“Alex, my dear, be a gentleman and pass me your blanket?” Serene requested, hand outstretched.
“Um … okay. Hey … wait. You’re already sitting on one. You have just as much blanket as I do.”
“Yes, but being a lady such as I am, it is your duty to ensure my utmost comfort.”
“Whatever. This has nothing to do with manners, Serene. You’re just being selfish. I’m keeping my blanket.”
“Quasimoody, I do believe you have far more blanket than I,” Serene complained.
“Get bent.”
“You listen here, Quasimoody—”
“Hush!” Hammett hissed. “I’ll ask all of you to refrain from making any noise until we’re out of the city. There’s still a great deal that could go wrong between now and then.”
Ignoring the Cyclops’ orders, Serene continued, her voice growing ever louder. “I demand you relinquish your blanket this very instant! Have you no decency?” Serene yanked the blanket Moody sat on, sending the hunchback on her side. Despite this, the hunchback retained her fierce grip on the cloth, and proceeded to show her appreciation by kicking at Serene.
“Sons of harpies! Here! Take it and shut up!” Hammett pulled the blanket he sat on out from under himself and tossed it at Serene’s head. “Impossible woman!”
The inventor smiled triumphantly, and began making a more comfortable nest for herself. Satisfied, she leaned back and silently stared at the Cyclops. For a long while her steely eyes remained fixed on the detective. Uncomfortably long.
“What?” he finally asked impatiently.
“Don’t play the fool with me, pig,” Serene answered back. “I’m sick and tired of you constantly gawking at me.”
“The hell are you talking about, woman? You were the one staring at me. And if I do happen to be keeping a careful eye on you it’s for a damned good reason.”
“You would say that, you sexist swine.”
“Wha … Sexist? What the hell are you going on about, you obnoxious woman?”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been looking at me.”
“With disdain? Exasperation? A repressed homicidal tendency?”
“Bah! Your obtrusive eye has continuously fondled my supple body from the moment we entered this vehicle. I can virtually feel its licentious touch even now. The sensation is positively violating.”
“Violate … wha … are you serious? You honestly believe this? She’s playing with me, right?” the Cyclops asked Alex. “This is some game to rile me up.”
“Umm … well … I don’t think so.”
“Sons of harpies!” Hammett groaned, face smothered in his palm. “Ms. Necrosia, would you do us all a favor and keep your damned mouth shut for the remainder of the drive? Please?”
“I’ll have you know,” Serene continued, her voice rising, “that I’ve shunned the advances of great men … kings even. I would not fall so low as to offer myself to one such as you.”
“All right. That’s enough. Shut up. Shut up right now.”
“Well, take a good look, Inspector Hammett,” Serene shouted, waving her hands from her breasts down to her hips, “because this is one sacred chalice from which you shall never sip!”
“I’m warning you, Necrosia, if you don’t shut your mouth this very instant I’ll knock you unconscious myself … woman or not.”
“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Then you could have your vile way with me, is it?”
The veins in Hammett’s forehead were throbbing, his eye so enlarged you might think it would burst out any second. He gritted his teeth so loudly that it sounded like a pepper grinder. Through his nose the Cyclops inhaled deeply, then holding his breath turned and faced away from Serene. He stared blankly into emptiness, his lips moving ever so slightly as if he were meditating.
“That’s right! You look away, you one-eyed tyrant,” Serene added, ensuring she had the last word.
Following the excitement of the “lovers’ quarrel” the passengers unanimously agreed to keep their mouths shuts for the remainder of the drive. It was difficult to say for sure, but it felt like they sat in silence for a solid hour. Vega traveled at what seemed a plodding pace, weaving his way through the city. In addition to the never-ending ride, the sounds outside added greatly to the tension within. Alex started several times as passing traffic whooshed by, imagining each time that a Cosa Nosferatu vehicle had passed but inches away. More unsettling were the frequent stops. Peoples’ conversations could be clearly discerned as they walked by the work van, along with the sounds of a living city. With each stop Alex pictured the back door being wrenched open, a mob of CN reaching forward, teeth bared, ready to pull him out onto the street and whisk him away into eternal darkness. Even Hammett appeared edgy, his eye focused continually on the door, his sidearm in hand, resting on his knee. At long last the vehicle began to noticeably pick up speed. Vega rapped on the cab wall, and Hammett heaved a sigh of relief, returning his gun to its holster.
