The Tale of the Wolf (The Kenino Wolf Series)

by Cyrus Chainey

  ‘Kruchenko wants the priest,’ Tabatha cut in.

  ‘Kruchenko wants the list.’

  ‘This is insane,’ Curtis mumbled.

  Friday 2:00 p.m.

  We were racing to Wales. Jeremiah, true to his word, sent me a text, and I sent him the address in return. It appeared that Jeremiah and I were on semi-civilised terms.

  Well, he hadn’t shot me. We were now imbued with hope. We had a plan, not the greatest plan, but a plan: get Milkie, get Magenta Devine's Black List and swap it for our lives. Whoever had the list was calling the tune, and it needed to be us.

  ‘Do you know how to get to Machynlleth?’ Muzzi asked, after witnessing Tabatha cross three lanes of traffic.

  ‘Course! GPS on the phone.’ She smiled.

  Machynlleth, pronounced Ma-humpth-lith, was a market town in the county of Powys and had been the seat of Owain Glyndwr’s Welsh Parliament in 1404. As a result, it claimed to be the ancient capital of Wales, although this had never officially been recognised. I had Wikipedia on the phone, and looked it up on the way. It was 217 miles and there wasn’t anything else to do. We were travelling via Swindon, Slough and Reading, so it wasn’t exactly a journey filled with adventure and intrigue.

  We'd just past Slough when my phone started ringing. It was Bosley.

  ‘Wolfy where are you?’

  ‘Just past Slough.’

  ‘I've found the Tomsians. I'm heading there now. I must just be a little ahead of you.’

  ‘We've found them too ... They’re in Wales.’

  ‘Exactly. We need to talk. I know how your friend was involved. Oh and Scott Frazer got bailed last night, he had a high end solicitor we couldn’t hold him.’

  ‘Yeah I know about Frazer.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He just tried to set us on fire in Warwick road. Don’t worry about it. It’s a long story, involves cats. Where are you?’

  ‘The first service station outside Slough I'll be waiting.’

  We pulled in at the service station; I could see Bosley's old red Astra.

  ‘Park up next to him Tabs … jump in Bosley we ain't got no time to stop.’

  Bosley jumped out of his car and jumped in Betsy. Tabatha sped back out of there and we were back on our way.

  ‘I know how you found the Tomsians,’ I said to Bosley, smirking. Bosley was dressed in a white PVC Jumpsuit, with a fake chest wig and gold medallion. ‘You either went undercover or you’ve joined!’

  ‘Joined. I told you before I almost joined. I've decided to abandon the police and join the Tomsians.’

  ‘Okay ... glossing over that. You said you knew how Longy was involved.’

  ‘Your friend’s brother spoke the truth. Baba is the Prophet.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There is a prophecy; a stranger will appear carrying the symbol of the Resplendent.’

  ‘Resplendent?’

  ‘We call Tom Jones the Resplendent.’

  ‘Oh ... fair enough.’

  ‘This stranger will choose a new leader who will usher in a new order, raising the Tomsians higher in the light.’ Bosley said this with complete seriousness. He'd gone bonkers.

  ‘And I take it Longy was the stranger?’

  ‘Yes. He carried the symbol of the Resplendent.’

  I looked at Tabatha, she looked back at me. I reached under the car seat and pulled out the box with Tom Jones in it. Opening it I said ‘Is this it?’ Little Tom started singing.

  ‘You carry the Resplendent.’ Bosley stared in awe.

  ‘Wolfy is the Prophet,’ Curtis announced giggling.

  ‘No, I'm not.’ I closed the box.

  ‘It would appear that you are. You carry the Resplendent,’ Bosley pronounced.

  ‘Bosley what's happened to you? Have you been sniffing that wig?’

  ‘When we left the Jonesians, I had a moment of revelation. I looked at my life and decided to abandon it, leave the grime and vermin behind. Since I made that decision, I have found a calmness in myself, an inner peace.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Muzzi said in all seriousness.

  ‘Thank you,’ Bosley replied. ‘Why are you carrying a cat? ’ he continued.

  ‘It's Kevin Milkie's dad … He's the one at the centre of this lunacy,’ I sneered.

  ‘Oh … how?’

