by James Walley
Marty felt almost apologetic in the face of such intent, determination, and twenty-four carat recklessness. “Yeah, that actually sounds like it might work.”
Timbers tipped his hat. “See? Always thinking. Even when I’m not thinking.” He prodded his temple with a cloth finger and leaned back on the grandeur that he had amassed with his speech.
“Sometimes I forget that we’re somewhere south of normal right now,” Marty conceded. “Me and Kate were clocking in to work and thinking about how to avoid rush hour only a few hours ago, don’t forget.”
Timbers huffed. He had spotted the scratched mast, and his eyes narrowed disapprovingly, before the beaming warmth returned in abundance. “Well, you’re a part of the crew, aren’t you?” He shifted uncomfortably, eyeing Kate with his good eye. “Listen Kate, lass. I didn’t really have any love for your little tree midget, but it’s not right, what happened.” Timbers lowered his gaze, kicking at the floor, and shook his head slightly, as though attempting to wrestle awkward thoughts out of his brain. “I want you to know that we’re fighting for your cause now, too. We’ll stuff Peepers and his cronies through that portal, but we’ll do it for Barney.”
“Benji,” Marty interjected, prodding the little captain with a not so subtle whispering prompt.
“Huh? Oh yeah, him too,” Timbers stammered, mustering a sheepish shrug. Kate couldn’t miss the intent behind his words, it seemed, as big, blinky tears welled up in her eyes. “You’re one of the good ones, Timbers,” she managed, wiping the tears from her face and replacing them with a smile. “I think Benji would have appreciated the sentiment.”
Timbers waved a dismissing hand, seemingly embarrassed by the notion of sentiment having any place in the life of a buccaneering daredevil. “Yes, well, that’s all splendid then, isn’t it?” he blustered, looking for a reason to get back on course. “Well, look lively you two. There’s trouble afoot, and work to be done.”
Kate leapt to her feet, also moving to stand between Timbers and the etchings she’d carved on the wood. “You’re the boss, captain. So long as you don’t have us scrubbing decks.”
“Ah, you’re all right there, lass.” Timbers smirked, motioning back towards his crew. “That’s Oaf’s job, especially after he lost at poker the other night.”
Oaf trotted up to join his companions, as though summoned by the mention of his name. “They only give me three cards. It doesn’t seem fair,” he muttered, grabbing a mop and getting to work anyway.
High up in the rigging, one of the Bobs piped out a shrill whistle, and gestured towards the horizon. “Looks like we’re coming up on our target,” Timbers sang out cheerfully. “How about we take a look-see?” He hopped up the steps to the quarterdeck, motioning for Kate and Marty to follow, and taking up a position at the very front of the Fathom.
As they arrived at his side, Timbers stared purposefully through a brass telescope at the shadowy, rolling hills that stretched out ahead. He sighed, dropping the device to his side, and pitching a thumb in the direction he’d been peeking. “Looks like I won’t be needing this. We’re here, folks.”
Marty grabbed the railing, and peered over the side. They’d travelled quite a ways out of town, and currently glided over Harper’s Meadow, its tree lined expanse stretching out silently beneath them. There was nothing beyond it, except miles of sprawling fields and farmland. Just grass, more grass, and an imposingly huge canvas tent which seemed to reach up to the heights at which the Fathom currently cruised.
“Looks like the circus has come to town,” Whipstaff growled. He had joined the others on the quarterdeck, and leaned over the side to view the spectacle.
“Umm, yeah. I think that’s kind of a given, seeing as how we’ve encountered more clowns than you can shake a balloon at tonight,” Marty interjected.
Whipstaff deflated slightly, moving away from the edge of the ship. “Yeah, I suppose. Sorry, I was just trying to be all dramatic and such.” He blushed, in as much as a toy pirate can turn an embarrassed shade of red, and went back about his duties. Beside Marty, Timbers chuckled. “He’s not wrong, mind you. Looks like this is where your town’s little infestation is coming from.”
Below the Fathom, a steady line of clowns trooped out from the entrance to the Big Top, like grease-painted, demonic ants, heading back the way they had flown, towards town.