“We are officially out of New Brasov.” Hammett even managed a smile as he said the words.
“Thank god,” Alex sighed. “Although … I dunno … it almost seems too easy.”
“You were expecting a high speed shootout?” Hammett laughed.
“Knowing my luck—”
“And precisely where are we headed now?” Serene interrupted.
Hammett smiled smugly and replied, “You’ll find out when we get there.”
As New Brasov receded in the distance, the calm within the work van grew, as did everyone’s exhaustion. One by one, the passengers nodded off, the sleepless night before finally catching up. Only Hammett remained vigilant, ever alert and prepared to act at a moment’s notice, thrilled to finally be provided a few hours of much-appreciated quiet.
Chapter 7- The Hovel
The work van at long last came to a complete stop, the engine was cut, and Vega knocked loudly against the vehicle’s wall behind him. Despite everyone’s fears and wild imaginings, the journey out of New Brasov had been entirely uneventful and uncommonly smooth. Hammett opened the door wide and hopped out. The light flooding inside the once darkened space felt positively blinding, and all squinted and squirmed as though their faces had just been thrust into the sun. The Cyclops communicated with his partner in their typical silent manner for a few moments, his bald head nodding up and down occasionally, and then allowed himself a minute to scrutinize the surroundings cautiously.
“It’s safe now. You can come out.” Hammett held out his hand, looking at ease for the first time in many days, and assisted each in their exit, except for Moody, who shoved him aside with a grunt and jumped out like a paratrooper. “Everyone stay here with Vega. I’ll be back in but a moment.”
As the Cyclops ascended a set of stairs and exited through a handsome wooden door of rich color, everyone set about twisting and stretching, immensely grateful to be out of that cramped space. The air filled with the sounds of popping bones and contented sighs, and gradually the area about them came into focus. They stood in a garage, filled with dozens upon dozens of outlandish and priceless vehicles of all kinds. From a three-wheeled roadster possessing a body crafted entirely from what appeared to be pure ivory, to a sort of unicycle pulsating in and out of existence, every square inch of the large space oozed opulence, class and innovation. Above, numerous skylights allowed welcoming curtains of warm, glorious sunlight to illuminate the surrounding beauty. Suspended from the ceiling at regular intervals were a number of impressive flying contraptions, looking as though they had been stolen from one of DaVinci’s forgotten dreams. Additionally, unlike any other garage Alex had been in, each and every surface, floor to ceiling, was immaculate, free from the slightest traces of dirt or grease.
“This place is amazing,” Alex gasped, walking between the vehicles, fingers outstretched to feel the splendor of their polished surfaces, but too timid to actually do so. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” he asked Vega, who shook his head and gazed
about with just as much awe.
“Bah,” Serene snorted. “Nothing in here comes even close to the grandeur of my Wraith.” Even as she spoke these words, the inventor’s eyes bulged at the sight of an instrument panel on a convertible made entirely out of precious gems. “And … and …,” she stammered, running her fingers greedily over a monstrous red stone positioned at the top of the car’s stick shift, “erm … I find it exceptionally unlikely that one in ten of these flying contraptions could possibly stay aloft.”
“Sort of like that time you tried to create a half-assed helicopter out of—” Moody added loudly, her raspy voice echoing through the garage.
“How many times do I have to tell you this, Quasimoody? That was entirely Deeptanshu’s notion. I had nothing to do with its conception. Now get that through your thick skull! Husband number five,” Serene explained for Alex. “Brilliant man. Obsessed with aviation. Interestingly, he believed that he had been a hummingbird in a previous life. On special occasions I’d wear this charming outfit of woven peacock feathers. We’d hop about the room, buzzing and … well …” The inventor chuckled, and then her eyes glazed over, full of happy memories best not shared with others.
