And then to a musical ensemble the actors tramped on stage, the chatter died down and I could commence paying no attention to any of it, instead my mind quite preoccupied by the scent omitting from sweet Trudy whilst she fanned her face and seemed to actually be listening to the show. How was I supposed to concentrate on any of it, the dancing, the singing, the twirling of ribbons, of villains chasing innocents about the stage to whoops from the crowd, all whilst my loins ached the way they did. Would I ever have a moment alone with the girl? If nothing else, simply to declare my fondness for her and might we have a picnic some time, perhaps away from the inquisitive eyes of the not so jolly fat man. From time to time I caught her watching me but could make little of it, and not knowing her thoughts proved most distracting.
Then came intermission and I was relieved to excuse myself to use the latrines, just so I could clear my head. It was the first time I’d seen such luxurious facilities. A line of urinals were set into the wall with porcelain surfaces to aim against, which sure beat a pan on the floor. Over my shoulder were a row of stalls, one of the opened doors revealing a special chair with a hole in the centre and a long chain dangling from a porcelain box above. The whole setup looked elaborate, assuming the refuse was sent somewhere afterwards, but I didn’t think it was worth the undoubted high expense, considering the ease of simply throwing the contents of your pan out the window.
I retied my breeches just as a loud sluicing noise came from one of the stalls. A few seconds later an elderly man hobbled out, monocle and all - It was the brigadier from before.
“My, my, my, well if it isn’t the famous Captain Jack Strapper, what? Finally get to meet the acquaintance of the man of the hour.” He thrust forth his mitt, which I took with hesitation. “I see you’ve been having a busy evening, what?” His uniform absolutely dripped with medals, ribbons and badges. What was it with these people and their insistence on publicly flaunting their psychosis?
“Sir.” I saluted and made my body rigid, attempting to remain subordinate. No opinion here, no, sir. I would not be engaging one of these proven lunatics in conversation, so let’s kill this meeting now shall we.
He waved a withered hand. “At ease, man, at ease. We’re in a public latrine, not on bloody parade.”
I loosened, ensuring to grimace from the tiny movement.
He regarded me from behind his moustache, the length of my forearm, that unlike Colonel Fitzgibbon’s, which sat like a tree trunk over his lip, this drooped down and seemed to pull the skin of his face with it - It was the lack of tar that made the difference. “Still on the mend are you? What’s it been now, five, six months?”
More like seven, but I didn’t like this one bit and pulled out my timepiece before making a display of checking the hands. “Correct, sir…well, must dash…can’t keep the lady waiting.”
“Ah yes, the young Fräulein from Germany…lucky man you are indeed. Well, don’t you worry, Captain, you’ll be back by her side presently.” What can you do when one of the most senior officers in the entire British army has you cornered by the urinals? Nothing is the answer and all I could do was pray that all he desired was an autograph whilst he flourished a cane about in his hand. “Read about you in The Times, my boy…nearly choked on my bacon, I can tell you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“The devil of a time you had out there…remember the place myself, what? Talk about a rock and a hard place…the dead on one side and Paddies on the other…can’t think what I’d rather face least, but you made it out alright, and all the better for Britannia, I say.”
“You’re very kind sir.”
“Don’t interrupt…now where was I…ah yes, you see, Britannia needs her heroes, those who’ll inspire the rest to do great things, to keep us alive in these harsh times and who better than you, aye?” He studied my gorget patch as his monocle gave a little spasm. “But a mere captain? No, no, no, that won’t do at all. We need our best and brightest to lead, not to be lead. You see, I’ve been watching you, young Strapper,” oh God, “seen the way you limped in here, watched how you needed the lady’s shoulder to get up the stairs, but by God you made it…despite the agony, you made it. Leadership material, by Jove!”