  I explained to Bosley all about Magenta Devine, Kruchenko, and the Black List. By the time I'd finished, we'd just reached Llanidloes. Curtis proclaimed what I’d already secretly thought myself.

  ‘It’s really beautiful up here you know.’ Which it was. Although I’m not countryside-friendly, I have to admit that it was truly stunning in Wales; a place of sheer unsullied beauty.

  The address Marigold Milkie had given us was just north of Machynlleth, near to Tal-y-Llyn, a lake between two hills that was so stunning that I actually had to stop and take a photo. We drove down a little side road, for which the term ‘off the beaten track’ had been invented.

  Bosley asked us to drop him at the start of the road. Said it might hinder us if he entered with us. More like he didn't want us to embarrass him. Either way we'd lost our nutter in hand.

  Being Wales, it was predominantly green. Sheep, of course, were in abundance and the mountains were large. We continued down the little path until we reached a massive old stone church with a slate roof. The church looked weatherbeaten, yet had a rustic charm. I could have lived there; a perfect little country idyll. Peace and tranquillity resonated all around.

  ‘Park up, Tabs. Let’s see what the situation is.’ She parked up Betsy and we all got out.

  ‘Now what?’ Curtis wisely observed that we didn’t actually have a plan.

  We needed something a bit more sensible than waving a plastic Tom Jones at the first Welshman we saw.

  ‘Knock the door, babes.’

  I knocked the door, clutching the old box in my hand. The door was ancient oak; it had once been blue but was now mostly brown, the wood reappearing between the gaps in the paint.

  The door opened slowly, and if we’d had any doubts we were in the right location, they were eradicated instantly. There, standing before us, was a small Chinese man in a white PVC jumpsuit open to the navel, revealing a large swathe of what was obviously fake chest hair. He had a large gold medallion hanging round his neck and smiled politely when he saw us.

  ‘Alright. What can I do yer for?’ He was a Scouser.

  ‘Um … is Tom Jones in?’

  ‘I’m Tom Jones. What can I do f’yer?’

  ‘Was Mrs Milkie’s husband Chinese?’ Curtis asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I replied honestly. I looked at Muzzi. He shrugged.

  ‘Oh god ... is Kevin Milkie here?’ Tabatha interrupted us, deeply unimpressed by our floundering.

  ‘There is no one ‘ere called that mate … Deliverer!’ He’d clocked the box I was holding. ‘Bleedin’ hell Deliverer. Forgive me.’ He knelt down and started bowing his head.

  ‘What? Oh yeah, I’ve come to deliver this.’ I raised the box and opened the lid. Little Tom started singing. It was the least convincing arrival of a prophet in world history.

  ‘Please come wid me, Deliverer. We’ve bin waitin’ f’yer arrival.’

  He ran into the house beckoning us frantically to follow. We stepped through the door into the inner sanctum.

  ‘Allow me to summon the brethren.’ He bowed, running off through a door at the back, leaving us to investigate our surroundings.

  We were definitely in the church of Tom Jones. The Jonesians were just a fan club compared to these guys. We were standing in an absolutely massive open room. It really felt like entering a church, large open space and high ceiling. It differed from your standard church in the odd detail, one of the main ones being that there, staring directly at us, was a nine-foot statue of Tom Jones made of solid granite. It was dressed in a red, seventies’ velvet suit with white frilly lapels, and was in a classic Tom Jones pose and incredibly accurate. It dominated the huge room. />
  There was an altar at the far end, covered with a large cloth with Tom Jones' face printed upon it. Either side of the altar were two large wooden arches with heavy wooden doors, one of which the Chinese Tom Jones had gone through.

  The place was all hardwood and Welsh heartthrob. On the wall behind the altar were the complete lyrics of ‘Kiss’ carved into the wall in medieval script. To either side of us were a series of six stained glass windows, brilliantly done in reds and greens, each representing a different era of Tom Jones’ life: the three on the left, his earlier years; while on the right, his later era. Under every stained glass window were various exhibition cases. Contained under the glass like precious treasures were various bits of Tom Jones memorabilia. There were ten cases in total, containing artefacts such as a boot, a scarf, a pair of flairs, a medallion, pairs of knickers and hair. One displayed about seven strands of curly black hair.

