by Alex Miles
Harvey shuddered. “Yes … sorry … Thank you, sir,” he said.
“Great. Now you’ll have to dispose of the bodies. Give Mr Vanquisher every help to avoid getting caught pre-sale.”
“Err … the bodies are all disposed.”
“Good man. See, we are ahead of schedule. It’s not your fault. It’s these customer-facing roles. They are always freaks. Anyway, I have an old biddy in the pipeline. Just make sure he doesn’t kill her and we are home and dry. We will have a brainstorm about what we can do differently next time. Don’t worry, everything will be fine. Just sell the house.”
“Thank you for calling the police helpline. If you are at risk at the present conjuncture or if you necessitate imperative assistance, compress one. If you necessitate anything in addition, or would like miscellaneous support, compress two.”
Harvey thought for a moment and pressed two on his mobile.
“You can statement non-imperative issues at www.police4u.co.uk. Thank you for choosing the police emergency helpline.”
He redialled and pressed one. “Please hold while we connect you.”
“Hello. Emergency helpline. What is the present nature of the risk?”
“There has been a gruesome murder!”
Harvey heard typing. “Okay, but what is the nature of the pressing risk? Are you at any immediate risk, presently?”
“Well … it was quite a gruesome, repeatable murder …”
“Sorry, this line is for risk decrease use, singularly. You can statement non-imperative issues at www.police4u.co.uk. Thank you for calling the police helpline.” The line went dead.
When Harvey entered his home Livia greeted him in her full battle make-up. “Sweetheart, where have you been? No one has had their dinner yet. I mean, sometimes you get home half an hour late and I don’t mention it; I just carry on with it, but this is too much.”
“I’ll sort it out in a bit.”
“Well, I suppose I will just have to deal with it myself, won’t I? I’d just like to know what you think I should do.”
Harvey ignored her and went upstairs and onto the web, to submit the non-emergency form as requested, although he did not want the tip-off to be traced to him, lest Crustsnout found out. He bashed away at the links until he found the page and typed out: “Many missing people up at Druitt House. VERY SUSPICIOUS!”.
He searched the internet for “For the King’s Glory”. In the web’s magical way it returned “Life Fantasy Quest”. “Fed up with your life? Abandon it and get a better one! Save the world in this amazing MMORPG!”
He got up and made his way to Bratnumbertwo’s door.
“Do you have a game called ‘Life Fantasy Quest’? … Yes? Can you show it to me?”
“I think it’s wonderful that you have such a spiritual outlook on life,” said Miss Hersh through her withered elderly mouth. “All beliefs lead to the same place of truth.”
“I give you my plus five blessing,” replied Vanquisher benignly.
Why hadn't the police come? thought Harvey. Didn’t they get the message?
“Oh, it’s always easier conversing with someone with such an open mind. That’s the only way to hear the voice of the truth.”
“Many voices tell me what to do.”
“Ah! You are a wise man for someone so young.”
Harvey reflected miserably that he had thought of bringing a pocket knife and had only left it behind because he was afraid the police might search him. In answer to Harvey’s thoughts, a knock came at the door and Vanquisher went to open it, followed by a hopeful Harvey.
At the door stood someone who was trying his best to fit in a film noir. Under his Fedora was a bland face and piggy eyes.
“Good morning, sir. I’m Community Inspector Drain. We had a wall post, on our ‘police children colouring competition page’, that there have been some missing people around here?”
“Oh praise the vine, you’ve come. Yes, it’s been a huge pain. People keep leaving their cars outside my house and vanishing.”
“Joy riders? Hmm? Yes, this is exactly the kind of thing we are focused on putting a stop to. We have promised the community to reduce such crimes by nine per cent this year.”
“What’s that? Crime?” said Miss Hersh. “How serious is it in this area, Mr Slugsoup?”
“Look just … just … shut up a sec!” shouted Harvey.
“What? What did you just say?” Miss Hersh began to spew out hurt blubberings. Harvey saw the inspector walk away towards the cars.