I motioned over my shoulder to the exit, lamenting that nobody else had yet entered to interrupt this horrendous impromptu gathering. “Well, sir, thank you, but I really must…”
“…Quiet! By God, how dare you. Now then, I don’t need to tell you that every day Britannia draws ever closer to oblivion. We can’t have that, can we? But who is there to do anything about it, what with most of our army in India and other such far flung hell holes. Well sir, let me tell you who there is to do something about it…you and I, that’s who. And I mean to bump you up to colonel…have you take over command of the 11th, what, see that ghastly man Fitzgibbon don’t get it, but you sir instead…take it to the damned dead, no? Kick them out of Britannia once and for all.”
He actually ceased yammering, whilst apparently waiting for my acceptance of his kind invitation to die for the good of everyone else.
I cleared my throat and tried to make it look like I was giving it some thought. “Colonel, wow, well, what can I say? And you have the power to give me command over the 11th?” My knees already shook from the mere insinuation. “It’s a dream come true for a mere cavalry captain, but I’m afraid I must turn it down, sir, on account of my still convalescing and…”
“…Well you can just unconvalesce…Britannia needs you.”
“So everyone keeps reminding me, but,” and I winced in agony as I tapped my pin, “if my peg don’t heal, sir, I fear I’ll never get back on a horse, which is the worst possible thing for a cavalryman…”
“…Damn your eyes, Strapper,” and now he struck his own peg with the cane, over and over, which gave off the same noise as when Old Tubs used his practice strokes over the desk before laying into my buttocks. “See! It’s wood. The sawbones took it from me at Waterloo. But that don’t stop me, what? It’s called being a soldier, dammit. You take the pain, grit your teeth and get the bloody hell back on your horse, because Britannia needs you.” He was now working himself into a rare passion, still striking his leg like a madman to emphasise his every point. “That’s what soldiers are. We’re tools for the nation. We don’t sulk, we don’t baulk, we don’t cry, we don’t fucking run, we act like men and we fight, we do what we’re bloody well told and don’t complain, we die when our country needs us and now, colonel, that’s what you will do. You will lead the 11th and rid Britannia of the enemy.”
Christ and he stood between me and the door too. But could I run? Maybe even barge him over as I fled? He was old and senile. Would he even remember this conversation took place if I denied ever meeting him? Would he be believed before me, the heroic Strappy? There were just too many variables to contemplate in too short a time whilst he stood there vibrating, cane pulsing in his withered old mitt.
“Sir, it’s not just my leg. You read The Times article. Didn’t you see my long list of other ailments?”
“By God, of course I did…shameful.”
“And how about my other commitments? Family and all that. Oh, how I wish I could just up and fight, but it’s not as easy as that and…”
“…By God, what is this? The heroic Strappy they call you. Volunteered to fight the dead in Ireland they say, deloped your shot in a duel they say, single handedly defeated an army of dead they say. Well sir? What the devil got into you?”
My eyes flicked down to the cane and my voice squeaked. “Sir, I think we’re missing the show and…”
“…My God, you are aren’t you. I’ve seen whole battalions run, men crying for their mothers, soldiers shitting their breeches, but I tell you sir, I have never seen anything quite like this.” And I yelped, not out of pain, but from sheer surprise when he struck my arm with the damned stick. “You’ll come up with every excuse under the bloody sun to avoid the enemy, damn your eyes.” He struck me again and again. “You’re a
bloody coward, confound it, squatting in the latrines like a Frenchman.” He struck me again. “And you wearing one of the great uniforms of Britannia…by God, I will not have it. You bring shame to that uniform…take it off…take it off at once I say.” He lunged forward as I jumped back.
“No, no, no, sir, please, let’s just discuss this. There must be another way? Give me your address and I’ll pay you a visit tomorrow, it’s a promise.”
He stuck me again and his face turned an ugly red. “I know what you are. Don’t think I’ve not seen a coward by the hundred in my time.” He struck me again as the sweat poured down his withered old face. “I’ll expose you Strapper, by God, the whole world will hear about this and I’ll start right now by announcing it to this whole bloody auditorium…just you see if I don’t.”
“No, sir, please…my reputation…the ladies…it means the world to me and…ouch!”
