by S.B. Davies
‘Oh yes it was, even the spiders laughed. The Hive-mind thought you’d wet yourself. Hang on, one of them left a little calling card.’
Dave reached over and flicked a small pellet of spider dropping off Fergus’s shoulder. More high-pitched whistling burst out above and Dave started giggling again.
‘That was a bloody rotten thing to do.’
‘Now lad, they were going to clamber all over you anyway as they needed to measure you; now they have your scent, your DNA, your electrical field pattern, and most important, your psychic profile. This way, I get a laugh, the spiders get a laugh and we have something to entertain the crowd this afternoon.’
Fergus glowered at Dave.
‘Just joking, forgot the video camera.’
Fergus’s lips were a thin white line and his eyebrows threatened to meet in the middle.
‘Look lad, the Roof spiders are a vital line of defence that keep the more unpleasant catacomb denizens from spreading far and wide. They take their duties seriously and would never let you in until you were measured.’
‘You mean there are even more unpleasant things in here?’
‘Oh aye, There’s Plum mosquitoes – ‘
‘Live on plums do they?’
‘No, they are really big and when they drop off after feeding, they look like Victoria plums. There’s Rattlesnake Wasps –’
‘So they rattle as they fly?’
‘No they don’t, but their sting is roughly as toxic as a Rattlesnake bite.’
‘Why do you let these things come here, they don’t sound like intelligent beings, just pests.’
‘Well you can’t stop them, they get in any way. In luggage mainly, but a few of them are part of the eco system. You can’t grow all things on an allotment; think of the catacombs as part hotel, part farm.’
‘Has it got rats?’
‘Yes, Calico rats.’
‘I hate rats.’
‘Not these lads. They are playful as kittens, covered in the softest pink fur and when you stroke them they purr. If Walt Disney ever invented a cartoon rat –’
‘Ever hear of Mickey Mouse?’ said Fergus.
‘Oh aye, but as I was saying lovely creatures, they smell of cinnamon you know.
‘Cinnamon?’ said Fergus and looked up to the roof.
‘Yeah, unfortunately they taste of it too. The Roof spiders love ‘em.’
Finally the lights came on illuminating the catacombs brightly. Fergus looked up; an orange carpet of spiders covered the rocky ceiling. They walked on through the tunnel, descending ever deeper, the light fading behind and brightening ahead; it was a normal tunnel so far; Fergus had expected something extraordinary.
Dave stopped and looked at Fergus, he was no longer grinning.
‘Ok here we go; the famous catacombs tour. Keep your arms in the vehicle at all times if you want to go home with the same number you came with. Do not poke anything or you’ll lose your finger. If it looks interesting, it’s probably dangerous, so do not mess with it. If at any time I start screaming and run away; stay exactly where you are and do not move. My life is more important and the time taken to dismember and eat your body will give me a head start. Please be aware that while humorous, none of this is actually a joke.’
Dave raised his eyebrows and inclined his head towards Fergus.
‘Is it really that dangerous?’
‘Oh aye,’ said Dave, ‘It’s the most dangerous place on the planet, with the exception of Camden on a Saturday night. On the other hand there are wonders beyond compare. The Caves of Ice, the Sunless sea and great big caverns –’
‘How big?’
‘I dunno I never measured them. Oh and there are Threshers, Demons, Dancing rocks and the most fantastic –’
‘Dave, I think I might be suffering from wonder-overload. Any chance I can just sit down and have a beer?’
Dave looked at Fergus, he was pale, and his ear bled from the spider bite. He looked like a child lost in a supermarket.
‘Ahhh you poor lad, it is a bit over-whelming at first. We’ll do the tour another day, let’s get back to the allotments. Come on, we’ll go this way, it’s just as quick and I want to show you one last thing.’
Dave slung an arm over Fergus’s shoulder and guided him further into the catacombs. After a while, Dave took a sharp left turn and they entered a circular tunnel. Soon they started walking up a low metal ramp.
‘This is the return pipe,’ said Dave pointing to the floor, ‘Takes the heated water all the way back to the Caves of Ice, where it’s cooled. It keeps this part of the catacombs nice and warm.’