“Excuse me a second,” said Harvey, running outside. “Inspector! Inspector!”
“… Community Inspector.”
“Umm … Yes, listen. Sorry to trouble you … A lot of people have come to see this house with a view to buying it and they never come back. They vanish, strangely.”
“Ah, and you want me to assure them this is a low crime zone, do you?”
“Umm … the buyers vanish from the face of the earth. It’s very suspicious.”
“Can you blame them? House prices are no longer a reliable investment. I mean, it’s everywhere like a cancer, but in this area especially. I’m worried for my nest egg. Of course you’d know more about it than me, sir. I just get my information from the papers.”
“Umm …”
A scream came from the house that the inspector appeared deaf to. The PIP goals seeming more and more unlikely today. Harvey sped back up the hill and found a fresh corpse in the hall.
“Ah, you’re just in time. Can you help me get this heretic into the Jaws of Nature?”
Harvey looked back down towards the inspector, who was turned away and industriously taking down number plates. Harvey stared down at the carcass and felt apathy replace responsibility; it felt good. “Sure, why not.”
They plundered the body of anything Vanquisher considered valuable and carried it through to the wood chipper. The inspector’s voice called from the front garden to the back, “Goodbye Mr Vanquisher. I hope you get lucky with your house!”
In a half-hearted voice Harvey shouted, “Won’t you stay just a bit longer?” as the last of Miss Hersh’s feet spewed onto the compost heap.
“Oh, no. I have to go to a community support centre in town. I’ll have those cars removed though.”
“Fantastic!” shouted Vanquisher. He looked at Harvey. “But, you will stay for a brew of tea won’t you, Harvey?”
“I suppose I can’t refuse,” said Harvey, doomed to a cup of tea.
Crustsnout rolled down the window of his car outside Vanquisher’s house. “Harvo, Talk to me. I saw a policeman creeping about.”
“The seller killed her. Sorry about that.”
“What?”
“He said that she was a heathen.”
“More attention to detail needed, I think!” snapped Crustsnout. “Didn’t we agree, strictly no murders? We haven’t really delivered have we?”
“Sorry. It won’t happen again. I couldn’t help it!”
“Well, I do think we have to admit it’s not a very impressive record on paper, is it?”
“Shall we go to the police?”
“Well, we can’t now! We have three clients murdered on two separate occasions. Do you know what that will do to the house price? Do you know what that will do to Firm Foundations? We will be the Sweeny Todd of Estate Agents!”
“So …”
“What’s your proposal?”
“Umm …”
“I think we need to push-back a little on Mr Vanquisher and his murders at this juncture, don’t you?” said Crustsnout, as he got out of the car brandishing his clipboard. “If you’re having trouble with your job I will have to support you. I will do it myself.”
“Ok … umm … He does kill people … ?”
“There are two of us and we will not be taken by surprise. Besides, I go to the gym three times a week, you know.”
“Umm … Maybe.”
Harvey had difficulty keeping up with Crustsnout as he marched up the hill.
Crustsnout pounded the door and Mr Vanquisher appeared in all his spherical volume.
Crustsnout gave a creepy grin that presumably he thought was endearing. “Hi, Mr Vanquisher. It’s a pleasure. I just wanted to touch base with you about your whole house situation.”
“You too have come to defend my abode? Are you a friend of Harvey?”
“Yah, I am also his line manager,” said Crustsnout, entering.
“He is my king,” said Harvey.
“Your majesty,” said Vanquisher, genuflecting.
“Yah … well, I am your king too, then, I suppose?” said Crustsnout.
“I have my own king and queen, but I still have allegiance to you.”
“I see. I see. Excellent! Well, my orders are to manage your expectations. There are to be fewer killings all round, please.”
“But sire, we are at war.”
“Well, we are at peace now. Who would insure a house in a war zone? Listen, once this house is sold, you could move away from here to …”
“Where?”