“Out of my way…” he jabbed me with the point and barged past as I scanned the room for a window - There was one above the urinals.
Then he stopped rigid and made a strange croaking noise, grabbing ahold of his chest as the cane and eye glass tumbled to the tiles, his face screwing up whilst all I could do was back away, frozen, petrified. He turned to me, his blue lips a contortion of agony, appealing for me to do something, but what?
Oh, I knew exactly what to do, alright, and was already bounding toward the window, slipping up the porcelain urinal toward it, forcing it open, lifting one leg through the gap, pushing myself off the piss stained wall, taking a moment to look back at the old man who knew it all now, throwing my other leg over and taking a final look as the brigadier collapsed lifeless.
I landed nicely outside on the cobbles in an empty street and one minute later was strolling casually back inside the Drury Lane entrance smoking a cheroot, all natural like and pretending to know nothing about the ensuing commotion that was now taking place around the threshold to the men’s latrines.
The brigadier was dragged out by the feet as two officers caved his head in with rifle butts.
Moving Up
After almost being exposed I decided it was finally time to pay a visit to my Uncle Luther at the Horse Guards, to confront the villain and beg he pass a memo around all senior staff, imparting the information that Strappy was recovering from recent traumas and could they desist in trapping me in public restrooms from which there was no escape.
Upon arrival I was so flustered I barged straight by the sergeant at the front desk and charged directly through the building, hoping my nerve would hold when I found the reprobate. But if I was expecting any resistance, I was to be relieved as there was none. They all knew who I was and were too much in awe of the man who’d sacrificed his own body to save the lives of twins to act on my ignoring protocol.
The corridors were decked in the captured colours and standards of the world’s armies; French eagles from the Napoleonic Wars, the flag of the American Thirteen Colonies, Dutch, Spanish, Austrian, Russian, Chink and insignia from every world power and back water alike. Here it all was - Proof that Britannia should never be squabbled with and that included zombies too.
Oh we’d defeat them eventually alright, like the rest, just so long as it wasn’t I who had to do any of the combat, that was all that mattered to me, which brought me to my business here.
The crest on the door said ‘Colonel Rochefort’ and had the family coat-of-arms below. I barged through without knocking.
Luther was at the window and shot me a stricken glance from where he perched smoking a cheroot. It fell from his lips and landed on the floor. “What the devil?”
“Ah, weren’t expecting me, I see.” I stomped over to his desk, messed up the papers and tipped over a jar of pencil shavings before marching to within a few paces of the devious man, showing my displeasure with a scowl. “And I think you have some bloody explaining to do.”
He backed away and made placatory hand gestures, which failed to appease me. “Son, he asked for it, for all of it, for what he put your mother through. I took revenge for the family, that’s all, ruined the man, took his wench, slapped him about a bit too, pissed in his prized water feature.”
What in the blazes was he talking about? I squinted as I tried to fathom him. “I’m not talking about the old man, confound it, I’m talking about you sending me to Ireland…about me!”
“You are?” He exhaled and casually walked around his desk, evidently sensing I was no threat to him. He was right. “You’re complaining I helped make you? That you’re the nation’s gallant hero, that you’re mounting a princess and everybody loves you? Oh aye, that’s all because of me, son.” He wiped the shavings from his desk. “You’re only creating more work for the negro who cleans the place, son.” He minutely shook his head. “And I thought no Strapper would ever amount to anything, yet here we are.” He brought out another cigar from a draw, which he lit before blowing out a large plume of smoke. “I’d say if anything, you owe me, just like your rotten father.”
I stepped forward. “Now hold on just a minute. I don’t owe you a thing. You weren’t to know the kind of soldier I’d make, damn your eyes, for all you knew you were sending me to my death…oh, aye, I’ve had time to consider your motivations, alright, and like you say, I’m the nation’s hero and one word from me and I could have society’s best circles shunning you for the dog you are. I have contacts in the press, by Jove. How about I publicly expose you?”