Alex strolled along, working toward one of the garage’s tall walls, only half paying attention to Serene. From floor to ceiling the wall was covered in framed awards, littered with fancy, sparkling signatures and glittering ribbons. Shelves upon shelves of statuettes made of gold, crystal and myriad other precious materials he couldn’t even guess at competed for the eye’s adoring attention. And upon closer inspection, a single name appeared on each and every one of these accolades. “Oh jeez. This is going to be bad,” he muttered. Vega had a curious smile on his face and stared at Serene, as though he were eagerly waiting to catch the bewildered expression of the victim of a silly practical joke.
Alex turned to look at Serene, who now coincidentally bore a face full of suspicion. Her eyes squinted, lips formed into a tight frown, she peered about as though she stood in the center of an elaborate and lethal trap. Then, from a distance, a muffled voice rolled toward them, a voice overflowing with pride and self-satisfaction, assured and merry. Moody began to snicker, and then laughed loudly. Serene uttered a growl from the deepest depths within, and spun toward the staircase Hammett had exited through earlier.
“…and of course I couldn’t possible say no. Naturally my schedule is hectic beyond description, what with the incessant pleas for help I receive hourly. Incomparable genius can be a burden almost too great for one man to carry … yes, even I. But in the end, after all, it is my solemn duty to share my brilliance with the ignorant masses, to guide the intellectually deprived through their darkest hours. And indeed, these are dark times.” Professor Snotwaddle burst through the door, Hammett following quietly, pretending he actually gave a damn.
“Snotwaddle,” Serene spat, enunciated as though it were the most vile name ever christened upon the wickedest of villains.
“Oh, my dear Serene! My heart sings to see you have reached my home in safety!” Snotwaddle rushed down the stairs toward his guests, a garishly colored housecoat of silk fluttering about him, fingers loaded with rings raised aloft.
“So you call this little hovel your home?” Serene asked with a sneer.
“Ah, yes, it is but my ‘country house,’ so to speak. A bit more rustic, to be sure, than my other houses. Still, such as it is, I gladly welcome you all into its warmth.”
“I’d rather be back in a cell.” Serene crossed her arms and leaned back on a vehicle in a pout.
“Don’t worry, my dear, you are not imposing in the slightest. I have room for all, and happily welcome the company. Come, come, come. Come inside, please.”
Alex and Moody happily responded to Snotwaddle’s inviting call, and ascended the staircase leading out of the garage with light steps. Serene, on the other hand, remained motionless, arms still crossed in protest, refusing to budge despite the fierce looks Hammett shot her way over Snotwaddle’s shoulder. In the end, Vega had to escort the woman by the arm, half dragging her up the stairs.
Snotwaddle’s “country home” was every bit as awe-inspiring as the garage foreshadowed. Gorgeous wooden floors lined with intricate Celtic carvings stretched on for what looked like miles upon miles at their feet. Impressive statues, some with fountains, were placed about the area next to exotic, sweet-smelling plants of all kinds. Paintings larger than ordinary people’s entire rooms loomed on every side, each of remarkable artistry, and more than a few featuring the homeowner in various acts of philanthropy. Even the ceiling had been graced with a marvelous tile mosaic, which appeared to depict the history of invention through thousands of years of progress. Windows more than twenty feet tall were placed sporadically along the walls, revealing a virtual paradise outside. Flowers, bushes, shrubs, trees and ornamental grasses grew in perfect harmony, the vast majority of which Alex had never seen before. A friendly goblin gardener halted his work trimming a bush to smile at the houseguests through the window, revealing a goofy, three-toothed smile, and a curious dryad popped its head out of the very same bush, eyes bulging nervously, to check out the visitors before letting out a scared chirp and ducking back within.