“There’s so many of them,” Kate murmured, taking a few steps back, and clutching the ship’s ornamental steering wheel. There was, and Marty felt himself moving backwards as well. “What do we do?” he asked, aiming his enquiry towards Timbers.
“I thought you had a plan?” the little pirate replied, his one good eye raising a quizzical eyebrow, which demanded a response.
Marty’s head went into another spin cycle. He did have a plan, but would it work? What was the best way to get to the end of this journey without being horribly killed in some way? There were way too many caveats to this undertaking, and he was still only half sure that the first part might, possibly work.
As with all half-baked ideas, however, the proof of the pudding lies in plunging your finger into the mix, and hoping that it isn’t bitten off by one of the awful, devilish ingredients that you tipped in there.
Marty turned on his heels, and caught up with the departing first mate of the Fathom.
“Whipstaff. I need a word.” Marty turned to address Timbers as he left. “Get the lifeboat ready.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The woods past Harper’s Meadow were, as the saying goes, dark and deep, and Marty had never explored them in their entirety as a child. As they drifted down from the heavens, he was relieved that the thick fronded foliage was sufficiently dense to hide a decent sized pirate galleon.
They were scarcely a hundred feet from the silently billowing big top, which spat forth a torrent of clowns like some unholy circus artery, but the night and the trees hid their stealthy landing. Oaf leaned over the deck rail as the Fathom came to rest, mumbling complaints about how there was no water here, and that it he would probably be on hull repairing duty in the not too distant future. Timbers continued with his intent scanning of the scene through his telescope, while Marty whispered super top secret orders into Whipstaff’s ear.
The little first mate flapped and groaned as he received them, as though he were being asked to take latrine cleaning duties for the rest of the millennium. “This doesn’t sound like fun at all,” he moaned, “Can’t you get Oaf to do it?”
Marty straightened slightly, glancing over at the tiny giant across the deck. “Sure, he’ll have to go with you, to steer.” He fixed Whipstaff with a glinty eyed look. “Look at it this way, you get to…” the ear whispering continued, and Kate craned towards the conspiratorial duo in a vain attempt to catch the rest of the gambit. Whatever it was, it seemed to lift Whipstaff’s spirits, and he tried in vain to suppress a giggle. “Yeah, that does sound like fun. Okay, I’m in.” He scuttled over to where Oaf was still complaining to nobody in particular and tugged at his shipmate’s waistcoat. “C’mon, big lad, we’re on secret mission duty. I hope you’ve got your ninja pants on.”
Oaf ceased his grumbling and held out his hands, displaying his tattered moleskin trousers. “These are my only pair. Will they do?”
Whipstaff chuckled, patting Oaf’s shoulder. “Most ninjary pantaloons I’ve ever seen, my friend.”
Seemingly pleased by this observation, Oaf fell in behind his comrade, and made ready the lifeboat.
Up on the quarterdeck, Timbers had given up trying to see anything through his telescope. It was dark, and there were dozens of trees, and besides, he seemed to be holding it up to his patched eye. “I hope we know what we’re doing, Marty.” he mumbled, watching his crew prepare to set sail, before adding, “What are we doing, Marty?”
Marty was only half listening. He hadn’t been on a roll this impressive since managing two whole songs at the Pickled Judge karaoke night without having something pint shaped thrown at him. The curious ca
ptain needed answers, however, and whilst Marty realized all this tiny pirate army had done for him, he was reluctant to give voice to the burgeoning brainwave which still lurked somewhere in the realms of actually working. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing,” he lied, before heading across the deck to keep an eye on clownish proceedings beyond the tree line.
Timbers threw his hands up in frustration. “Do you know what he’s up to?” he asked a silently watching Kate.
She looked past him, a hint of thinly disguised confusion on her face. “I can’t possibly imagine.”
“I can,” Timbers muttered. “That’s what’s got me worried.”
Marty was beyond all thoughts and musings of what may or may not be going on in his head. What had started as a mere plot, made up of hopes and possibilities, had somehow mutated into some kind of many faceted bucket o’ subterfuge. Marty was further down the rabbit hole than he had ever been, and more certain than ever that this deep-fried lunacy might actually work. Behind him, the Fathom’s lifeboat gusted into the air, with Oaf at the bellows, and Whipstaff staring excitedly out into the night.