  ‘God, I hope that’s off his head,’ Curtis smirked.

  ‘Oh, that’s nasty, Curt. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘What? Look at this place. You can’t be sure.’

  ‘Stop fucking about Curt. We’ve come for the list. Don’t piss anybody off.’

  ‘Sorry, Deliverer.’ Curtis smirked, preparing to take the piss. I gave him a dirty look. ‘I know … I know we’ve come for the list, but if you think I’m letting this slide after all the crap I’ve taken about doilies, you’re as mad as they are.’

  ‘Shut up. They’re coming back.’ The door next to the altar opened and over twenty-five people came flooding out, led by the Chinese Scouse Tom Jones.

  There standing before us was a wide array of nationalities, shapes and sizes, as well as sexes.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s like the UN on acid,’ I said.

  ‘He’s an international superstar. Why wouldn’t they be from all over the world?’ Muzzi was taking this all very seriously. He'd also taken the cat out his box and was stroking him in his hands.

  ‘Muzzi, why have you taken the cat out of the box?’ It was still trying to get me.

  ‘I thought it would make him easier to recognise.’

  ‘Good thinking. Any idea which one’s Milkie?’ Muzzi shook his head.

  Although they represented a wide spectrum of the planet’s populace, they all shared certain similarities. They were all dressed identically in white PVC jumpsuits, split to the navel, with nylon chest wigs, and gold sparkly medallions; even the women.

  One of them stepped forward. ‘I am Tom Jones! Are you the Deliverer?’ He was the leader, I could tell; bigger medallion. I realised then that we’d come to overthrow him, remove him from power. He was going to be trouble.

  ‘Yes, I am the Deliverer,’ I announced as seriously as I could, holding the box aloft with the lid open to reveal Little Tom Jones, who instantly started singing. Curtis started sniggering behind me. He so needed a smack.

  The crowd gasped, and bar about five, who stayed standing, they started the kneeling and bowing craziness. The leader didn’t flinch. He knew the prophecy was nonsense, and wasn’t going to give up his crown easily.

  ‘How do we know you’re the Deliverer? How do we know you’re not a Jonesian, come here to destroy us?’

  At the word ‘Jonesian’ the crowd stopped bowing and scraping and jumped back to their feet.

  ‘I’m no Jonesian!’ I proclaimed as seriously as I could. ‘The Jonesians are my enemy.’ Which was true … Colin was.

  ‘That’s what a Jonesian would say,’ the leader sneered back.

  ‘Why would I have this if I was not the Deliverer?’ I asked, waving little Tom Jones at the crowd. They gasped and started bowing again.

  ‘You may have stolen it from the true Deliverer, in order to destroy our Tomsian order.’

  ‘But how would he know to come here with it?’ One of the crowd leapt forward. It was Milkie … had to be. He was a middle-aged white guy with the obligatory jumpsuit, and was looking at the box with less awe than the others, and looking at the cat with familiarity.

  ‘The Jonesians have ways, Tom Jones, wicked evil ways.’ The leader wasn’t giving up without a fight, and he was directing his sneer at our defender now.

  ‘Is everybody called Tom Jones?’ Tabatha whispered.

  ‘Looks like it,’ I replied. ‘I am the Deliverer. I am no Jonesian. I have come to fulfil the prophecy.’ I was getting into this madness and actually sounded convincing that time.

  ‘That must be proved,’ the leader said. ‘You must prove you are the Deliverer by undertaking the three Tasks of Tom.’ Curtis was holding down the laughter so hard I thought his chest was going to pop.

  ‘As you wish,’ I said with a confidence that I shouldn’t have had because I didn’t know what they were. The leader looked worried by my response. He wasn’t expecting me to be so confident, but then front is my speciality.

  ‘Um … ah … Tom Jones prepare the tasks,’ he flustered. They all stepped forward. ‘Stop! Not all of you. You Tom Jones and you Tom Jones, he said pointing at two. The rest of you prepare for mass.’

  They were really all called Tom Jones, and it was obviously a frustrating experience for the leader. Maybe the new order I was about to create would change that, allow a middle letter or something to make it easier. ‘Wait here while we prepare the tasks,’ the leader commanded. With that he went back out along with the rest, leaving us alone in the big room once more.

