by Graham Johns
Honesty wasn’t used to this level of defiance; he withdrew his knife and began to wipe the blade on Roger’s cassock while he stared fixedly into Roger’s eyes.
“Hmm, very well, I see no reason to remind you again, and with the war now having moved on, I have more time on my hands so I shall insist that all of my men become a part of your regular flock, will that work for you?” Honesty scrutinised him as though Roger were a small insect dining on a fresh dog turd.
“What about yourself?”
Honesty took on a nonchalant expression which is quite an achievement for someone brandishing an edged weapon while looking for a recipient of said edge, “Oh, I might attend from time to time or I might not. You’ll never know. But know that I will be watching you.”
The point of the knife was flashed to just in front of Roger’s eyes by way of a pointing gesture.
Roger realised this was as good as it was going to get and if it meant he might live to an older age then so be it, “Very well, all lost souls are welcome in the Lord’s church.”
“Good,” said Honesty in a way that really meant, “I’d like to stick you like the pig you are but you’d probably enjoy it.” He sheathed his knife and walked away.
***
Mick wasn’t sure what to make of the idea he’d had of rousing Just Master from his slumber. He wasn’t entirely sure what he needed Just’s assistance with, as it happened. He mainly knew that he preferred working with someone else and, as things stood, there weren’t many people to choose from.
Mick had found one of Gordon’s old pork pie hats to cover Just’s unnaturally white hair. The hat was full of holes but it would do the job of toning him down just a touch in the darkness. He didn’t tell Just that he’d found it in Nigel’s toy box, as it was always nice to have a giggle to yourself.
Mick had found a large black trench coat for himself. It was the size of a two-man tent on his slender frame but it served a purpose. He’d also donned a dark flat cap which he’d never seen anyone wearing.
“What’re you thinking?” Mick whispered to Just as they crept along the road from Gordon’s farm in the direction of the village green.
Just sighed to himself and paused mid-stride before crouching down against a hedgerow, “Right now I am thinking that if you wish to speak, Mr. Hunt, please can you simply lower your tone rather than whispering? The sound does not carry as far that way.”
“Sorry,” Mick whispered again before correcting himself and saying, “sorry.”
“That is better. Now, I am thinking that we go and observe the Dog & Duck pub with a view to hopefully understanding if someone or something is awry. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
“It killed the cat.”
“Pardon?”
“Curiosity, it killed the cat.” Mick looked at Just’s rather irritable expression and added, “Never mind.”
Eventually, they arrived at the green and found somewhere to crouch in the shadows behind a stack of empty kegs which were awaiting collection outside the pub. Mick realised he hadn’t tasted the pleasure of the ale for a good while by his standards and began to salivate at the very idea. Just elbowed him in the ribs to awaken him from his moment of reverie and pointed.
In the centre of the village green someone who was clad head-to-toe in white was lighting torches aflame. The torches had been driven into the ground and flanked a small dais of hay bales.
“Bit dangerous that,” Mick commented quietly, “naked flames so close to hay bales. All it takes is one errant spark and whoosh!”
Just placed his sizeable hand calmly over Mick’s mouth and said, very slowly for effect, “Be…quiet.”
Mick nodded slowly and Just removed his hand.
As they continued to watch in silence, something happened which they certainly would never have expected.
***
Harry was getting tired. Sitting around all day observing people in whom he had no interest whatsoever was tiring work. On more than one occasion he had been tempted to recline on his observation bench and catch a nap. But a deal was a deal and therefore it demanded his full attention, though he did promise himself that future deals would require more than two pairs of knickers and a crumpled suit.
Living alone in the woods atop Bent Knob Hill had taught him many things over the years, among which were a complete dislike of strangers, a thorough appreciation of the masturbatory arts, honed hearing, a love of nature, plant lore expertise and keen vision – something of a miracle given the second item on this list.
Harry saw Mick attempting to creep unnoticed around the area in the dark while wearing a huge coat. He shook his head and muttered, “Amateur,” to himself. He didn’t notice the other man until he had seen Mick and muttered, “Professional,” to himself in that regard.
Things were happening on the green and Harry thought he’d best skedaddle to a more secluded spot, he merged with the shadows and made a beeline for Mick’s location.
***
On the green, something of note was unfolding. A crowd was forming. To say a crowd is something of a misnomer as the whole village, of all ages and degrees of infirmity, was somehow trooping onto the green. Any babies were being carried and were very subdued by their own high-volume standards. The mass of people took shape in orderly ranks and held hands while waiting for something to happen. That something was not Harry scaring Mick half to death by tapping him on the shoulder from behind.
Mick jumped out of his skin and Just quickly covered his mouth again while he calmed down.
“I wondered when you’d get back,” Harry said quietly to Mick before adding, “who’s this?”
“Just Master,” Just said while proffering his hand for a shake which Harry declined with barely a glance.
“I won’t ask,” Harry replied, in reference to the strange name.
Mick was openly staring at Harry and had a burning question to ask, “Harry, where has your straggly mess of a thatch gone? You’re bald!”
Just quietened him once more.
