by Tony Lewis
Stitches sighed heavily and turned back to face the spectre.
“Ah, to hell with it. I’m here now, and anyway, who wants to live forever?”
Ollie called over to his friend again.
“Come on mate, you can do it. Stay alert, stay focussed and listen to what you’re being told, okay.”
“Okay. What was the second one?”
“Does he ever stop?”
“Very well,” said Flapper, who all of a sudden was holding a small stack of cards,“your challenge is to answer the ten questions that I am going to put to you.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Stitches, his mood improving a little.
“However, you must make your answers as entertaining as possible. You see, the challenges that each of you will face are specific to the person chosen, based upon personality, temperament, interests etc. In other words, Master Stitches, this should be right up your street.”
“Sounds more like a dating show. Well, as long as you don’t ask me anything on politics, sport, music, general knowledge or current affairs, I should be fine.”
“Excellent. Shall we begin?”asked Flapper, checking his stack of cards.
“Might as well. Oh, by the way, has anyone ever got through the first challenge?”
“Has the Cup been found?”
“Bugger.”
“Okay. So, here we go. Question one. In the Bible, how did Jesus Christ meet his end?”
“Um, he was run over by a speed boat whilst walking to work.”
“Question two. In the game of Monopoly, what is the best way to win the game?”
“Uh, by as many properties as you can, then claim you’re an immigrant who can’t return to your country for political reasons and you’ll be given all the houses and hotels for free.”
“Question three. Approximately how far does light travel in a light year?”
“About twice as far than it does during a heavy year, on account of it being so busy.”
“Question four. In the famous love story, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, what is the name of the eponymous hero who falls in love with Esmeralda?”
“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it certainly does ring a bell.”
“Question five. What is the name of the item that a Scotsman wears in front of his kilt?”
“A sheep.”
“Question six. What was the disastrous move that caused the Nazis to lose the Second World War?”
“One of the Generals didn’t wash his hands properly after getting bitten by a small furry animal, and they all caught German Weasels.”
“Question seven. What is a Thesaurus?”
“A dinosaur with a degree in English.”
“Question eight. What is the traditional gift to get someone who has been married for sixty years?”
“A George Cross.”
“Question nine. What is the worst birthday present ever bought?”
“A set of drums for Anne Frank.”
“And finally, question ten. What is the stupidest thing ever?”
“The Society of Illiteracy’s publication ‘How to read in twelve easy to read lessons’. Big print version available.”
The moment Stitches gave his final answer, the ghostly questioner before him disappeared with a resounding pop, leaving nothing but sinuous tendrils of smoke that threaded up to the ceiling, where they seeped into the masonry and vanished.
“So, what now?” the zombie asked the empty space.
“Do we go and get him out?” Ronnie asked Ollie as he took a step towards the chandelier cage.
Ollie reached out and put a hand on his friend’s arm, stopping him from going any further.
“Best leave it,” he said. “Everything else has happened spontaneously. There’s no reason to think that anything bad is going to occur now. He did what was asked of him, didn’t he?”
As they watched their trapped friend, they saw him reach a hand up. It looked like he was going to grab hold of one of the shafts of metal, but before his fingers could close around it, the whole cage began to shake. The metal whined loudly as it became taut and the jewels that had been driven into the floor rocked back and forth, as if they were being subjected to an invisible force. Then, as quickly as they had shot downwards, the jewels were released. The lengths of steel went flaccid and every one of them raced back up into their original positions. Stitches got up from the chair and walked back across the tomb to his colleagues.
“Well done, mate” said Ollie, taking Stitches by the hand and shaking it, “that was tough.”
“He’s right,” added Ethan, joining in the hopefully not too premature victory celebrations by giving him a slap on the back. “That was superb, coming up with all that stuff so quickly.”
“Ah, it was nothing” replied the dusty one, trying his best to come across as modest.
“So what now, then?” asked Ronnie. “How do we know if we’ve won the piece? Do we have to look for it? Do we have to wait for Phantomforce to deliver it, what?”
As if in answer to that very question, the leather chair in the centre of the room vanished in a flash and was replaced by a rag. On closer inspection, it seemed to be a tea towel. On even closer inspection it seemed to be a souvenir tea towel from the coastal resort of Sharks Bay.
Flug bent down, picked it up in his giant hand and stood in the middle of the group, the towel resting on his palm.
“It’s lumpy. There must be something wrapped up inside it,” said Ollie.
“What’s your speciality? Stating the bloody obvious. Of course there’s something inside it. The question is what?”
said Stitches, looking but not touching.
“Well, my guess is that it’s the first piece of the Cup,” observed Ethan. “It’s a good few minutes since the end of the challenge and nothing untoward has happened. Looks like he’s done it, even if that is stating the bloody obvious.”
Ollie scratched his head thoughtfully.
“I’d like to know for definite though,” he said. “Maybe one of us should unwrap it. Away from the others. You know, health and safety and all that. Stitches?”
“Why me?” he protested incredulously. “And what about my health and safety? What about Flug? He’s been holding it and nothing’s happened to him.”