“When you get back, give us a signal. We’ll be ready,” Marty called at the departing pirates as quietly as he could manage.
Whipstaff smirked and nodded in the affirmative. “Don’t you worry, lad. When we get back, you’ll know about it.” He turned to Oaf, who piped another bellow blast into the lifeboat’s sails. “Look lively, big lad. we’ve got important, secret stuff to be doing.”
With another gushing whoosh, the lifeboat arced up into the heavens, and angled out of sight beyond the thin light that the moon was casting.
Back on deck, Kate resumed her pacing, and Marty joined her. “We should be getting in there.” She motioned towards the imposing tent before them. “Oaf lent me his mallet, and I think it’s time I got to using it.” She was already moving towards the gangplank as she outlined her vengeful intentions. “Let’s get moving.”
This was as simple as it got, Marty thought. Infiltrate demonic clown tent, find the big, shiny portal, then unleash untold shenanigans and wait for the cavalry to arrive—textbook. Of course, that was all reliant upon said cavalry charging the line before a certain eight foot tall, gibbering grandaddy of all hellish clowns arrived on the scene. Marty’s brow furrowed as he realized that this was, also, exactly what they wanted. It made no sense, in as much as it made perfect sense. Had he not recently spent a day in the company of his own dream manifestations, such a quandary might have driven him to insanity, but right now, who was to say what was sane anymore? It was almost empowering.
The epiphany was short lived, as Kate hopped over the side of the Fathom, landing in a clutch of shrubbery, and creeping over to a line of trees that ran parallel to the big top. Oaf’s mallet swung with grim intent by her side, and it was clear she meant business. Marty snapped to his senses, this was not the time for getting all misty eyed at the prospect of going deliciously insane. Kate was once again proving to be the impetus to his musings, and he wasn’t about to sit idly by, when wheels had already been set in motion.
It was only a short scamper to the edge of the tree line, and beyond that, the vast canopy of the big top plumed up into the air, blocking out most of the thin moonlight that peeped through the clouds.
“This is all a bit spooky isn’t it?” Timbers peered around a bunch of saplings, surveying the scene. “Shame we don’t have an ice cream truck.”
Marty squinted out into the gloom, scanning for any sign of snapping teeth or errant juggling balls. “I don’t think that’d help us very much, Timbers,” he whispered. “We’re not trying to get away from them this time, remember?”
“Who’s talking about getting away? I just really fancy an ice cream.” Marty had become accustomed to Timbers’ penchant for lightening the mood in certain death situations, but as he turned his gaze towards the little pirate, no cheeky grin shot back in reply. “Hey, the stomach wants what the stomach wants,” Timbers moaned, patting his complaining belly.
Kate was growing noticeably restless beside them. “Come on, you two. There’s no time for munchies.” Timbers raised a cloth hand to his mouth, shock pouring from his face.
“I know, I know,” Marty assured. “There will be time for munchies. Don’t worry, Timbers, I bet there’s all sorts of candy coated junk in there.” He motioned towards a small, untethered flap at the rear of the tent. “Damn thing’s probably made of cotton candy.”
Timbers grinned happily. “You’re lucky Oaf isn’t here to hear you say that. We’d have to pry him off that thing with a crowbar.” He took a few steps towards the big top, turning cautiously. “It isn’t though, is it? Made of cotton candy, I mean. Because if it is, problem solved.” He rubbed his hands together, deflating slightly as Marty shook his head.
“Sorry, Timbers. Looks like we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. Besides, looks like Kate’s in the mood to redecorate.”
Kate heaved the hammer up onto her shoulder, and strode past the pair, towards the back entrance of the big top. “Hell yeah,” she growled.
Marty paused for a second, a smile of admiration taking hold. As much as this reinforced his belief that Kate was, in fact, a badass, and as much as he loved her for her passion, determination and inner strength, it also made one thing perfectly clear.
Never tangle with a woman whose pet koala has just been eaten by clowns.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The interior of the big top looked very much how one might expect a giant circus tent to look. If that tent happened to be run by goth demons with a fetish for decorating their home with the souls of their victims.