“Pity you couldn’t be here a week earlier,” Snotwaddle quipped, noticing Alex’s gaping mouth as he stared through the windows and waved back at the goblin. “The Elysium tulips were in full bloom. A magnificent and humbling sight to be sure. You know, there are some things, my lad, that surpass even my own creations—and that, as you well know, is saying something. Alas, the event lasts but a day or two. Anyway, enough about that. I do hope you’ll be comfortable enough during your stay. I want all of you to relax and make yourselves at home. Ah! Speaking of which, allow me to introduce Hestia, virgin goddess of hearth, home and cooking. She also happens to be my housekeeper.”
A woman approached, one unlike any Alex had seen before. Nimbly she stepped toward the guests, barefooted, and so gently that it seemed she walked upon clouds rather than the hardwood floor. Long, flowing robes of translucent white and lavender billowed gracefully about her tall, slender form. Tightly curled brunette locks framed an impossibly smooth olive face, one that defied all signs of age. Yet within her dark eyes lay a well of unsurpassed wisdom and experience. Human in form, and yet distinctly alien, Hestia seemed more like a sculptor’s masterpiece given the breath of life, a creation of Michelangelo who through some glorious magic stepped out from her confines of canvas and paint and into our own unworthy world. “I bid you all welcome, fair guests.” Her voice, intoxicating, a tranquil stream of champagne and honey, left everyone speechless, entranced in a wondrous spell.
“How come we don’t have any gods in the mansion back home?” Moody asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, abruptly shattering the scene of awe.
“Shut up, you!” Serene hissed, pinching the hunchback’s shoulder. “Hunchbacks have such ghastly manners. Er … Serene Necrosia, at your service.” The inventor bowed majestically.
“And I yours,” Hestia replied with a smile. “No doubt you are all weary from your travels. Allow me to escort you to your lodgings and see to some refreshments.”
“Yes, yes, very good, my dear,” Snotwaddle chirped. “Make sure everyone is comfortable. We have a long evening ahead of us. So much to do, so little time. May as well rest up while you can.”
Chapter 8- Accommodations
“I trust these accommodations should more than suffice?” Hestia asked. The goddess waved her hands about the room, highlighting the two queen beds, private bathroom (complete with a monstrously large bathtub), and inviting leather sofa.
“This is more like it,” Moody grunted approvingly.
“I am not sleeping in here tonight!” Serene protested.
“I have no problems with that,” the hunchback added.
“What troubles you, my lady?” Hestia’s face took on a noticeable twinge of anxiety.
“I refuse to sleep under that … that abomination.”
Serene jutted her finger toward a large oil painting of Snotwaddle hanging between the two beds.
“Oh, I am terribly sorry. If you find the decor displeasing, I shall have someone relocate the professor’s portrait as soon as possible.”
“Yes, yes you shall,” Serene nodded, sneering at the painting.
“I do apologize in advance, however. The portrait is not hung upon the wall through traditional means, but rather mounted by an adhesive of the professor’s own design. It shall not be an easy task, and may take some time to remove. I cannot guarantee the work to be finished before bedtime.”
“Well, I suggest you haul your worker boys’ bottoms in here this very instant and begin deconstruction immediately.”
“No. You will do no such thing.” Hammett entered the room. “You are a guest here, may I remind you. You do not make demands. Or would you rather sleep in the van?”
“I’d rather lie in a cesspool than with his buggy eyes leering down upon my supple figure as I sleep.”
“And I’d be happy to arrange that,” the Cyclops replied with a smile.
“Just throw a sheet over the freaking thing, for hell’s sake,” Moody suggested, flopping onto the bed.
Serene sighed heavily. “Very well. I suppose I can endure such conditions for a night … if I must. Make sure it’s a very thick sheet … with a high thread count. I’ll not tolerate a flimsy veil between him and me.”
“Very good. I will see to it right away.” Hestia bowed slightly and glided out of the room without a sound.
“Do you need something, or do you intend to stare at me all evening?” Serene asked the Cyclops after several moments had passed without him following the goddess.
“I’m only going to tell you this once, Necrosia, so you’d best pay attention: Dispose of any harebrained ideas rattling about in that twisted mind of yours. If you so much as hint at pulling a fast one …”
The Eville Protection Plan Page 4
