Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom

by S. B. Davies

  The multi-coloured columns returned to the graphic.

  ‘These creatures are returned.’ Engineer gestured and the bright green column shrank to nothing.

  ‘Their remains go with them.’

  The carpet of broken spider bodies disappeared, leaving behind the dead and injured defenders.

  ‘Why is the holding buffer full?’ asked Engineer, ‘Why are there spiders and what looks like a human in there?’

  ‘What! A human? Where?’ Dave leapt forward and studied the graphic.

  ‘Just there Trellis. A single human in the holding buffer. I will receive it.’

  The allotments glowed green.

  ‘Engineer, let me down, that’s my daughter.’ Dave was jigging from one foot to the other.

  Engineer sniffed and looked at the excitement on Dave’s face.

  ‘You are so emotional; weak too.’

  He gestured with his hand and Dave flew in a huge arc towards the allotments.

  Dave let out a yell as he plummeted towards the courtyard. As he got closer he slowed, hit the ground with both feet, and rolled onto his side. He picked himself up and ran the last few yards to the surprised girl standing there.

  ‘Abbey! You’re alive.’ Dave picked her up in a huge hug and whirled her around.

  ‘Calm down Dad. I know I shouldn’t have gone without your permission and I have no idea how I got back. But it’s not a big deal.’

  Dave let her go and stood back.

  ‘Oh, it so good to see your face again. It’s been hard these many years.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve been trapped in the machine for seven years. We all thought you were dead.’

  ‘No, it’s just been a few days. Where’s Mum?’

  ‘Ah. That’s a bit of a long story.’

  ‘What’s going on? Where are the dogs?’ said Abbey and yelled, ‘Arroooogah.’ It sounded strange, hearing the Palaver battle cry in a girl’s voice.

  ‘They’re busy right now love. There’s a bit of a situation, what with the invasion an’ all. Look things changed while you were gone. Your mother and me … Well, we split up.’

  Abbey looked at Dave. ‘What? But, you were so happy together? How could you?’

  ‘We can talk about it later love. Just come with me now, there’s a lot to sort out.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘We just fought a battle for the allotments, there are dead and wounded everywhere.’

  ‘Oh, sorry Dad, I didn’t know. Are any dogs hurt?’

  ‘I’m afraid so love, quite a few.’

  ‘Right, let’s go,’ said Abbey and jogged towards the Barbican.

  Fergus walked across the rutted grass towards Boadicea. She was chatting to an over-weight knight in armour.

  ‘Boadicea, are you alright?’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s good to see you in armour Fergus Loaf. A warrior at last?’

  ‘An official member of the troop.’

  ‘You are honoured. Meet my champion, Sir Bran.’

  ‘Uncle Bran?’ asked Fergus.

  ‘Fergus?’ said Bran.

  ‘What!’ said Boadicea, ‘He’s your uncle too?’

  ‘Well yes. What are you doing here uncle?’

  ‘Same as you Fergus, fighting. Damned stupid question.’

  ‘But that means…’

  ‘Yes,’ said Boadicea, ‘Cousins, we’re cousins.’

  ‘Damn it all!’

  ‘Indeed Fergus, just as you made warrior.’

  Dave and Abbey trotted across the parkland. They slowed to a walk when they reached Fergus and Boadicea, who were standing awkwardly next to a large armoured knight.

  ‘Hey Fergus, guess what?’ said Dave.

  But Fergus wasn’t listening. Hit by the other half of the brick, he could only see two perfect eyes set in the most beautiful face.

  ‘Abbey? Oh bloody hell not again.’ Dave shoved Abbey, making her stumble.

  ‘Sorry what?’ said Abbey looking up from the ground.

  Fergus shook his head then shot forward to help Abbey to her feet. They stared at each other.

  ‘That’s enough of that. Fergus, come over here.’ Dave grabbed Fergus by the shoulder and dragged him to one side.

  ‘Dave, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever –’

  ‘Shut up. She’s my daughter and she just hit you with the Glamour. Remember? Like when you met Boadicea for the first time.’

  ‘But, she’s your daughter?’

  ‘I know, she got it from her mother’s side.’

  ‘Then…’

  ‘That’s right; I married a beautiful Tuatha De Daanan called Maeve. So I know all about the Glamour.’

  ‘Oh right.’

  ‘So step lightly Fergus Loaf, or I will tread heavily upon you.’

  ‘Understood Dave.’

  ‘Hey Dad,’ shouted Abbey. ‘When are we going to rescue Mum? Some of the dogs want to come.’

  Engineer appeared out of thin air right in front of Dave. Everyone flinched and Fergus gave a squeak.

  ‘Such a pathetic scene and yet not all debts are paid.’

