Rude Awakenings

by Jonathan Eaves

away the information for later use, should it become necessary, and then felt immediately contrite. Zammael would probably be in enough trouble because of me, Wacchus thought, there's no need to make it any worse for the poor fellow. And, anyway, once I reclaim my rightful place in the pantheon of the gods, I'll introduce the old bugger to the real things!

  He pulled up a seat and sat at the desk. Oh well, here goes, he thought... the point of no return. He leaned forwards towards the interdim and pressed a button upon its base. 'Hello,' he whispered. 'Can anyone hear me?'

  There was no response. 'Hello,' he repeated, louder but still there was no reply. 'Please,' he almost shouted, 'Is there anyone there?' Immediately Zammael's snoring stopped.

  'Shit,' said Wacchus, more quietly. 'I don't know if you can hear me but I haven't got much time.' He looked over at Zammael. There was movement. He lowered his voice even further to little more than a whisper. 'Listen to me, I'm not even sure this thing is working but my name is Wacchus. I need help. Find Leo for me...' - there came a moan from Zammael - 'or it might be Leon. In Marasmus,' Wacchus went on hurriedly. 'Tell him he's close. Very close. But he's looking in the wrong place,' he hissed. Zammael was tentatively raising his head with a groan. Wacchus tried to recall what Zammael had said of Leo. 'When you find him tell him he needs to think bigger. I'm sorry, that's all I can tell you. That's all that I know. Please help me.'

  Zammael was sitting up, rubbing his head.

  'I've no more time,' Wacchus pleaded, 'but please, if there's anyone there, please find Leo.'

  Zammael looked round to see Wacchus at his desk, leaning over the interdim.

  'Oi!' the warden cried. 'You bloody sneaky bastard!'

  13

  Annabel was leaning against a sturdy stall in the stable behind the Golden Griffin, gently munching on some straw. Dr. Dosodall was lying on some hay bales next to her, half-asleep as usual. Suddenly Annabel stopped chewing and tilted her head to one side.

  She tapped the slumbering doctor on his shoulder with a fairly unusual appendage and gave out a low rumble.

  'There's someone coming through,' she informed Dosodall. 'He's not very clear. His name is... I can't make it out. He wants us to find someone called Leo or Leon. Somewhere in Marasmus. We need to find him and tell him that he's close but looking in the wrong place. Tell him to think bigger. Whoever this is, doctor, he sounds desperate. We must help him.'

  The doctor groaned and rubbed his eyes. 'Do we have to? I mean, we don't even know if he's genuine. Besides, I was just having a nap.'

  Annabel nudged the prone medic again. 'You know we have to. If a soul from the other side requires our assistance it is our duty to offer it.'

  'Alright, alright,' the doctor agreed, raising himself onto his elbows. 'So you say. But where do we start? We don't even know who he is?'

  'The name... it sounded like... Gus.'

  'Gus? What kind of a name is that? And how many Leos or Leons must there be in Marasmus. How will we find one single man? It's a bloody great city, home to millions... well, a few hundred thousand, at least.' He came slowly to his feet and lazily brushed himself down.

  'What I want to know,' he complained, 'is why, just for once, can't one of your souls ever give us a bit of accurate information? Something a little bit more solid to go on.'

  'We've been through this before...'

  'Yeah, but you know what I mean, don't you? All that 'I'm getting a Jack, no John and he's trying to get through to Gladys, no Gwen. You know a John, do you love? And what's your name? Doris. That's it; I'm getting a John who'd like to tell you something, Doris. He says he loves you and is happy on the other side. What do you mean you left John at home only half an hour ago with a cup of tea...'' He scratched at his chin. 'Why can't they just say, 'My name is Jack Smith, please tell my wife, Jenny Smith nee Jones, who lives at Flat 3b, Number 73, Elmswood Avenue, that the will is hidden in the blue and purple vase on the second shelf down in the upstairs bedroom and that Auntie Nellie says hello..?', instead of all this cryptic crap they usually come out with.'

  Annabel turned to look directly at the doctor. 'I know you are a sceptic, but I would ask you to show respect to the principles of my calling. A soul has asked our assistance, and I, for one shall not fail him.'

  'Very well, I'm sorry,' replied the doctor, slightly abashed. 'But as I said before, finding one man, whose name we don't even know, in a city this size is an impossible task. Where do we even begin?'

  'I don't know,' Annabel admitted. 'Where would one normally go to when one needs to find something out?' she asked.

  'The DAB?'[10] the doctor suggested.

  Annabel shook her head. 'Abolished by the trolls.'

  'The library then? Does Marasmus have a library? We could see if this Leo bloke is in Who Do You Think You Are?'[11]

  'A library? I'm not sure. Perhaps the receptionist knows?'

  14

  Generally speaking the citizens of Marasmus had very little time for reading, partly because 98% of them were illiterate[12] and partly because books were considered a terrible waste of soft, strong paper. Even prior to the fall of the empire and the rise of the Trollian regime, books had tended to be rare, particularly during the infamous dysentery pandemic of 1197.

  Subsequently word of mouth had become the prime source of information. The Marasmus Public Library reflected this, seeing as it was, in fact, little more than a converted coal shed. It did, however, possess its very own librarian who, though quite old, very rotund and slightly forgetful, was, in every other way, incredibly ordinary.[13] His name was Chester and, as well as being totally unique in the bibliographic community of the city, he was also Leonardo De Matitis' only friend. And Leonardo, as it turned out, was currently giving Chester cause for concern.