He’d sat and taken it with barely a change in expression, merely enjoying the poison he kept inhaling. “Now settle down son. Expose me for what exactly? For sending a gallant soldier off to rescue our Irish neighbours?” He leaned back and considered me. “And now you’re enlisted and between regiments, perhaps I should send you to India, or back to Ireland even.” He saw my alarm and dismissed it, and his mean words, with a friendly wave of the hand. “But I don’t want to do that. Like I said…you’re family.”
I snorted at that. “Family means nothing to you.”
“And evidently nothing to you either.” He saw me flinch. “Oh, I know all about where you stuck your old man…best place for him…only wish I’d thought of that myself.” He watched me as he wrapped his lips around the cigar tip. “No, I like you and I know what you’re like.” He tilted back his head and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling that had a large yellow stain above his seat. “And I think we could help each other…you’ve already done enough for Britannia and now I think it’s time Britannia did something for you.”
“What in the blazes are you bleating on about?” I slammed my hands into the desk but he didn’t wince nor shrink. “The last time you did me a good turn I was hounded by an army of zombies. Why should I listen to you again?”
“Because son, this time there’ll be something in it for me too.”
“What?”
“Thirty percent should do it. Let’s call it an arrangement fee.”
I shrugged. “You’d better make yourself clear or I’ll be down Fleet Street before you know it, calling for my man at The Telegraph.”
He stood and a flicker of anger shot across his face. “You’re a stupid idiot son and I see your Ireland experiences haven’t changed anything there. No, if I were you, I’d keep what I have to offer between the two of us.”
“What are you offering?” I asked impatiently and somewhat annoyed I’d been sidetracked.
He delved into a draw and threw a stack of papers over the table. I squinted at the funny drawings and he said impatiently, “they’re plans, son. Plans for the London Underground.”
“The what?”
“Aye, exactly. What’s the point in building an underground rail system when we have horses to take us wherever we need, but I’m not the fellow who gets to decide these things. And now you’re thinking what the bloody hell do I have to do with such a worthless enterprise? Well the answer to that is nothing, son, because now the whole dire project has been scrapped, on account of the dead…oh, they’re still digging the tunnels,
only there’ll be no trains in ‘em.” He scattered the papers over the desk, each with complex drawings I couldn’t understand. “No, instead of a useless rail network, we’re now constructing bunkers.” He sat back and awaited my response, which wasn’t much.
“Bunkers?”
“You’re a stupid idiot, son. Holes in the ground for the nation’s top brass, politicians, royalty and most wealthy to hide in, just in case the zombies make it as far as London, which they won’t, but just in case, you see…can’t risk doing nothing. There’ll be space for a few thousand to live in some comfort while the rest are left to survive on their own, and good luck to ‘em, I say.” He tapped the stack with the backs of his fingers, dropping ash over the lot. “But now this has come over from the transport department to us here at the office of the Commander-in-Chief of the Forces, which means we, or more specifically, I, get to divvy up the work, you see.”
I saw where this was going at once and it was all too good to be true. “And you’re offering me the contract to find workers?”
“Unless you have a problem with corruption, favouritism, cronyism, nepotism or profiteering when Britannia’s on the brink?”
I laughed, “of course not.”
He slapped the table. “Good. Because we’ll pay twenty shillings per labourer you can supply per day.” My word, but that was substantial. “From which you can expect to pay your men five. Not bad, huh?”
Oh it wasn’t bad alright and the saliva was already building in my mouth. I’d yet show Gertrude the cut of my cloth and all thanks to my Uncle Luther.
I tried to work the sums in my head. “That leaves fifteen shillings minus thirty percent for you.”
He saw my scrunched up face. “You’re a stupid idiot, son. What did they teach you at that posh public school of yours? That’s ten shillings six pence for you and four and six for me, per worker you supply per day. And I’m sure I needn’t tell even you that we don’t know each other and we’re certainly not related, otherwise The Telegraph may well have their story, you understand me son?”
Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2 Page 20