‘Sorry?’
‘The cooling system,’ said Dave, ‘For the machine.’
Fergus looked blank.
‘The transportation machine,’ said Dave, ‘It needs cooling. This pipe returns the hot water and once it’s cooled it flows back into the machine again.’
‘Uh huh, so where’s the cold water pipe.’
Dave looked up and sighed.
‘I thought you were bright; physics student and all. The river Alf is the cold pipe.’
Suddenly the scale of things dawned on Fergus. They were walking over the top part of a pipe that must be 100 foot in diameter.
‘But…’
‘Aye lad, it is a bloody big machine. Now come on, I want to show you my official residence, I call it Xanadu.’
Chapter Four
Possessions with no utility are excess baggage.
Dave Trellis
One Life, One Woman, One Shed
Fergus stood on the marble floor, staring up at the soaring roof with its intricate plasterwork and ceiling murals.
‘This is a palace,’ said Fergus ‘The statues alone must have cost a fortune.’
‘Aye, it is over the top. A bit, ‘glorious empire school of interior decorating’, but then it was built at the height of the British Empire. This is the main reception room; the rest is more down to earth. Any road I wanted you to see this.’ Dave pointed to a tall, thin gilt frame hanging on the wall.
Fergus stepped closer to take a look. A few minutes passed.
‘There are so many verses? What about the person from Porlock?’ asked Fergus.
‘Dog from Porlock more like,’ said Dave ‘He put in too much information. The dogs gave him a choice he could keep the poem or keep his testicles.’
‘But…’
Dave raised his eyebrows and smiled.
‘Xanadu... It’s here?’
‘Aye. The original started ‘In Huddersfield’ and that had to go, but I liked the name Xanadu so I use it for this place. Anyway, I thought it would give you a sense of the history, a feel for the ‘hidden in plain view’ way it all works.’
‘Well, it’s an eye-opener.’
‘Good. Glad you liked it. Now let’s be getting on, we’ve time to see the guest rooms.’
Dave guided Fergus around the official residence, pointing out pleasant Victorian style bedrooms for honoured guests and plain, simple rooms for other visitors. The whole place was pleasant, but the lack of windows gave a claustrophobic feel.
‘So Dave, how do honoured guest get down here? Walk through the catacombs?’
‘No, there’s a lift, it rises up into courtyard. All this was built when we expected official visitors, expected humanity to be welcomed with open arms by off world society. Fat bloody chance. Nobody came. All this a waste; hubris; followed inevitably by nemesis.’
Dave opened a plain door and behind it a small, scruffy service lift. The lift rattled upwards and they stepped out onto a small landing with a white panelled door.
‘And this is me, come on.’
Fergus followed Dave into a large living room with floor to ceiling bookshelves, portraits on the walls and a wide fireplace surrounded by a comfy armchair and dog baskets. Over the mantelshelf was a life size portrait of a young woman; her face was lovely. A small label read ‘Lady Catherine Trel
lis’. Fergus pointed at the portrait.
‘A striking looking woman,’ said Fergus.
‘Aye, she is that,’ said Dave.
‘An ancestor?’
‘Something like that, but the title wasn’t hereditary.’
A Georgian style window showed a view of the allotments looking back towards the escarpment. Sunlight poured in and lit the whole room.
‘It’s a simple bit of off-world tech,’ said Dave waving towards the window, ‘A conceit I know, but I can’t stand living without a decent view. Come on this way.’
Dave led Fergus through a wide hallway into an open plan kitchen, complete with tiled floor, Aga range and huge pine kitchen table. Under the table was another set of dog baskets. A window looked towards the Black weir further down the river Alf. It was homely and comfortable.
‘Sit yourself down lad. We’ll have a cuppa before the festivities start,’ said Dave and put the kettle on.
Fergus sat at the table with his feet in a dog basket.
‘Do the dogs sleep down here then?’ asked Fergus.
‘They like to keep me company, seems they worry about me for some daft reason. Anyways, they have a whole kennel complex down here somewhere. Very private your dogs, don’t like visitors. If you want sugar it’s on table’.
