Tania pressed another cold glass into my hands. Ah, so that's how it was happening.
“His skills are wasted in this world,” Kevin explained. “He needs a universe that will appreciate him.”
I was slightly scared to ask but I did anyway. “What skills?”
“Those of an Overlord of course,” Kevin explained. “He's wasted here.”
I glanced at Simon. He wore a T-shirt that announced 'Orcs Need Love Too.' “I have a feeling you're right,” I said. “But it may have escaped your notice that there are already four of us and I have a car the size of a small Lego toy.”
“We can all bundle up in the back,” Kevin said. “It will be fun. A sort of a Road Trip.”
I didn't want a Road Trip. I wanted to get back to my cottage and shut the doors against this lunacy. Whichever doors that would involve. “There's no room,” I said, with what I hoped was an air of finality. “And will you put some fucking clothes on!”
Chapter Nineteen
Two hours later we were heading up the A30 as fast as the little Renault Martin would take us. Which wasn't very fast given there were five of us in a space designed for a small elderly woman with a shopping basket.
The Pope, Simon and naked Kevin squashed into the back seat whilst Tania sat beside me in the front. Simon had warmed to the company and continued to jabber endlessly about his tales of derring-do in the World Of Warcraft. It turned out he wasn't a real Overlord, just a mythical one in the online gaming world. But Simon was a geek with a mission. He was convinced that in one of the endless multiverses that inhabited Tinker's Cottage there would be a world where goblins ruled and Wizards smote dragons. A world better suited to his peculiar talents and skill set. One which would appreciate somebody who knew the correct spell to bring down a drawbridge when cornered by marauding orcs.
We made good time and all was looking well for a while. Until the brave little Renault Martin finally gave up its life for us at the top of Halden Hill just west of Exeter. A loud clunk and a mushroom cloud of black smoke signalled its unhappiness with the abuse to which it was being subjected and announced its final demise. We stood in a lay-by watching the death shudders of the little vehicle.
“I suppose we could always hitch-hike,” said Tania.
“With a Pope, a Naturist and an Evil Overlord?” I said. “It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.”
“I'm not an Evil Overlord,” complained Simon. “Overlords aren't evil or good per se . They just are.”
The little car gave another shudder and something heavy fell to the road underneath the engine. And as usual in my world, just when things seem to be deteriorating nicely, fate comes along with a twelve bore shotgun and empties both barrels at the remains of my optimism. A blue and white Traffic Incident Team vehicle pulled up behind us with a little whoop on its siren. Two policemen in green Eurocop uniforms jumped out and proceeded to cone off a large section of the dual carriageway. Warning signs were erected and a temporary speed limit introduced and enforced by a Mobile Camera Team. It all seemed a little over exuberant, especially as we were parked in a lay-by. When they had finished with their safety procedures the taller of the two Eurocops came over to us.
His pen poised expectantly over his clipboard. “Well, what's happening here?”
“It's broken.” I pointed at the Martin.
“Ah, broken.” He thumbed through several sheets on his clipboard then put a tick in a box. “And how long is it going to remain in this condition?”
“I haven't the faintest idea,” I admitted. “It's broken.”
“Hmm, you can't leave it here. That would constitute... umm.” His pen ran down the little boxes looking for the appropriate category. “That would be... Littering.”
“Littering?”
“Littering's not allowed in Devon. He pointed at a sign next to a rubbish bin. 'Don't Litter It, Bin It!' Whilst the Martin is not the largest of cars I was fairly sure I wasn't going to be able to deposit it in that little bin. Even if it wasn't already overflowing with what appeared to be the remains of a family of ten's Happy Meal Bucket.
“I'll be sure not to litter,” I assured him.
“And why've you got no clothes?” He pointed his pen at Kevin. “You can't stand in a lay-by with no clothes on.” He scanned the clipboard, becoming more agitated at the lack of appropriate box. He gave up, “Put your bloody clothes on or I'll arrest you for...” His eyes and pen scanned the pages. “For... possessing offensive images.” Clearly the closest box he could find.
“I am not an offensive image,” protested Kevin. “I have the right to express my -”
“Kevin!” Tania snapped. “Shut up.” She turned to the Eurocop. “He's a nudist.”