They watched the scene unfolding before them. Every single one of villagers was clad entirely in white and barefoot. Mick took note of Ernest, Veronica and many others whom he knew. At least the Reverend Burns hadn’t required much extra clothing to achieve the desired colour. The front door of the pub was thrown open and Bob emerged to take to the hay bales, Maurice Bickerdyke at his heels. Bob continued to sport his purple sequined attire and looked like he was about to host a gameshow called “Why Am I So Fabulous?” As the pub door swung shut behind Bob, Broken’s tones could be heard shouting, “BASTARD BEARD! GIVE ME SOME NUTS!”
At this point, Harry pointed out something that had not been remarked upon, namely that everyone but Bob, with his bushy beard, and Maurice in his political pin-striped attire, was entirely devoid of hair of any kind on their head. Maurice still had a little artistic flair of his own with his sparkly, silver glove on his right hand. Michael Jackson would’ve been proud if he’d been around to see it. The villagers all started to chant “Nether-Staining, Nether-Staining, Nether-Staining.”
“Quite a chant, that,” Mick observed, “it could catch on.”
Just glared at him.
Bob raised his arms and everyone moved to silence, a slightly sinister grin passed across his face.
“In the land of the bald, the hirsute man is king,” Harry said with as much quiet gravitas as he could manage.
CHAPTER 18
BEING BALD CAN BE BEAUTIFUL,
BEING BALD CAN ELATE,
BUT GROW A HUGE BEARD ON YOUR CHIN,
AND BEING BALD CAN DOMINATE.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, of Nether-Staining!” began Bob with his arms still in the air above his head. The villagers remained still and did not show any reaction whatsoever to the start of whatever monologue was to follow.
Bob gazed around with a noticeably static expression on his face. His beard shook slightly from side to side in a chill breeze that whipped up at a conveniently
dramatic moment.
“We’ve achieved the impossible! We’ve now got our own nation! We’ve excluded all who would seek to do us harm! We’ve got a wall! We’ve got plenty of money from all of the fools who donated it to us from around the world! In short, we’re set!”
Tucked behind the empty kegs of the Dog & Duck, Mick quietly said “That’s a lot of exclamations in one sentence, he doesn’t need to shout so much. Everybody looks comatose to me.”
Just remained quietly vigilant while Harry said, “About time we knew what the pissing hell was going on.”
“Who says ‘pissing hell’? Is that even a phrase?” Mick asked. Just covered his mouth again and calmly placed a vertical finger over his own pursed lips.
“You’d know what I mean if you’d ever had bladder stones,” muttered Harry in annoyance. Just used his other arm to shush him too.
Bob had continued speaking while this exchange was occurring, “…Nether-Staining has a bright future with us all pulling together towards a common goal of making our small nation great, my colleague Maurice will now distribute a leaflet explaining our next steps. Please take the time to read this over the coming day and, of course, do please view our nation’s noticeboard for updates on our next gathering.”
Bob ceased speaking and stepped down. There was a momentary silence before the villagers erupted in applause as one. Maurice opened a metal case and began passing out leaflets to everyone present.
“We should go,” Just said.
The three observers retreated as quietly as they could into the shadows and travelled back to Gordon’s farm where they could discuss what they’d seen.
***
Just decided that they should keep the farmhouse in as much darkness as possible while they deliberated. So it was that an inadequate candle lit the kitchen table. Harry had not been inside an actual house for quite some time and was admiring the solidity of it all in between exchanges, tapping on the solid stone walls with his knuckles as if to check they were really there.
“It seems that the village is really united in doing what needs to be done, eh?” Mick said.
“I think if you took a moment to engage your brain, Mr. Hunt, you will find that all is not as it seems,” Just replied.
“You said it,” said Harry in agreement, “it’s a bit bloody cold to be out without any shoes in the autumn for a start! I should know, I have to steal mine from outside people’s houses.” He realised what he’d just said too late and added, “In theory of course.”
“I thought you just made yours out of the skins of rodents that you sourced by the thrill of the hunt. How wrong I was,” Mick said, feigning disappointment.
“Gentlemen, please,” Just said, “it seems clear to me that the villagers are under some kind of control which we have not been exposed to ourselves. While I am not sure how it is being done, I think we need to find out and then we can perhaps begin to undo this.”
A look of surprise crossed Mick’s face as he processed Just’s words, “Given your track record in Yorkshire, I must confess to being quite surprised you wish to help.”
“It is part of our deal, remember,” was all that Just had to say on the matter. Mick was calmed by it.
Harry stood up and said, “Well, now that your love-in is blossoming, I think it’s time I went home and you fellas did this on your own.”
Mick looked at his outline in the darkness and said, “What do you mean?”
“Our deal is done I think. I agreed to keep an eye on things while you were gone.”
“But you haven’t really told us anything we didn’t see for ourselves! Surely that’s worth a bit more of your time?”
“Not my fault if that was the point that the villagers conveniently chose for their meeting is it? I’ve seen a growing amount of white-clad-barefooted-baldness over last couple of days but I didn’t get the chance to report to you, did I? And I even shaved my head!”
“Why?”
“Because being invisible requires sacrifices!” Harry hissed back at him.