Dave plonked down two large brews and sat opposite Fergus.
‘So what do you think?’ asked Dave.
‘About what?’
‘The allotments you daft bugger. Do you want to stay and help out?’
‘Oh, the allotments; they are incredible, fantastic with the most beautiful green eyes –’
‘Focus on the allotments. Do you want to stay and help keep things in order?’
‘Yes, actually I would. This is the most exciting yet painful experience I’ve ever had. What’s the pay like?’
‘Nowt.’
‘Not much of an offer.’
‘That’s balanced by free accommodation and all costs.
‘So I can live in a place like this?’ asked Fergus.
‘No, but there’re other apartments, small and unfurnished. They’ll need decorating and there’s local tradesman familiar with allotments, so you won’t have to do it all yourself. I can meet the costs of decoration and like; allotments are well funded.’
‘To be honest Dave, I was set on helping out for free.’
‘So you accept?’
‘Yes, oh indeed yes.’
Dave looked relieved and happy. He stuck out his hand and Fergus shook it.
‘You know you’re the first bloke to turf up here in years that isn’t a complete bloody idiot,’ said Dave. ‘Glad to have you aboard. At least we’ll have something to celebrate at this bash. It’ll be starting soon and I have to give a speech, so finish your tea and I’ll get changed. If you’re in a hurry, the lift is behind that door over there; it comes out in the pavilion.’
‘Rugby Boy, stand up.’ Enoch’s Japanese clog kicked Fergus on the boot.
Fergus struggled to his feet and stood next to the towering Palaver dressed as a Geisha girl. Dave droned on in vague pleasantries for the a few minutes; then paused and his voice rang out in a stronger tones.
‘They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.’
Fergus’s thoughts turned to his lost parents and his eyes welled up. He was a little ashamed until he noticed the tears falling down Enoch’s face. The crowd remained silent as Dave lowered the Union flag to half-mast.
After a full minute, Dave took a sip of water, sniffed and carried on:
‘And now the lighter side. The food’s ready and the bar’s open, but before you all rush off, please give a huge round of applause for the Palaver Players and their version of The Mikado.
‘Hey big man, break a leg,’ said Fergus.
‘Who’s you suggest Rugby Boy?’ said Enoch and headed for the stage.
Fergus watched the performance and despite the enormous height of the three little girls from school, the mincing was perfect. Strange to hear those famous songs in a deep baritone, yet the crowd loved it and applauded long and loud.
After the show Fergus tried to mingle. He chatted to a few of the other guests, but really he wanted to see Boadicea and she was still backstage. He sat on the veranda nursing a pint of bitter and watched the party.
‘Hey Rugby Boy, hear you helping out. Good. Dave needs company,’ said Enoch and sat in the chair next to Fergus.
‘Why? He seems fine to me and I still don’t understand this entire flag at half-mast stuff.’
‘That why I here. You think I want company? I show you.’ Enoch reached over and stuck a thin, flat disk on Fergus’s forehead. ‘Is recording, very real, don’t be little girl.’
The party disappeared and Fergus felt disorientated. His point of view changed and the party around him was a different one. Fergus realised this was Enoch’s recording; it was incredibly real.
Dave stood holding a glass and Enoch walked up.
‘Yes what is it Enoch?’ said Dave.
‘Something not invited,’ said Enoch, ‘Better look.’
‘It’s about time we got that thing fitted with an alarm.’
A sudden scream, the recording pitched sideway and the view obscured by a brown shape with many legs. A crunching sound and the view retuned. On the ground was a broken shape that looked a lot like a spider with six legs. It was four foot across.
Suddenly brown spiders were leaping everywhere, people lay on the ground, and there was blood on the lawn.
‘Close the portcullis, don’t let them escape,’ shouted Dave and two Palaver leapt towards the barbican.
A defensive line formed with tables turned on their sides and people brandishing chairs. The Palaver, each with a huge broadsword leapt about repelling the attack. There were hundreds of spiders, leaping twenty feet and more to bite and slash at their victims. They just kept coming, pressing the defenders hard.
