Watchman's Quest

by Craig Askham

  Rafferty looked back at the portal. Unlike the one in Los Angeles, the London portal wasn’t a pool of liquid mercury on the floor that required travellers to wade into as if they’d left their clothes in a neat pile on the beach. He was glad of that small mercy, at least. He’d been suicidal once before, and having to travel through a portal that reminded him of his darkest hour every day might just have broken him for good. No, the London portal looked exactly like its Los Angeles counterpart but with one important difference; it had been tipped on its side and leaned up against the wall. Not completely vertical, it reflected the harsh lights on the ceiling rather than the people who stood before it. Because it looked so much like mercury, it was difficult to understand how it defied gravity to stay where it was; logic dictated that it should slowly ooze downwards to form a puddle on the ground like its American cousin.

  Right. Pre-flight safety procedure done. Thought processes followed from start to finish, and favourable comparison to American portal completed. It was time to grow a pair before Jessica reached zero. With a deep breath, he took a confident step forward. The second step was hesitant, and the third so pathetic that it fell short of reaching the portal. He was now stood so close that his nose was almost touching the surface.

  “You can do this,” he whispered.

  “I’m coming, Mr. Barnes.” There was a trace of glee in Jessica’s voice. No. He wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction. He took the final step, half hoping that something had gone wrong and his knee would simply bounce back off what was now just an elaborate mirror. No such luck. The portal sensed his hesitance and, as soon as contact was made, it sucked him through like a spider in the path of a vacuum cleaner. It was the closest he hoped he’d ever get to an out of body experience; one minute his mind was attached to his body, and the next it wasn’t. His body was still there, or so he’d been told, but it didn’t feel like it. He could have been nothing more than a pair of eyes, floating through a grey expanse of fog. He had no control over where his eyes were headed; they could have been moving forwards, backwards, sideways or diagonally. Possibly even up or down.

  And then he was out the other side. It could have been five seconds, it could have been five minutes; he had no way of knowing. There was no sense of landing back inside his body, just a vague feeling that he was back and may have been for some time. He stood there, wide-eyed but not able to focus. Possibly swaying; he wasn’t sure.

  “My, my.” Rafferty’s eyes shifted slightly to the right, and found something to focus on. At first, he thought he was looking at a walking dog. It took a moment for him to realise it was, in fact, just a man. A man with hair long enough to cover his ears and make him look, just for a split second, like a spaniel. “What have we got here, then? An agent of Chikwirio, perhaps? Sent here to soften us up before Chikwirio himself arrives to drag our spirits down to whichever version of hell this world balances on?” His tone was openly mocking, and possibly not in a friendly way. Rafferty stepped forward and held out his right hand.

  “Greetings, chap. Rafferty Barnes, at your disposal. Ever so pleased to meet you.” When in doubt as to somebody’s intentions, his default reaction was to dazzle them with over-the-top good manners. Let them think that he was a harmless, bumbling Englishman while he sussed them out.

  “This your first trip, by any chance?” The long-haired man stepped forward, squinting his eyes to get a look at Rafferty underneath the goatee. He was mid-thirties, well over six feet tall, and didn’t suit having long hair. His chin was square in a Desperate Dan way, and the only other character he could have gotten away with looking like was GI Joe. Rafferty had no doubt he was wearing a ridiculous wig over the top of his buzz cut, and guessed that nobody had the guts to tell him how stupid it looked. “No. I’ve seen you before. Don’t know your name, but you should know better. Don’t ever let me catch you using your real name again, you bloody idiot.”

  Belatedly, Rafferty realised his mistake. It was a rookie error, of course. Good start. He decided to drop the polite act.

  “Apologies,” he said. “I thought you were a talking spaniel. It threw me for a moment. Won’t happen again.”

  “Good comeback.” He tugged a lock of hair, jaw thrust out aggressively, as if he could use it to knock Rafferty clean off his feet. To be fair, Rafferty thought he probably could. “I lost a bet. Don’t mention it again, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Demon Quest: Buy It Now

  Right then, that’s your lot. Time at the bar. Haven’t you got a home to go to? If you want more, you’re simply going to have to buy the book from Amazon.

  Click here for Amazon US

  Click here for Amazon UK

  Now get out of here, will you? Go on, sling your hook. If you didn’t join my small community of rabid fans, then good luck making it out alive. I gave you plenty of opportunities, didn’t I? Look at you, you can’t even walk in a straight line! You’re a disgrace! Don’t forget your sword, you’re definitely going to need it…

  Wait, what’s that? Enunciate, will you? Oh, now you want to join the mailing list! Fine. Click here, you reprobate. I’ll send you a free short story, despite my many misgivings about you.

  If you’ve already joined my mailing list, then thank you very much. You can stay the night in one of the spare rooms, if you like. Sleep it off, and we’ll talk again when you’re sober. I might even make you breakfast. Even if you’re vegan.

  Seriously, stay in touch. And thanks again for finding your way to my book.

  Your new best friend, and imaginary tavern owner, Craig Askham.