  'Lenny?' the librarian asked gently, using Leonardo's diminutive.

  'Yes?' came a soft, lisping reply.

  'We've known each other for a long time now; six years or so?'

  'Probably longer,' Lenny agreed. His voice whistled but was no louder than a whisper.

  'Really?' replied Chester. 'Well, the point is... what is it exactly that you're looking for? I am the librarian, you know. I might be able to help.'

  'I've told you before,' replied Lenny patiently. 'I'll only know when I've found it.'

  'Well, you've read just about every single book in this library, over and over again. Even the Chick Lit![14] If you haven't found it by now...'

  In his heart Lenny knew that Chester had a point and that effectively he was chasing a lost cause but for some reason, at some long-forgotten moment in the past, he had decided that if he told anyone about what it was he was searching for then fate would decree that it would not be found. He couldn't explain it; it was totally irrational and superstitious he knew, but the longer he searched the more enigmatic he had become.

  Chester sighed as he wiped his balding pate with his handkerchief, and walked over to his armchair which was squeezed into the corner. It took three-quarters of a second. The librarian was a kindly man and it saddened him that his friend would not let him help. He knew that whatever it was that Lenny was looking for it was very personal to him....

  He shook his head. The thing was he really liked Lenny who was an extremely nice person, despite the poor man's condition. Cruel people taunted him, of course, calling him Lenny the Leper or Andropov, but the guy just seemed to shrug it off, albeit very carefully. If anything thought Chester, Lenny was too nice. If the poverty stricken had knocked on his door asking for alms, he would have offered both of his; he was always willing to lend a hand; and he was sober - after all the possibility of becoming legless was all too real...

  But what Chester didn't know was that Lenny's leprosy was getting worse, and, despite his attempts to conceal it, the disease was getting Lenny down. Before the conquest he'd been three years on the waiting list for a miracle, and when a bed had finally become available, and a date had been set, the bloody trolls had come and knocked down the Temple. Frankly, h
e'd been a tad pissed off about that. But, not being the type of person to admit defeat, he had set about discovering a cure himself. More than half a decade later he was still searching. It wasn't so much that he put a brave face on things, more a case of refusing to let his brave face fall off.

  Chester tried again. 'Lenny, just give me a hint. I could point you in the right direction.' Lenny gently shook his head before resuming his search.

  'Not that it matters' Chester went on, talking to himself as much as to Lenny. 'You've looked in the Autobiography section, Biographies, Children's section...'

  Lenny turned around cautiously - you could never be too sure. 'I know you think I'm wasting my time, Chester,' he whispered sadly through his rotting lips, 'and maybe you're right. But what else can I do? I don't know where else to look. The temples have all been ransacked and the colleges have all been closed down. This is the last seat of learning in Marasmus' - Chester looked at his old armchair with new respect - 'and probably in the whole of Terra Infirma. Where else is there?'

  'But what is it you're looking for?' Chester persisted. 'Tell me, please.'

  'Hope,' Lenny replied slowly. 'Just hope.'

  'Alright, my old friend,' Chester replied gently, realizing that this was as much as he was going to get, 'you just carry on and I'll make us a cup of tea.' The librarian shuffled over to the kettle. It took a quarter of a second.

  15

  Anyx dragged the mop and bucket down the stone steps and into the clammy, malodorous cellar. A row of barrels were stacked against one wall, whilst bottles of various shapes, colours and sizes stood to attention by the opposite wall. The floor may well have once felt the caress of a warm and soapy mop head, but it seemed that several millennia's worth of spilt ale had passed since that time. Its surface gave a very good impression of flypaper smeared with molasses. The dwarf sighed. Had there been the distinction in Marasmus Anyx would have definitely considered himself white collar as opposed to blue, although, as he only possessed one shirt, the collar of which tended to be a grimy grey, perhaps neither term would have been exactly accurate. The point was that physical labour was an anathema to the dwarf, but he was desperate for that drink so there was nothing else for it. He placed the bucket on the floor and proceeded to rinse out the mop.

  'Oi! Who the bloody hell are you?' The voice, gruff and unrefined, boomed out from the rear of the cellar. Startled, Anyx looked up and squinted into the darkness.

  'Um, well-'

  The speaker emerged from the gloom. He was a huge, bearded man, easily twice the height of the dwarf, dressed entirely in green and holding a rather nasty-looking staff. Behind him stood several more men, all bearing arms, and all, Anyx noticed, wearing brightly coloured tights. Quickly the dwarf regained his wits.

  'Anyx Abychson, cellar cleaning contractor, at your service. I'm afraid I haven't got my card on me, but we do offer competitive rates.'

  The bearded giant peered at Anyx from under his hood.

  'So, what you're saying is that you're a cleaner?' he asked suspiciously and with more than a hint of menace.

  'That's right,' Anyx replied cheerfully. 'Twenty years in the business, man and boy - well, dwarf and... even smaller dwarf.'

  'So... you're not a spy then?' the giant demanded.

  The question took Anyx slightly by surprise. 'Why?' he asked.

  'Are you expecting one?'

  The green-clad giant seemed to relax. ''Course not, but you can't be too careful, can you?' he replied, adding a conspiratorial wink.

  'Obviously not,' replied the dwarf. The conversation had suddenly taken a very surreal turn. 'Um... who can't be too careful?

  'We can't!' the giant replied. All of a sudden he seemed to be positively friendly.

  'Yes, I can see that, but who exactly are we?' the dwarf