  ‘Do you know what the tasks are?’ Tabatha asked, once she knew we were alone.

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘So what was with the “as you wish?”’

  ‘What else was I supposed to say? We need the list. Hold on Tabs someone’s coming.’ The door next to the altar opened and our defender came in. He was alone.

  ‘Greetings, Deliverer. I will assist you in the coming tasks.’ His eyes were alternating between the cat and the box.

  ‘You Milkie?’

  ‘I am Tom Jones.’

  ‘Ain’t you all. Now, are you Kevin Milkie or not?’

  ‘Yes,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Thank god for that! Where’s the list?’

  ‘What list and where’s Nikos? He was meant to be the Deliverer. And is that Cholera?’

  ‘He’s dead. Now where’s the list, and yes, that's your mum’s cat.’ His eyes popped out of his sockets.

  ‘Dead? How?’

  ‘He was killed to find you. Bad people want that list, and they’re coming here to get it. Now where is it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Look, stop fucking about. Kruchenko's coming. He's been hunting you. He thinks you've got Magenta Devine's Black List.’

  ‘You must mean the thumb drive.’ He scanned the room.

  ‘Talk, Milkie, and explain what’s going on. What thumb drive?’

  He scanned the room again.

  ‘Before I was redeemed I was an accountant for a very bad man named Nikita Kruchenko, a very dangerous and scary man. But I was rescued by the music of Tom Jones. I discovered the light and I left him. I took that box you hold in your hands and left to dedicate myself to the worship of Tom. I had no plan for the box, I just liked it, thought it looked good. It had sat on a shelf in his office for years, unused, and I never thought he would miss it.’

  While I was in London preaching I met Nikos (Longy) and when I explained our order’s plight, he agreed to help. Our leader has lost his way, fallen from the light, but would never relinquish his position. So some fellow members and I conspired to create the Prophecy. Nikos was to be our Deliverer, to free us from the tyranny of our leader. I used the box and placed the statue of the Resplendent inside, and told him to come here and pronounce me leader. But we waited and waited, and he never showed. I understand why now. He was a good man.’ We nodded in compliance.

  ‘So what was in the box?’

  ‘While I was preparing the box, lining it with silk to hold the Resplendent, I discovered a small USB thumb drive. That’s what Nikita must be after.’

  ‘Wh
ere’s the thumb drive now?’

  ‘I hid it.’

  ‘We need it.’

  ‘And we need to be free. Help me become leader and I will give it to you.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll pick you. Now give me the drive.’

  ‘It’s not that easy. Our leader suspects you are not the true Deliverer and before he will allow you to choose, you must pass the Tasks of Tom.’

  ‘We don’t really have time for this. Nikita is on his way now.’

  ‘That’s as may be, but he can’t have it.’

  ‘He won’t ask nicely.’

  ‘I am willing to die to free my order. Nothing and no one is going to stop me.’ He was deadly serious. ‘Now if you help me I will give it to you. If you don’t, you shall never find it. No one will.’

  Fanatics are a difficult bunch to deal with. What choice did I have?

  ‘Fine! What are these Tasks of Tom?’

  ‘The first task is the Kiss of Tom: You must hang upside down from the ceiling and select with your teeth the medallion from the vat of chains.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A large cauldron will be placed in the centre of the room in it will be various gold chains, but only one has a medallion on it the rest are fake. You must select the correct chain. All of this you must do while suspended upside down.’ All of this was pronounced with a deadly seriousness.

  ‘How will I know which is the right chain?’

  ‘One of my friends is preparing the vat. Look for the chain with the black link. It will be the correct one.’

  ‘What’s the next one?’

  ‘The second task is the Strength of Tom.’

  ‘Go on. Let’s hear this one.’ I wanted to walk off already.

  ‘In the Strength of Tom, a path twenty feet long in the Great Hall will be created with nylon chest wigs. These will be set on fire. You must walk across the path from one end to the other, barefoot. If you survive, you will have passed the Strength of Tom.’

  ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘These are the Tasks of Tom, but do not fear, my friends are preparing the path. They will create gaps between the wigs which you can stand on, but you must still move fast, as the gaps will disappear as the heat intensifies.’