Mick had no argument for that, “I’ll be needing my suit back,” was all he had to say.
“Piss off.”
Harry arose from his chair, left the building without further word, and closed the door quietly behind him.
“Do we need him? Should I go after him?” Mick asked Just, who allowed himself a slight smile in reply as the flickering candlelight gave him an air of devilry.
“I think not. We can use those who sleep to assist us. Now perhaps we should also get some rest.”
***
Nigel licked Gordon’s left buttock as it poked from under the covers, rousing Gordon from his slumber with a feeling of contentment on the morning of this new day, looking forward to finally getting to his Lancastrian goal. He could distinctly recall that Nigel had been told to remain outside the night before but didn’t like to ruin the moment. Selina was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and watching him.
“I asked if I could let him in for twenty minutes and our hosts very kindly said that was fine,” Selina said.
“Ah,” Gordon noted with a yawn and rubbed some of the sleep from his eyes.
“Is there a reason why Nigel does that?”
“What?”
“Licking you down there, it seems pretty disgusting to my understanding of the logic of it all.”
“I don’t know. I never trained him to do it. And besides, don’t knock what you haven’t tried I always say.” Gordon sat up.
“You don’t always say that. You often say things like ‘bastard’, so quite the opposite. There isn’t much I can see as being desirable in the activity. The smell ought to be enough to put anyone, man or beast, off doing such a thing.” Selina shook her head slowly.
Gordon knew when he was bested and this was such a notable occasion.
“Best take him back outside while I get up, I guess we’ll be on our way soon.”
“Speaking of logic,” Selina continued, “I can’t help but wonder why we didn’t just drive over here instead of departing on foot?”
Gordon was reluctant to admit the truth but decided honesty was the best policy, “A couple of reasons. I didn’t think taking the tractor over such a long distance was prudent, and nor was I sure we wouldn’t be stopped by the mob before we could leave. Also, I didn’t want to pay any toll to those bastards to get out of Nether-Staining, plus it hasn’t really cost us anything to get here so far, has it?”
Gordon looked slightly pleased with himself. So many sound judgments in so short a time, even if technically he didn’t think to take a vehicle.
Selina decided to cease this line of conversation and instead stood and said, “Don’t be too long, our hosts have very kindly laid on cereals, fruit, honey and yoghurt for breakfast and we’ve got a big day ahead.”
Gordon tried to hide his disdain for a lack of pig products with his morning fayre but clearly missed the correct look as Selina simply said, “It’ll do you good,” as she left the room with Nigel at heel, closing the door gently as she went.
“I sometimes think it was easier with a hateful human wife than a robot wife who questioned everything I do on the grounds of logic,” he thought to himself, “still, maybe she has a point and maybe I could look at what I do a little differently.”
***
Fully fed and watered, on Yorkshire Tea much to Gordon’s delight, they were dropped off within easy walking distance of the Preston Registration Office. Having spent so much time in the county of late, Gordon was familiar with the arts of the local dialect now which made communication somewhat easier. A rather colourless lady, dressed entirely in grey, was behind a mahogany desk as they entered the reception area. She even had grey hair done up in a small bun. She must’ve been an habitual smoker because her skin took on a grey hue in addition which made Gordon feel slightly uncomfortable, “It’s like dealing with the undead in these public offices,” he thought to himself.
“Your dog will need to stay outside,” she
said in a gruff voice while pointing at Nigel, whose tongue lolled from the left side of his mouth by Selina’s foot.
“He’s my wife’s guide dog,” Gordon argued.
“Guide her round a field after some sheep, does he? Please take him outside.”
Without further ado, Selina simply left, allowing Nigel to pull her out of the room. Gordon noted a name badge along with a title of ‘Junior Registrar’ which was pinned to the lady’s chest and decided to turn on a little charm.
“Helen, my apologies for the misunderstanding there. I’m sure you can appreciate not wishing to leave such an intelligent creature as Nigel out on a strange street. I’ve come a long way from Nether-Staining in Yorkshire to be here today in order to hopefully right a most serious wrong.”
“Yes?” she said impatiently.
“I need to look at this birth certificate if at all possible,” Gordon said with a small wink and a tweak of his right mutton chop. This action might’ve passed as flirting in a backwards locale several hundred years prior but now he just looked mildly affected. He produced a folded copy of the paper which had been plastered all around the village. Helen snatched it from his grasp in a swift motion.
A look of comprehension came across her face followed closely by a smirk, “Kicked you out did they? The bigoted lot. I’ve heard about them on the news.”
A knowing look stood proud on Gordon’s face as he said, “I dare say you don’t know the half of it. I’ve never seen an original of my birth certificate and I’m assuming something is amiss and thought that perhaps, with your expertise, you might be able to help.”
“You should understand that unless this is yours that I’m not at liberty to show you any documents? Data protection, you see.” Authoritative she was, like the two words ‘data’ and ‘protection’ would resolve any argument he might have.
“Of course.”
“Can I see some identification?” Helen asked.
Having expected such a request, Gordon produced a driving licence and a bank statement, just in case. Helen inspected them both and seemed satisfied.