“I feel a bit strange,” Flug announced to the group, “like I got a headache and my brain hurts.”
“You always feel like that, even on a good day. Come on, it’s not fair. I won the damn thing in the first place.”
“I know, but I do think that it should be you,” said Ollie in as friendly a manner as he could manage, given the situation, “for two reasons. One, you, as you so rightly said, accomplished the task that made it appear, and two, if I may be permitted the indelicacy, if anything happens, you’re easy to put back together again if it goes bang.”
Stitches had a look of disgust on his face that would have rivalled anything the Queen could have mustered when told that she was off to visit some poor people.
“Well, seeing as you put it like that, how can I possibly refuse?” God forbid any of you lot lose anything vital.”
He snatched the cloth parcel from Flug and stomped to the far end of the necropolis. He placed it on the ground and teased back the corners of the cloth. A glint of shiny metal issued from within.
“I think this is it,” he announced proudly to the others. His anticipation overrode his sense of practicality and he quickly removed the rest of the tea towel, faster than a kid on Christmas morning. He picked up the prize and took it to his friends.
“Wassat, Ronnie?” asked Flug.
“It’s the base of the Cup. We’re on our way, lads. We’ve got the first piece.”
Ollie reached out and took the piece from Stitches and studied it.
“Doesn’t look like much, does it?” he said “still ATCHOO, excuse me; at least we’ve got it. Ethan, can you ATCHOO, Godsake, look after it?”
“Of course,” the lycan replied
, slipping his rucksack off.
“Right, let’s get out of here,” suggested Ollie, heading for the now open door. “I think this tomb dust is getting to me.”
“I’m with you,” agreed Stitches. “It’s too cold as well. We’re liable to catch our death. Or death is liable to catch hold of us. One or the other.”
So, with the first challenge completed and the first piece of the Cup safely stowed away in Ethan’s bag, they made their way out of the mausoleum and retraced the route back to the car.
* * *
The hooded figure stared at the swirling misty depths in the bowl. The first task had been completed and now, as the seekers left the ancient tomb, a brief smile played across a mouth seemingly unused to such a gesture.
“Excellent work, my ignorant associates. Outstanding. If only you knew the true nature of what you’re engaged in.”
Standing up and walking about the dark abode allowed the life to flow back into weary legs. The constant vigil that was being kept was necessary, but also tiresome. The seekers’ progress had to be monitored because the closer they came to completing the quest, the more imperative it was that all was in readiness for the concluding act. This opportunity wasn’t going to be missed for anything, even if it meant sitting awake here for days on end.
Leg muscles suitably refreshed, the figure took to the uncomfortable wooden stool once more.
“Onward.”
* * *
As they reached the hearse, the first glimmer of dawn was casting its shadowy aura over the countryside. Birds had started singing and the sound of normal daytime woodland creatures could be heard around them.
“Looks like we better get you under cover, Ollie,” said Ethan, noticing the rapidly receding gloom. “Do you want to hide up in the back?”
Ollie took off his own backpack and rummaged around in its depths until he found the balaclava that Crumble had made for him.
“Nah. I’ll be alright. I’ll slip this on. The Prof said it should work a treat. I’ll sit on the back seat in the middle. I’ll be okay.”
Stitches looked at him doubtfully, a hint of concern also on his face.
“Are you sure you want to trust your wellbeing to the man who invented an ejector seat for a helicopter? Seems a bit risky to me.”
“It’ll be fine, don’t worry,” said Ollie, slipping the balaclava onto his head. It covered his bonce completely and even had a fine mesh over the eyes and mouth holes. He stood with his hands on his hips and posed for them, not realising that Crumble had embellished the forehead of the all over hat with a delicately stitched pink bat.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“You look like a gay terrorist,” said Stitches, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you were off to suicide bomb a rather poor production of My Fair Lady.”
The sun continued to rise behind them, its heat and light strong and insistent for so early in the morning.
“How does it feel?” asked Ethan.
“Not bad, actually. Bit itchy though, which is a bit odd because I’ve never had problems with any clothing fibres before,” replied Ollie scratching the top of his head, “but the sun is well up. Any being with vampire blood in it would be a bubbling heap in a bucket by now. Looks like the Prof has come up trumps for a change.”
“Mmmm, I wouldn’t recommend a holiday in Majorca though,” said Ronnie. “Still, if you end up as a sloppy mess on the floor over there, you’d slot right in. People would just assume you were from the UK and only saw alcohol and the sun once a year.”
“Well, quite. Right, shall we have a look at the next clue?”
Ethan retrieved the folder from his backpack. He opened it up and laid it on the bonnet of the hearse, extracting the two required pages.
“Right, here we go,” he said, passing the text to Ollie whilst he kept hold of the map.
“What does it say?” asked Stitches.
“Travel to the town with a tooth for a name
Here you will find the place for your game
Go to the warehouse where the crowds mass
And speak to the one who will allow you to pass
His name is important as you will soon see
As he will instruct you on how to proceed
Give all that you have of body and mind
And take home the prize if this you should find.”
