Podric Moon and the Corsican Tyrant

by Barney Broom

  Barney’s eyes still caused him problems. He looked down at his eccentric attire and the rustic surroundings.

  “What? What have you done to me? Where am I?”

  “You’re in a computer game called Napoleonic Wars because of something I’ve developed which I told you about at Drinkwell. In the game, we’re escaping from revolutionaries who are busy murdering anyone they can find who they think disagrees with them, in Paris. The year is 1794 and the revolution’s in full swing. You have heard of the French Revolution, have you, Sturridge?”

  Barney scowled.

  “All bollocks.”

  “In what sense – the French Revolution or your being in it?”

  “Dah. I’m going to smash you!”

  Podric laughed.

  “That’s more like it. But it’s not me you’re going to bully. I want to see how you perform against some of the eighteenth-century thugs we’re up against. Our challenge now is to get the Duc and his daughter out of France.”

  Barney shook his head and flicked his eyes as if still trying to clear them.

  “I’ll get rid of that for you – unless you’d like to know more about UAR.”

  Barney stared belligerently at Podric.

  “Guess not, then.”

  Taking Sturridge’s wrist, he used the index finger of Barney’s other hand to depress the area over the microchip. UAR’s optical imagery disengaged.

  “If you ever want to know where you are, do that twice and the information will reappear. I’ll have to teach you how to operate it more and move around in the game sometime.”

  Barney seemed stultified by the recent experience. What Podric didn’t tell him was that three longer depressions followed by two short ones would remove him from his game existence completely. For some reason the young co-inventor of Ultimate Alternative Reality thought this knowledge would be best kept to himself.

  Walking up the muddy track towards the tavern, Barney said, “I hate you, Moon. The next time I take you out, I’ll make sure I do a better job of it.”

  “You definitely suffer from repetition, Barney.”

  Podric stopped.

  “But I should advise you – try it now and you’re stuck here. A real person locked inside a computer game. Rather than experiencing the adventures of a lifetime, you’d be stranded in a nightmare of eternity. Think about that before you pull the trigger, bully Barney.”

  ***

  The tavern was a lowly affair – poor and filthy. Its interior dirty, the floor was strewn with dung and straw. The proprietors – a slothful man and his severe, narrow-eyed wife – presided mistrustfully over their penurious customers. A contradictory character, Barney touched Podric’s arm and strode over to the plank that served as a counter.

  “The old man and the girl I sent up here. Where are they?”

  Barney’s lingua franca was crude but from the way the innkeeper’s eyes darted about, Podric knew he understood sufficiently well.

  “What are they to you?”

  It was the woman who spoke – her voice thin and weaselly.

  Barney’s answer was a deft move pulling out two flintlocks. The landlord twitched, but the woman didn’t flinch.

  “You’re a fool. You’re covered from every quarter.”

  Eyeing the habitués, Podric saw sullen eyes furtively watching proceedings. Barney was breezy.

  “Won’t stop you two from going, will it?”

  “You’re our enemy – an enemy of the revolution!”

  The woman was venomous, and spat out her words.

  A gun went off and it wasn’t Barney’s. Turning, Podric saw a Citizen crumple to the floor. Knife in hand, he was poised to throw it at Sturridge’s back. The Duchesse Louisa appeared from the shadows. White-faced, she clutched a small pistol. Smoke drifted from its barrel.

  Speaking his strange argot, Barney moved back slightly.

  “Alright, you lot. Allez vites!”

  A dozen of the proles got the message and began shuffling towards the door. The proprietor made a move for something underneath the bar.

  “Whoa. Leave it, sunshine!”

  Barney’s pistol waved at the innkeeper.

  “You can serve us some drinks – wine and a brandy for the gir… young lady.”

  The man looked at his wife, who gave a barely perceptible nod. Her husband sullenly went about his permitted task, placing the alcohol on the bar. Barney took the brandy and gave it to Louisa who still clutched her little handgun.

  “I’ve carried it for two years.”

  Pouring himself some wine, Barney took a big gulp.

  “Amazed it worked, love. Still, good shooting.”

  Looking pale, Louisa sipped her liquor. Podric came over to her.

  “May I take wine to papa?”

  “Where is your father?”

  “Outside in the stable. It wasn’t safe in here.”

  Picking up a jug and mug, Podric began leading her from the inn. Looking at the proprietress, Barney reached over the counter and removed the blunderbuss from underneath it.

  “We’ll shortly be on our way. Try anything and I’ll torch the joint.”

  The woman’s hard gaze met Barney’s unblinkingly.

  “Guess you’re not really getting it.”

  He fired the big-bored gun at the wall behind the bar. Bottles shattered and lath and plaster covered the man and woman. The Wendover school bully grinned.

  “Have a nice day.”

  Outside, the Duc was propped against a crude shed tended by his daughter and Podric. Looking about, Barney was alert.

  “We’d better move. The bloke’s a load of piss but the dame’s likely to cut up trouble.”

  An old cart stood to one side of the stables and inside, an equally old nag. Podric spied one of the down-at-heel drinkers being berated by a harridan.