“Naturist! I'm a naturist.”
The officer glanced towards his colleague who was directing traffic around the cones. Clearly no help forthcoming from that direction. “Put your clothes on,” he repeated.
“Kevin,” I said. “Do what he says.” I could see this getting out of control.
Kevin mumbled and headed for the back seat of the car.
“Oi! Where do you think you're going?” The Eurocop barked at Kevin.
Kevin froze, clearly confused. “Err... To get my clothes?” He pointed at his rucksack on the parcel shelf.
“You can't go in there,” said the Eurocop. “That's a crime scene.”
“A crime scene?” I was incredulous.
“Littering! Littering's a crime in Devon. Wait here.” He headed over to his colleague for a conference. Our cop showed his notebook to the other who continued to direct the traffic without actually looking at it. Much conversation and note taking ensued.
Just as I was feeling the situation was heading downhill faster than a Jamaican Bobsleigh team, I heard the roar of a powerful car engine starting. I turned around to see Simon sitting in the driver's seat of the Police car, hands waving at me. “Get in!” he yelled. Quick!”
Both Eurocops froze and stared at their car. I had a split second to make a decision. I ran with the others for the car and jumped in. We locked the doors as Simon span the wheels and we roared out of the lay-by.
Simon struggled momentarily with the gears then we were racing towards the M5. “I had to do this once before in Varnia,” he said with a big grin on his face. “Only then of course it was a winged chariot and I was being chased by the Elvin King's Guard.”
Chapter Twenty
I sat in the front passenger seat of the stolen Police car as we sped along the motorway. We passed by Exeter with a surprising lack of pursuit.
“That's odd,” I said. “I'd have thought they'd be after us by now.”
“They will be,” said Kevin from the back. “Only they can take their time. This thing'll have a tracker fitted. They'll know exactly where we are. I expect they'll use the Spy Copters.”
Feeling even more paranoid now I craned my neck to take in as much sky as I could. Sure enough, after about twenty miles I caught a glimpse of sunlight flashing off something in the sky behind us. A few minutes later I was able to see it was a blue helicopter gradually closing on us.
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
“We'll just keep going. They won't try to stop us on a busy motorway. They've no need to rush.”
We raced up the outside lane, by this time Simon had worked out how to operate the blue lights and sirens. “Woohoo!” he yelled as cars peeled out of our path. “This is way cool. I mean... This beats winged chariots any day.”
I continued to scrape the skies around us and eventually noticed two other Police helicopters flanking our position.
“This is hopeless,” Tania said. “They only have to wait us out. They know we'll have to stop sometime. I'm never going to get home, I'll be trapped in this insanity forever.”
I thought for a moment. What would The Falconer do? He wouldn't just wait till he ran out of petrol and give himself up. If we could only make it to the cottage, there was a chance we could lose them in th
e doors. But they would stop us long before that. Or if not, as we got out of the car at Tinker's Cottage. We'd never make it from the road to the front door and this thing certainly wouldn't get up the drive.
I hadn't noticed that the motorway in front of us had emptied until it was too late. Two helicopters swooped out of the sky ahead of us and settled just feet above the tarmac, covering the full width of the road.
“Shit!” I heard Simon yell. “Where did they come from? I thought you were watching for them?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I got distracted.”
Simon showed no sign of slowing down as we hurtled towards the waiting choppers.
“Erm... What are you planning... Simon...SIMON!”
“We're going to fly,” he said with a slightly disturbing maniacal laugh.
“Fly?” I yelled. “You do realise this isn't really a winged chariot? Don't you?”
Simon ignored me and as he shifted direction slightly, I saw with horror what he was planning. A raised ramp on the side of the motorway loomed ahead. It was designed to allow police cars a slightly elevated view of the traffic and not as a launch pad.
It was my turn to yell. “Shit!” I hollered as we hit the raised platform and to his credit, he did manage to get all four wheels of the car clear of the ground. Admittedly only for a split second and certainly not long enough to fulfil Simon's ambitions of an airborne escape over the top of the helicopters. We bounced to the ground feet away from the lead helicopter and the car started a crazy sideways slew towards the spinning tail rotors. I heard a mumbling noise from the back and realised the Pope was actually chanting in Latin. I twisted my head to glance at him.