“Nicely abstract,” said Stitches, taking the piece of paper and looking at it for himself, as if that would help. “Not making it easy for us, are they?”
“I don’t suppose they would,” commented Ronnie. “It’s not like we’re popping down the shop and getting some teabags, is it?”
“Here,” said Ethan, “have a look at the map.” He smoothed it out on the car so they could all have a look.
“Haven’t a clue,” said Stitches forlornly. “All I’m seeing is a load of straight lines, which I’m assuming are streets, an asterisk and a two tailed fish in a square. Makes no sense to me whatsoever.”
“Me neither, I’m afraid,” added Ronnie.
“Same as that,” said Ethan. “I can’t even think of a town with the name of a tooth let alone where it might be.”
Ollie scratched his head again, only this time it was in deep thought rather than in deep discomfort. Something was niggling at the back of his mind but he couldn’t actually decide if it made sense or not. He told the group to keep studying the pages whilst he wandered off for a few minutes to gather his thoughts.
About ten minutes later and thoughts suitably reined in, he came back to the group.
“What have you been doing?” asked Stitches.
“Thinking,” he replied.
“What about?”
“Well, it seems to me that this Cup of All Souls, said to be one of the most powerful objects in the world, needs to be found so that it can be used for whatever purpose it was meant for. That being the case, it would make sense for it not to be too difficult to find, well, not as difficult as it would first appear, or how difficult and dangerous we may think it is or likely to be. Do you remember when we all looked at the first map back in the office? It made absolutely no sense to any of us except Ronnie. Not only did he work out what the one symbol was when the rest of us were stumped, it turned out that he had actually been there before.”
“So what you’re saying,” said Ethan trying to understand, “is that although we’re still going to have to go through the various challenges, the Cup itself, or whatever forces are guarding it, are in effect giving us a bit of a helping hand.”
“More or less, yes. I don’t know whether it’s preordained or pure luck, or because the clues somehow fit who we are, or who’s seeking the Cup at the time, but I suppose what I’m getting at is, it wants to be found. Maybe even needs to be.”
“Well, us three have looked at it,” said Stitches indicating himself, Ethan and Ronnie “You try it. And I hope to God that you do recognise something, because the one tiny flaw in your excellent theory is Flug. He wouldn’t recognise his own face if it was staring at him. Come to think of it, he can’t, which is why Ronnie shaves him. He tried to slice his own nose off once, remember?”
Ollie nodded as he approached the car.
“If I’m wrong, then so be it,” he said.
Ollie picked up the piece of paper and stared at it. Hard. Then harder still, almost willing it to make sense, hoping that some tiny detail, however insignificant, would spark a glimmer of recognition.
“Nothing,” he announced dejectedly.
“Nothing?” Stitches asked pleadingly.
“Nothing,” Ollie repeated disappointedly.
“Bugger,” said Stitches angrily.
“Flug,” Ronnie called out over his shoulder, attempting to catch the monster’s wavering attention.
“Yeah,” replied Flug, a stray antennae and silky butterfly wing hanging from his bottom lip.
“Christ. Come here a minute, will you, mate.”
Flug thudded over t
o the group like an ambulatory crane.
“Wassup, Ronnie?”
“I need you to have a look at this pretty picture and tell me what you see, okay.”
“Okay.”
As Flug studied the map, the other four studied him. It would be polite to say that he looked like a contestant on University Challenge, struggling to answer a particularly taxing question on Theoretical Quantum Physics. It was more realistic, however, to say that he looked like an eight foot slab of meat staring blankly at a piece of paper. It pays to be honest.
“Anything?” asked Ronnie.
“Something,” pleaded Ethan.
“Just one thing,” requested Ollie.
“Big dumb thing,” added Stitches.
“Sweeties,” announced Flug.
“Yeah, not now mate,” said Ollie. “I need you to concentrate. Do you see anything at all that you’ve seen before?”
“Sweeties.”
“That’s it. He’s completely gone this time,” said Stitches, violently throwing his hands into the air in frustration. Surprisingly, he caught both of them.
“I agree,” said Ethan, getting Stitches’ sewing kit out of the zombie’s pocket, threading a needle and starting to sew. “We’ll have to figure this one out from scratch.”
“Speaking of which, can you do the end of my nose, please?” the handless one asked.
Ollie was about to reclaim the map when Flug’s fist came down on it like a five fingered flesh mallet, slamming it back onto the bonnet of the car, causing a dustbin lid sized dent to appear, (and a round of spontaneous applause from literary critics for such wonderful alliteration! I thank you).
“I get sweeties from dere,” he rumbled. “When me little, it was shop.”
“He’s dragging something else up from the depths of his unconscious,” said Ronnie. “Must be another buried memory resurfacing.”
“Could be,” agreed Ollie. “Flug, do you remember where this sweetie shop is?”
The large one removed his fist from the map and scratched his head.
“Uh, yeah. Me fink so. It in Molar.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that,” said Ethan tying off a loop of cotton and finally reattaching Stitches’ left hand. “If I remember correctly it’s an old industrial town.”