  “Horse man, are you?”

  The dishevelled peasant looked up. Podric slipped a silver Louis into his hand. The man gawped at it for several seconds.

  “Hitch the nag to the wagon and there’s another.”

  The woman continued to harass the imbiber who took a swipe at her and entered the stable. The termagant’s decibels reached screeching levels. Barney swung a pistol in her direction and fired just above her head. Yokes and tackle went flying. Dishevelled man, not turning a hair, continued his task of harnessing the horse. Lifting the Duc gently on to the back of the wagon, Louisa sat beside her father. Podric tossed the man a second coin and clambered onto the driver’s seat. With Barney alongside, the cart rolled out into the yard and set off down the lane.

  A new remonstrance began as the Madame Defarge proprietress tried to galvanise her lethargic men. This was thwarted by the unkempt hostler who picked up a besom, lit it and quietly set fire to the place, burning it to the ground.

  17

  Making it Right

  If there was anything the honourable Charlotte McCorquodale missed from her marriage to Archie Light, it was their time in Wales. During a rare moment of simpatico early in their relationship, they had discovered the cottage set at the eastern end of the Brecon Beacons with its view of the Talybont Reservoir.

  Charlotte quickly realised that she’d made a mistake marrying her self-made engineering scientist beau, who evolved into a creator of what she considered the lightweight business of computer games – highly lucrative though they were. But Bwthyn Anghsbell was somewhere they both loved and kept returning to even when things got tough between them. Such was the impression the place made, they had spent their last long weekend together at the cottage before parting.

  Charlotte being largely to blame for their marital failure and her determination to separate from her husband, Archie had asked they stay a couple that final trip and for that, he had her grudging respect. Now, as her Land Cruiser turned off th
e motorway and headed up the valley into Powys, these memories came flooding back. Her daughter yawned, stretched her long legs, and gazed out of the window.

  “Bloody Wales.”

  “You wanted it.”

  “Bleak as shit.”

  Cosima’s stay with her mother had been a disaster. Apart from having a negative effect on Charlotte’s relationship with her Colombian diplomat boyfriend, her daughter’s surly behaviour made for an unbearable atmosphere. Consistently rowing with her mother, Archie’s surprise call had resulted in Cosima declaring she’d be ‘better off with Dad’. Taking her at her word, Charlotte responded.

  “Okay then, to Aber we will go.”

  Advising Archie on the course of action, her husband also astonished Charlotte by accepting, even encouraging, the decision. The girl thumped the door panel.

  “What am I going to do here?”

  “Don’t ask me. You were up for coming.”

  “That was just to get away from you.”

  Charlotte laughed at her daughter’s conceit.

  “Well, you’ll have achieved that if nothing else.”

  Charlotte concentrated on the winding road.

  “Get out and take some exercise. The country’s wild and you can take Dog for a walk.”

  “Oh God, no – Dog! He’s not there, is he?”

  “I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. For all your father’s denial, he’s got something going with that animal. In fact, as I recall, the more he berates him, the more slobbering Dog gets.”

  ***

  The wagon lurched along the bumpy lanes of northern France. Preferring to drive, Barney had the reins. There was little he could do with the withered cob other than gently encourage its stumbling pace. Podric sat on the back with the Duc and his daughter. Having made the old man as comfortable as they could, Podric and Louisa watched the countryside slowly pass by.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Calais.”

  The young duchess looked at Podric.

  “The port?”

  Podric nodded.

  “It’s not safe for you to stay in France. Besides, there’s someone in England you’ll want to see.”

  Pulling out Cosima’s crumpled note, he handed it to Louisa. Opening the stained envelope, the girl began to read and seconds later, let out a squeal of delight.

  “She escaped. This is wonderful! But how did she do this?”

  Podric shrugged.

  “Does it matter? We must get you and your father to safety there as quickly as possible.”

  With their present pace of travel, the irony of his words wasn’t lost on Podric.

  “You are very kind to us, m’sieur.”

  Louisa folded Cosima’s letter.

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “Yes. No. Maybe.”

  Podric smiled.

  “I’ll be happier the more distance we put between us and Paris.”

  The Duchesse Louisa looked thoughtful.

  “Perhaps…?”

  Podric looked at her.

  “This part of France is famous for its ancient monasteries. The friars and novices are known to be very independent.”

  For all her graces, the young duchess could be beguiling.

  “And we have money.”

  Louisa’s manner was coquettish.

  “A donation to an abbaye is always welcome.”

  ***

  Supper at Bwthyn Anghsbell was a strange affair. Although Charlotte had initially stated that she would head off after a coffee, one thing led to another and having had a glass of wine, it seemed better to stay. José was abroad with some trade delegation and there was nothing in town to hurry back for.

  After what appeared to be a perfunctory greeting with her father, Cosima elected to take a shower. Sitting in the living room, a peat fire blazing and Dog snoring beside it, Archie and Charlotte got a bottle of red wine on the go. They looked like the ideal couple.

  “So, what have you been up to, my fine bucko?”

  Archie studied his wife. She could be flirtatious with anyone – even him.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Probably not. Try me.”