“Really?” I said.
“Can't hurt,” I heard as I looked back to the road. Just as we were about to collide with the tail rotor the helicopter twisted ninety degrees and lifted to the sky. Clearly the pilot had designs on seeing the end of his shift in one piece. We hurtled backwards through the gap he'd left and collided with the central reservation. The vehicle stalled but Simon was able to quickly gun it back to life and we headed north again amid a spray of road grit and smoke from the tyres.
“Shame about that,” said Simon as we hurtled up the now empty motorway. “Didn't work with the winged chariot either.”
We sped past Taunton and Bridgwater then left the motorway for the A39 road to Glastonbury. Just a few miles now, tantalisingly close yet still with no way of making it to the doors and relative safety. The helicopters stayed in escort formation but showed no signs of wanting to interfere again, They had the time advantage and could afford just to wait. The sun settled low behind us and the sky ahead shimmered an incandescent azure under the clear summer evening.
We were about ten miles from Trembly and my mind drifted once more to thoughts of how would The Falconer deal with this situation. The sign for Shapwick appeared ahead. My cue that our turning was the next one. Shapwick? Suddenly the beginnings of a plan began to form. A lunatic plan. Outrageous, but one potentially worthy of The Falconer himself.
“Turn here,” I yelled.
“Where?” Simon glanced around trying to find a turning.
“Back,” I said. “Just there.” I pointed at the turning for Shapwick just behind us.
“But I thought we were going to -”
“Trust me,” I interrupted. “I've got a plan.”
I heard muttering from the back seat. The Pope was chanting in Latin again.
Simon swung the car around and we headed for the small hamlet of Shapwick. The sirens bounced off the stone walls of the houses that lined Shapwick's main road as we sped through and out into the country roads beyond.
“Switch off the sirens and lights,” I said. “Take it slowly.”
Simon did as commanded although somewhat poutishly.
I couldn't see or hear the helicopters but I knew they would be up there. Watching us on their GPS thingies or their infrared doohdahs. Keeping close but not too close. Biding their time.
“Here,” I said. I pointed at a track to the right. The entrance was blocked by a large wooden gate with a sign that declared it to be under the sanctuary of the Greater European Society for the Protection of Birds. Shapwick Nature Reserve.
I jumped out of the car and tried the gate. Damn. A huge padlock prevented vehicle access, allowing only walkers through a narrow gap to the side.
“It's locked,” I said. “Anybody know how to pick locks?”
“Easy,” shouted Simon. “Stand back.”
The wheels span momentarily then the nose of the Police car ploughed through the gates. He leaned across and opened the passenger door for me. “You coming or what?”
I climbed in with a slight feeling of bemusement. “Drive very slowly,” I said. “As quietly as you can. And no lights.”
We eased our way along the track, much to the annoyance of the various twitchers and nature groups who thronged the way.
“Where are we going, Ian?” Tania asked. “This goes nowhere. We'll get stuck.”
“The birds,” I said. “Watch for the birds.”
“Oh God,” she moaned. “He's finally lost it. Ian, you are not the fucking Falconer! Do you hear me? Ian?”
“What's happening?” Kevin spoke for the first time in an hour.
“It's Ian,” said Tania. “He thinks he's turned into some comic book hero.”
The Pope resumed his chanting.
We nudged forwards very slowly as the birdwatchers reluctantly moved out of our way. I scanned the fields each side of the track. Low level movement, like shadows shimmered across the top of the long grass and reeds. The marshlands teemed with life. Sparrows, crows, swallows, geese, tits, pheasants, gannets and huge numbers of seagulls. They skimmed across the marshlands looking for a nest for the night. Thousands of them, probably tens of thousands in fact. Even over the purring engine the noise was intense. The chattering as they called to each other.
“Now!” I shouted.
Simon gunned the engine and hit the lights and sirens. The milling twitchers leapt to one side as we hurtled forwards in a blaze of noise and flashing lights. Instantly on all sides of us the fields erupted into a sea of black as thousands of birds took wing. They left their reed nests and lifted into the sky as one, a huge blanket of wings blocking out the last glows of sunset.