“Look, it doesn’t matter. You can move near that dungeons and dragons thingy. You will love it there. But this is conditional on fewer murders. Then I will grant you the whole of my kingdom.”
“You speak with a forked tongue. You would take my castle for nothing.”
“Not for nothing. Firm Foundations manages to sell at 0.41 per cent above market price on average. But I can’t see you getting a return on your property if you continue to reduce the market size like this.”
“Harvey, he speaks in double speak?”
“He says you get more gold if you kill less.”
“Look I can see you are a type D2 yellow individualist, Vanquisher,” explained Crustsnout retreating to his own jargon. “You love to do things your own way and you’re an ideas person. Great! But you need to be more accepting of some other ideas.”
“Please hold a second. BRB.”
Vanquisher left the room and Crustsnout turned back to Harvey. “This is all very weird. We need some leverage with him. Maybe we could find him a windmill to live in, or something? Harvey you talk to him. This is your job.” Crustsnout began flipping through his clipboard as if looking for comfort.
“Umm …”
Vanquisher came back in with the hammer. “I am ready to negotiate now.” Harvey backed towards the door.
Crustsnout raised his fists. “Now look here, I don’t know what you foresee doing with that thing … but I know martial arts. Harvey, say something, for God’s sake.” Harvey said nothing. “What do you want? What do you want to get out of your relationship with Firm Foundations? We always pride ourselves on working around the customer’s needs.”
“Plunder and a beautiful garden.”
“Ok. Fine. We can do that. I can sell your house and help you find one with a lovely garden. But, sorry to keep banging on about it, I have to take a hard line on this no killing policy.”
“You would try and take my garden off me.”
“What? Look buddy, you’re the one who wants to sell this house. What do you think is going to happen?”
“So you have come to conquer my land!”
“And we will give you a whole pile of money in return for it. That was the original trade-off. You can get all the personalisation you have here, just at a cheaper location. Harvey, speak to him!”
“Harvey is my comrade now. You’re a friendless tyrant. Go back to your crumbling kingdom and live there, miserable, alone and a failure.”
All Crustsnout’s business conditioning crumbled. “You know what your problem is, boy? You need to get laid!”
“A duel to the death!” Vanquisher swelled like a furious puffer fish.
“There are two of us versus one of you.”
“I could say the same to you.”
Crustsnout turned to Harvey. Harvey stared blankly and realised that, at some level, he was quite enjoying himself.
“Death to tyrants!” shouted Vanquisher, rotating the hammer in the air.
Crustsnout turned for the door. “Harvey! Harvey!”
Harvey, on some subconscious impulse, stuck his leg out. Crustsnout fell, looked back in despair and moaned, “You’re fired!” before the Hammer of Gaia fell upon his neck.
“Angels, vengeful, strike!” said Vanquisher, proudly. “Epic boss fight.”
Crustsnout was face down in a pool of blood. Vanquisher wasted no time in undressing him, ready for the woodchipper. The rules of plunder meant that the money was divided and other items were rolled for, with strange dice. Harvey won the car keys, a bag of cocaine and the clipboard. They both heaved Crustsnout out into the garden. They turned on the woodchipper and Jaws of Nature roared into life. Vanquisher lowered Crustsnout into the machine and there soon followed the all too recognisable sound of gnawing of bone.
There was a pause. Crustsnout opened his eyes and screamed like an air-raid siren. Harvey ran to the machine and using the clipboard, beat him downwards into the Jaws of Nature. The boss flailed like a whip, his fingernails clawing at the metal to pull himself out. He went down to the shins; down to the knees; down to the waist. Then, either dead or unconscious, he slid peacefully in.
“Whoops,” said Vanquisher. “IFU.”
“Harvey, old man,” said John Johnson, blocking his way. “Two more phoned to look at the Druitt House. Any luck with that old chestnut?”
“Oh, I see … Have you had—?”
