nails reaching for her face.
“Arrrgggh!” she screamed again. Six felt the pearls being ripped from her neck as she swept the claw aside and retreated into a defensive stance. Something soft but solid smashed against her legs as she heard the jewels cascading onto the carpet.
It can see in the dark, she thought frantically. Cheese Louise, it can see in the bloody dark!
The beast made another lunge. Six felt its wet, matted fur as it brushed past her. Its whole body reeked of piss and dirt, like a man who hadn’t bathed in weeks, but this time it slipped on some of the pearls and careered into one of the barrels.
“Help!” Six yelled as the container exploded.
This is my chance, she thought. Even in the dark she could now guess the position of her foe. She leapt in the air and kicked back with her left foot, striking out with her right…
And then someone above her switched the light on, and for a moment she could see the gruesome hulk of her enemy, its hairy body bent back over hind legs, its ragged tail, its snarling snout. And before she could finish the move a fist full of razors smashed into her jaw.
And everything went black.
Chapter Eighteen
NEON was lost in the jungle. She had been playing games with the Pirate Prince for what seemed like hours, but it could have been months. Time, distance, space, these were all hard to measure in the Other Worlds - but Neon was happy, perhaps the happiest she’d ever been.
She could no longer hear her parents arguing, no longer had to worry about the Seekers bullying her, or listening to her thoughts. She was no longer concerned about the death of Lord Truth. The problems of Albion were far from Neon’s mind. In fact, without Brian, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to find her way home again. She was starting to wonder if she cared.
“Little prince, little prince, I know you’re in here!” she called.
“But you must find me, my princess, if you ever want to win this game!” the Voice laughed back.
Neon pushed her way through huge white leaves and thick, black, tropical fronds. The jungle was teeming with life and Neon thought everything seemed very friendly. All the birds were calling her name, even the insects whispered “hello” as they buzzed past. Neon looked up as a butterfly fluttered over her head. It had a message painted on the underside of its black and white wings that read: “You’re very pretty”.
Eventually the princess reached a clearing where she stopped and marvelled at the creation in front of her. The bushes and trees at the centre of the space had been trimmed back to form the shape of a white elephant.
What’s this? Neon thought as she circled the great hedge. The wind rushed through the topiary beast as its mouth opened and closed. It seemed to be laughing.
And there was another behind it. Springing from the ground like a fountain of plants, a black dolphin stood proudly on its tail. As she watched, white flowers bloomed in ribbons along its body until an orchid spread its petals in the dolphin’s mouth.
And then another, this time in the shape of a rabbit, its big ears flapping in the breeze, its head nodding backwards and forwards. Neon clapped excitedly. As she looked she could see dozens more of the bushes appearing.
“He’s leaving a trail for me,” Neon giggled. “Pruning these hedges with his sword.”
“He likes you,” the jungle seemed to sing, croak and twitter back at her. “You’re his favourite.”
The princess skipped along the path of forest sculptures, past a beautiful white flamingo standing on one leg, its huge wings waving. Neon felt for the cuckoo’s egg, still lodged in her pocket.
He is wonderful, she thought and she stretched out her mind to see if she could find the prince. But she couldn’t. She was finding it harder and harder to use her powers since arriving in the Other Worlds, and almost impossible to hear Albion.
Eventually the path thinned and she came to a great curtain of white vines, hanging from tall trees. Neon could hear a strange noise beyond them, different from the rest of the jungle, metallic and small. She paused to listen. There was the sound of people
struggling, screaming, as if a fight was taking place, but the voices seemed far away.
“Pirate Prince, are you in there?” she called nervously.
“You’ll have to come through if you’re going to find out!” the Voice answered.
Neon Way closed her eyes, took a deep breath and pulled the vines apart. She had walked back to the edge of the jungle, and there on the boarder between the trees and the beach, a picnic had been laid out. A picnic fit for a princess.
“I thought you might be hungry,” the Pirate Prince said as he slid off a tatty leather sofa.
The couch was sitting opposite a television set, and in between them lay an enormous blanket covered in every type of food and drinks imaginable. There were cakes and sandwiches and sweets and chocolates and bottles of pop, and beer. And cocktail sausages and chicken legs and milk shakes and ice cream, and fish ‘n’ chips, and spaghetti bolognaise and spring rolls…
Neon stood amazed. “All this for me?”
The Pirate Prince nodded.
Neon plucked a fondant fancy from a tray of small cakes. It had whipped cream on top with a cherry at its height and jam in the middle, and it was sprinkled with little balls of sugar and chocolate flakes. Neon bit into it. It was the first time she’d eaten in the Other Worlds, but she couldn’t taste anything. Like the place without colour, it was as if the food had no flavour at all.
“Do you like it?” the Pirate Prince asked anxiously.
“Hmm, yes lovely,” the princess replied, not wishing to offend him.
“Good,” the prince shouted before biting into a chicken leg.
Neon watched him as he ate, his eyes turning from her to the television set where what looked like a werewolf was attacking people in Al’s Bar.
The Pirate Prince smiled as the wind rushed off the sea and brushed his white hair. Strands that were tinted black at the fringe swept back over his eyes. His clothes looked perfect in this black and white world, as if he had dressed for a monochrome occasion. A wedding perhaps, or a funeral.
The collar of his black waistcoat stood high at his white neck but then the coat ballooned out below his knees. A white shirt, hanging low over his chest and shoulders, was tucked into black gauntlets. His black breaches were decked in two white belts, one holding a thin sword, another his dagger, and the trousers themselves were tucked into high boots. But Neon longed to see the colour of his eyes, sparkling black as he stretched his hand out to her.
The Last Days Page 14