I didn't bother to try to look for the helicopters. I would never have been able to see them through the almost solid wall of birds. But I knew what would be happening up there. Panic. Sheer panic. A flock of startled birds that big would be an impenetrable shield, which if it made contact, would knock the fragile helicopters out of the sky in an instant. The huge variety of birds were as unpredictable as they were beautiful in their swirling. Turning and twisting in the shimmering of an eye there was no way to anticipate their next move. To any pilot caught near them the only sensible solution was to create distance, and very quickly.
We bounced down the narrow track and crashed through the gates at the other end sending the straggling bird watchers running for their lives. Once on the road, Simon killed the lights and sirens and we headed for Trembly, hopefully without our airborne companions. But just to make sure, I took us on another slight detour where I knew a large flock of geese liked to gather in the evening. Another short burst with the lights and sirens and this time a field of white took to the air as the geese broke formation and flew in all directions, confused and panicking. I figured if one of the helicopters had managed to pick us up after the random flocks, the geese might throw them off. The Falconer would have been proud.
We stopped in the lane just outside the cottage and killed the engine. I got out and listened. The night was settling in and the evening birds were quietening. I could see no lights nor hear the sound of rotor blades but that didn't mean they weren't there. I strained my senses at the darkness. Nothing.
“Let's go,” I said.
We left the car like will-o'-the-wisps in the ether and headed up the overgrown drive. Just as we were about t
en metres from the door, the sky above us erupted into light and noise. Searchlights raked the ground and dust flew as the thunder of rotor blades thumped the night.
“Stand still!” came a booming voice from above us.
“Run!” I yelled as I made a break for the front door. I hoped it would be unlocked. I'd never been in through this way. I knew Tania was with me as I'd grabbed her arm and was pulling her along. But I knew nothing of the others.
The door was locked but thankfully it opened under my key. Odd how the one key opened every version of the front door. I pushed it open. Two black cats scuttled out between us as we stumbled into a version of Tinker's cottage I'd yet to explore. My hand fumbled for the light switch and the hall flooded with the stark white of an array of halogen lights set into the ceiling. For a moment I was stunned. This was quite unlike any version of Tinker's Cottage I previously encountered. Sharp, modern lines in contrast to the age of the cottage. Polished pine floorboards and crisp white walls set with the occasional token bare stone. I glanced back at the door and the other three stepped in.
“Okay, what now?” asked Simon.
“We have to try to get to my world,” I said. “But that's through the patio doors at the back.”
“Why didn't we just go there then?” asked Tania.
“Because they are going to follow us and I'd rather they didn't know about the doors. Come on, this way.”
We went through the kitchen, a bright chrome and glass obscenity of a place and into the lounge. Here the patio doors stretched the full length of the back wall and as we approached, lights outside glowed and showed us the Japanese garden beyond. The doors slid open under the gentlest of touches and we filed outside.
“Okay,” I said. “We go round again. They'll never do that so there's little chance of them finding us.”
We ran round to the front of the house. Although I knew this was a different world to the one we'd just left, the one with the helicopters outside, it still made me pause. I peered around the corner, half expecting to see a squad of police cars there, but nothing. All quiet and peaceful. And dark. Oh so very dark. The normal faint glow of the streetlights further down the lane and the slight brightening over the town were nowhere in evidence. This felt off. There was something not right about this world. Surely there should be moonlight or at least stars? But no time to explore. I turned my key in the door and this time we entered a version of Tinker's Cottage that seemed more ancient than any before it. The walls were bare stone. Not the cob stone walls of the other incarnations, no, these walls were continuous stone, as if carved from one solid piece of rock. Or a cave. This could be a cave. I could find no light switch but an incandescent glow gave plenty of light without betraying its source. The entrance hall twisted away to the right and sloped downward slightly. This didn't even seem like a cottage anymore. My hand found the small blue stone in my pocket. I pulled it out. The glow was faint. Fainter than I'd seen it before. Strange.
Schrodinger's Cottage Page 20