‘Get in the pavilion,’ yelled Dave, ‘No, not you, you clod, you’ve got a sword get out there and kill them.’
Dave herded the unarmed and the injured into the pavilion, as Enoch and the Palaver defended desperately, slicing attacking spiders into a slimy, crunchy mess on the lawn.
Suddenly there was barking dogs everywhere; dogs leaping to catch a spider and rip off its legs with powerful shakes; dogs slamming down paws first on crouching spiders. Enoch leaping in great bounds, slicing spiders left and right, dodging dogs and laughing.
‘Keep them out of the bloody catacombs,’ shouted Dave and six dogs charged through the hoard of spiders to protect the entrance.
Soon the remaining spiders retreated to the courtyard below, the initial surprise attack repulsed.
‘Enoch,’ shouted Dave, ‘Form a defensive perimeter and try to find some weapons.’
‘Ok Dave, but no weapons, this dress uniform, not combat.’
‘What’s that in your bloody hand, a cheese sandwich?’
‘Oh swords, we got swords.’
Enoch grinned, reached behind his head and started pulling out swords. A sabre, a katana, a cutlass, three broadswords of different lengths and a claymore. Similar piles appeared next to the other Palaver.
Soon a solid defence faced the milling crowd of spiders with an outer perimeter of Palaver holding two swords each, with a dog beside them and an inner ring of humans.
The courtyard glowed green.
‘Good news Dave, re-enforcements,’ shouted Enoch and grinned.
Suddenly the courtyard was filled to the brim with spiders, all churning and milling as they climbed over each other. There were thousands of them.
‘Oh bugger,’ said Dave.
The spiders attacked. A living, brown wave swelled out of the courtyard and swept towards the top terrace.
/> ‘Stuff embargo,’ yelled Enoch, ‘AAAARROOOOOGAAH!’
As one, the Palaver dropped their swords, reached behind their heads and drew out huge rifles. As one, they fired. Like a leaf blower hitting a pile of dry leaves, brown bodies flew everywhere. The noise was unbelievable, like a thousand children running sticks along iron railings.
The wave of spiders retreated to the courtyard.
‘Grenades.’ yelled Enoch.
Huge explosions shook the allotments and the courtyard disappeared, hidden by a fountain of brown bodies. The palaver stopped firing; the only sound was the soft rumble as hundreds of dead spiders dropped out the air and rained down on the courtyard floor.
Dave walked to the edge of the terrace and looked down. Enoch stood there with a grin on his face.
‘Nice day for it,’ said Enoch.
‘Why did they do that? Why attack us like that?’
‘Who cares, want play, we play.’
A green glow formed in the courtyard again.
‘Bad news Dave, low on ammo.’
‘I don’t think it’s going to make much difference,’ said Dave.
In the courtyard were four huge spiders, each the size of a pickup truck. They waded through the dead bodies of their smaller cousins towards the top terrace.
‘It always ends Dave,’ said Enoch, ‘just when and how. Last grenade.’
Enoch held up a black cylinder, pulled the pin and the lever flew off to one side. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. For a moment Dave thought Enoch was going to let it explode and end it that way. Then Enoch gently lobbed the grenade toward the courtyard. It exploded a foot above the lead spider. It looked like someone hit a custard-filled doughnut with a sledgehammer.
‘Euugh,’ said Dave.
Enoch and the Palaver concentrated their fire on a single spider. The bullets spanged off the heavy chitin armour.
‘Legs.’ yelled Enoch and the palaver changed aim. Streams of bullets pushed the spider back and one by one its legs blasted from its body.
‘Next,’ shouted Enoch and the hail of fire switched to another spider. Then the streams of bullets died away. The ammunition was gone.
‘Swords,’ yelled Enoch, the palaver dropped their rifles and picked up swords.
‘AARROOOOGAAAAH,’ screamed Enoch, and the Palaver charged.
Swords high above their heads the Palaver leapt from the top terrace right into the courtyard. The swords axed down, chopping into the spider bodies and even severing legs. One Palaver was pinned to the ground and ripped apart by a spider, even as its legs were cut from it. The last spider backed against the portcullis and reared up, trying to fend off the whirling swords.