  Looking over the rim of her wine glass, she eyed Archie who kicked Dog in an attempt to stop his noisy ululations.

  “Few months ago, a young lad arrived at Drinkwell. He’d piled off his bike and was brought to the house.”

  “The Irish leprechaun must have loved that. Blood all over her kitchen.”

  “Brodie discovered Podric was a computer games player of some ability. It was she who pushed me to meet him.”

  “Must have been a Paddy thing then if he’s called Podric.”

  Charlotte had some more wine.

  “Why did you agree?”

  Archie put another peat block on the fire.

  “Things haven’t been so bright lately.”

  “What, your creative genius in that deeply intellectual field of light entertainment’s not on the wane, surely?”

  “I’d forgotten how catty you can be.”

  “Meow.”

  She laughed. Archie smiled.

  “The kid and I created a game and it’s taken off.”

  “Wünderbar. I’ll worry no more and Cosima’s sorted.”

  Archie’s face darkened.

  “No, Charlotte. That’s not the way it will be.”

  “Really? Life can be a bitch, but it’s a bigger bitch without the dollar.”

  “That’s hard earned – and something which, long overdue, I intend our daughter discovers.”

  “Good luck with that one, m’lord. Her silver spoon’s been in a while. To pull it out now and have her face reality will be some task.”

  “You know, Lady M, you never said a truer word. Reality’s the thing, but in creating alternative reality I might just have found the answer.”

  A little lost at this, Charlotte shrugged.

  “You always were a quirky bastard Archie, which when I was in the naivety of youth, had some appeal.”

  “Glad you thought so.”

  Archie uncorked another bottle of wine. There was something in his manner – an unfeigned confidence – that surprised Charlotte. This was an Archie she didn’t know.

  “That’s an assertive little vintage. I trust you’ve cooked up some culinary delights to match?”

  “Boeuf bourguignon – as I recall, a favourite of yours.”

  ***

  Giving a determined company of Citizen soldiers the slip, Podric, Barney and father and daughter d’Angoulac heeded the young duchess’s advice, finding shelter at the Abbaye of St. Pierre.

  Podric proffering his revolutionary funds on their arrival produced a particular luminescence. Tossing the money casually on to the table, the glitter in the prior’s eyes matched the cascade of golden Louis coins.

  Awarding the abbey the largest private endowment it had ever received – whether it was because of the prior’s Christian consideration towards the fugitives or the result of such charitable generosity by them – plans rapidly got underway for the party’s continued journey towards the coast. This time it would be with the Order’s protection. “The Convention doesn’t like the church. It feels threatened by it. A little divine assistance can but surely help you on your way.” The abbot positively gushed his support for them.

  A pilgrimage was organised to the neighbouring monastery at St. Omer. A procession of monks, complete with a covered supply wagon, made ready for the morning. Inspecting the conveyance, Barney and Podric were particularly interested in a little secret compartment in the wagon. At a squeeze, it was capable of hiding two people. The ways of the church were undoubtedly deep and inscrutable.

  ***

  The Welsh weather was for
once clear and bright.

  Stepping out of the cottage, Archie and Charlotte walked towards her Land Cruiser. Dog ran about in front of them.

  “Quite like old times.”

  “Quite.”

  Charlotte laughed.

  “You know, I rather envy you.”

  Archie feigned surprise.

  “I always loved this place.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you ever wonder about us?”

  “No.”

  Charlotte laughed some more.

  “Liar.”

  “How long are you staying?”

  “Don’t know right now. A while maybe.”

  Charlotte looked at her husband.

  “There’s a change in you, Archie Light, something I can’t quite fathom.”

  “Bugs you, does it?”

  “No. It’s rather attractive.”

  “I am ‘rather attractive’.”

  “You’re an unmitigated, difficult bastard and well you know it.”

  “And rather attractive.”

  Charlotte laughed.

  “Mistake One for this morning. Don’t tell your estranged husband you fancy him.”

  “You’ll get over it.”

  Cosima appeared wrapped up for a walk. Mother and daughter seemed awkward, their hug perfunctory.

  “Bye Ma.”

  For a second Charlotte choked up.

  “Love you.”

  They hugged again, this time for longer. Lightening her mood, Charlotte turned to Archie.

  “As for you…” She didn’t approach him but swung into her jeep. Father, daughter and Dog watched the Land Cruiser move down the winding track towards the road. After a while, Archie spoke.

  “How are you feeling?”

  If he’d asked his daughter the same question a few weeks ago he would have received a surly response. Now, turning to look at him as they got ready to set off, she was thoughtful. Cosima was a lovely girl and Archie loved her dearly.

  “I don’t know… different somehow.”

  Smiling, Archie adjusted his Barbour.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “If I told you what I believe has happened, you wouldn’t trust me.”

  “Try me.”

  “Come on then.”

  Walking up the hillside path, Archie began to relate the fantastic tale of UAR – the alternative reality state that he now believed had a subconscious effect on a person in reality even if they were only profiled into a game, and how he had deliberately freed himself from Napoleonic Wars.