Everything was black. Thick drapes hung from the ludicrously high rafters. Balloons the color of midnight bobbed and weaved across the canopy, perhaps searching for a way back into the night sky. Here and there, boxes, tables, chairs and other random furnishings littered the large room into which Marty, Kate and Timbers crept. All of them as colorless as a void, and equally as inviting.
As they tiptoed into what looked like a manic depressive’s summer home, Marty clattered into a sign which stood inconspicuously atop a shining obsidian pedestal. Not surprising really, since it sported black letters against a black background.
‘Big Top Tradesman’s Entrance - Trespassers Will Wish They Hadn’t’
“Not exactly rolling out the red carpet, are they?” Timbers huffed.
Kate gestured towards the floor. “Well they did, sort of.” Beneath them, a long, lavish carpet swept from the back entrance, and snaked off into the darkness ahead of them. It was black.
“This is horrendous,” Marty rasped, peering after the dread carpet. “It’s like the inside of my head on a Monday morning in here.”
“Just don’t touch the walls.” The voice was Kate’s, her face a mask of disgust as she shuffled back to join Timbers and Marty. Just like a Wet Paint sign, though, the suggestion was like an invitation to do exactly that. Stretching out his hand, Marty immediately wished he hadn’t, as it touched what felt like wet leather, which had been soaked for several days in pure evil.
“Ugh! Get a maid or something.” Timbers appeared, shaking ick from his paw. This was clearly not a circus to bring your kids to.
Ahead of them, the tent opened out, and was intersected by a corridor running parallel to it. Although for all they knew, it could just be another wall. Everything had a way of looking like everything else in here, and none of it was good. “Let’s keep moving,” Marty whispered. “My mind is running out of ways to process all this non-color.”
Somewhere in the darkness, a light blossomed, turning the gloom only slightly less horrendous.
Marty turned to where Timbers stood, holding aloft a lantern. “Is that Oaf’s lantern?”
“Yep.”
“Did we just nick all of Oaf’s stuff, then?”
“Pretty much.”
Timbers waggled the glimmering lamp enthusiastically. “I figured we might need it in case that sh
adow beastie showed up again.”
Kate patted the little captain on the shoulder. “That’s boss thinking, Timbers. Way to use the old gray matter.”
Timbers cocked is head, tapping it with a cloth paw. “Oh, I don’t know about that. For all I know, it’s all stuffing up there.” He grinned, nonetheless, and scuttled over to where the corridor began. Marty’s mood brightened. This was going to be a good deal easier with at least one of them thinking a few steps ahead.
A few steps ahead, Timbers crashed into something unseen and swear inducing. Clearly he hadn’t thought that far ahead.
As they edged forward, the dim glow from the lantern afforded a little more of a clue as to where they were headed. The passageway before them sloped upwards, an unlikely direction to be taking in a circus tent erected on a flat, featureless field, but then these were unlikely times. And anyway, what was essentially the back porch was about as inviting as an open day at a sewage plant, so they pressed on.
Halfway up the magically elevating corridor, Marty caught up with his pirate friend. “Timbers, once all this is over, how are you guys going to get back? You know, providing we don’t all end up horribly destroyed in some way.”
The pint-sized captain strode on, not taking his eyes from the dimly lit path before them. “I don’t know, Marty. Maybe we make a dash for the shiny portal. Maybe we stay and get jobs at your theme park. We can be spacey, I have a sparkly outfit. How does that sound?”
Marty chuckled quietly. “You’d be bored before lunchtime. Imagine all the chaos, lunacy and adventure we’ve had tonight, then take away all the chaos, lunacy and adventure.”
Timbers shuddered. “Avast, what sort of life is that? And you live here?”
Marty almost dropped a stride. What sort of life was that? His mind flung him back to the conversation with Cabbie, in which he had been a catatonic participant earlier that evening. Twenty years down the line, he could be that empty, babbling soul, filled with regret and tall stories. Providing of course, as was pointed out just now, they weren’t all clownhandled by the minions of chaos tonight. That was some choice. Death, or vacant routine. It wasn’t really what he had planned for his life, and he felt sure that Kate wouldn’t be opting for doors number one or two either.