“Old Crustsnout was banging on about it. I need him to talk to Account Receivables Dept and magic some money from the other money. I better be getting along.”
Harvey sat at his desk. “I’m doomed now.”
He turned to his emails. There was no fear when he saw the overdue MPR. He did not have to do it. He didn’t have to do anything, like a convict on death row with time on his hands. He lay back and stretched his legs under the desk. No, wait! There was still the PIP. It was written in blood. He still had to sell the damn house. One good thing was the house was in fact saleable, as long as Vanquisher was kept from killing one buyer before he had a chance to make an offer.
Harvey was an accessory, no matter what. There was nothing to lose. It would be a shame to let the house price fall and there was always the commission. With the time he had spare, he picked up the phone and began to chase buyers into the pipeline.
Over the next fortnight there were many viewings. He seemed unable to save a single set of viewers. There were endless cat and mouse chases round the house, ending inevitably in blood, hammers, compost and tea. There was a set routine of Harvey blocking while Vanquisher clubbed them to death.
As the weeks progressed, he began to both hope and worry. Each time he got closer to saving a client; each lasted a little longer. But the PIP’s deadline was coming closer. The customers were often put off by his obvious push to get the deal in the bag, not realising it was partly for their own health. Vanquisher, despite his weight, was adept with the mace and could be deadly stealthy when he needed to be; like a ballerina hippo, he could glide unnoticed behind victims and crack their heads open. Nevertheless, the garden got well fed, Harvey received plenty of plunder and the bond between Harvey and the Emerald Druid began to resemble a rather odd friendship.
Harvey discovered a lot of things about the world “Orogan the Vanquisher” lived in. He learnt its rules and endeavoured to develop them. He could make up new rules provided Vanquisher liked them. He noticed that Vanquisher’s madness always seemed to be countered by his need for self-preservation. When he showed Harvey his “druid bumble-bee metamorphosis”, he refused to fly out the window for a number of convoluted reasons; however, this act of self-preservation did not extend to Vanquisher’s view of the police, or getting caught.
Learning the rules, Harvey found he could exercise a certain amount of control over Vanquisher. He collected around himself a set of protective charms and honorary medals. After every kill, Vanquisher would go upstairs and pin on the wall an edited picture of himself slaying his victim, or
an appropriate monster. In his own mind, Harvey never really killed anyone: merely lured them to their deaths, hindered their escape and encouraged Vanquisher.
“Harvey, do tell me … as an ally … will I sell my kingdom?”
“Yes, of course. We have just had a stroke of bad luck, is all – well, seventeen of them.”
“Sometimes I worry it won’t come to pass. Sometimes I worry I’m a little mad?”
“What on earth makes you think that? You are the peak of sanity, like some great Roman leader. Why would you say those things?”
“Trolls, I guess.”
“Well, trolls will be trolls.”
“Should I take my kingdom off the bazaar?”
“What?” said Harvey, almost tripping over the body of Mr and Mrs so-and-so.
“I don’t believe I ever wanted to trade. I just thought it would be nice to have visitors to my garden. I’m quite lonely.”
“But you always wanted to go off to have an adventure and visit the volcanoes and dark towers and things?”
“I have a confession … I don’t know the way.”
“Look, you have to sell this house; it will be a lot better for you. You will get a lot of loot.”
“Harvey, I want out of the bazaar. I want to gain back my moral scale points.”
“You are a good person.”
“But I do slay quite a lot of mobs.”
“Most evil is caused by good people. It’s not going off the market.”
“I’m the customer, am I not? I get to say? You barter for me!”
Harvey could see he was getting “puffy”.
Harvey held up one of the more powerful protection charms and a powerful “don’t kill Harvey” charm. “Now wait a minute! Better mind your manners! Better change your tone! This is a partnership. Listen to me. If we don’t sell this house a terrible curse will befall us.”
“But … but … I … We are going to have more travellers come to visit and, let’s be honest, I’m probably going to slaughter them all and I don’t particularly want to.”