  ‘So you’re going to give the Murgatroyds what’s coming?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Unfortunately no. I am constrained by ancient principles and agreements, but I am still owed a life. I like you Trellis, but you can’t break a deal.’

  Engineer gestured and Dave disappeared.

  ‘Dad!’ yelled Abbey. ‘What have you done with him?’

  Fergus leapt at Engineer and was thrown backward before he got within six feet.

  ‘Bring him back!’ shouted Fergus.

  ‘He is not dead. I have sent him where he may find what he ultimately seeks, yet the possibility of suitable retribution remains high. I go. Do not disturb me again.’

  Engineer disappeared, leaving the little group bewildered and forlorn on the ripped turf of the latest battlefield for the continued existence of earth.

  Abbey burst into tears. ‘It’s not fair, first Mum and now Dad, just gone.’

  Fergus put his arm around Abbey.

  ‘It’s alright. He’s not dead; you heard what Engineer said, he’s just transported somewhere. I’m sure he’ll get back.’

  ‘How can we trust that monster? Dad said he only stopped the invasion, because he feared his precious machine was in danger.’

  ‘Well, he did put the pavilion back.’

  Abbey looked up at Fergus and smiled.

  ‘Fergus Loaf,’ said Mrs Yorkshire, striding towards them, ‘The bad penny. Not content on getting your mucky paws on one of my charges, you’re now sniffing around my favourite child. You will absent yourself this minute.’

  Fergus let go of Abbey and turned to face Mrs Yorkshire.

  ‘Shut up you old bat. You have no right to interfere in my life or Abbey’s. She is not your child; she is a grown woman. Furthermore, with Dave gone I am in charge here. I say what goes. You will absent yourself this damned minute.’

  Fergus glared at Mrs Yorkshire. She smiled.

  ‘That’s more like it. Perhaps Boadicea is right and you are a warrior at last. I will take my leave, but come and see me when you calm down. We have off world visitors at St Cats that will need assistance.’

  Mrs Yorkshire hugged Abbey and kissed Boadicea on the cheek.

  ‘Bran, remember my invitation is still open. Any time,’ said Mrs Yorkshire as she walked away.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Bran.

  Bran looked down and shuffled his feet. ‘Um, Boadicea, will we be going soon?’

  ‘Soon as we can, soon as we can.’

  ‘So Abbey would you like to come back to my place, for coffee or something?’ said Fergus.

  Abbey and Boadicea stared at Fergus.

  ‘What?’ said Fergus.

  ‘Uncle Bran,’ said Boadicea

  ‘Yes Milady?’

  ‘How many are left uninjured?’

  ‘There are twelve fully fit knights and perhaps twenty horses.’

  Boadice
a turned to Abbey and Fergus.

  ‘Come on, saddle up. I assume you can ride?’

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Abbey.

  ‘To the Causeway.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Fergus.

  ‘To find Dave, of course.’

  ‘And my mother,’ said Abbey.

  ‘Hold on just a minute,’ said Fergus, ‘The allotments are in chaos. We have dead and wounded to care for. You can’t just shoot off; you don’t even know where you’re going anyway.’

  Enoch landed softly right next to Fergus.

  ‘Ten, nine, eight –’

  ‘And what the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Four, three, two, one…’

  Fergus stared at Enoch, who just grinned. Then Fergus crumpled to the floor.

  ‘Snapshot never late, Rugby Boy,’ said Enoch and hoisted Fergus on to his shoulder and strode back towards the allotments.

  Boadicea looked at Abbey.

  ‘We have twelve mounted knights in armour and spare horses. Let’s just go. They can sort out the allotments.’

  Abbey grinned and nodded.

  ‘So who do we look for first?’ asked Abbey.

  ‘I suspect they’re both in the same place.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I’ll tell you on route; first we must visit the Library.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Unpredictable change is inevitable; try to enjoy the ride.

  Dave Trellis

  One Life, One Woman, One Shed

  Dave snapped into existence. His senses swam and wobbled; for a moment the true bliss of ignorance was his, before the sorry state of things reappeared in his mind like lumps in custard.

  After the blankness of translation the rotten stink of jungle floor was welcome. The humidity made sweat prickle his forehead and his shirt stick to his skin. Dave looked around; the jungle was a verdant tent, green and moist with fleshy leaves and thin tree trunks heading straight up into the canopy above. High above, glimpsed though gaps in the foliage, was a cavern roof of red sandstone. It resembled the Fabulous Garden and Dave thought he must be back in the catacombs. He stared up at the diffuse glare of the giant lamps to orientate himself, straightened his collar and strode off in the likely direction of an entrance.

  The undergrowth was a wall of creeper and saplings, Dave struggled through, twisting and turning, getting scratched and scraped with every yard of progress. Finally he found a wide gap in the jungle and wary of Earth clams or large animals, Dave walked across the clearing towards a natural avenue in the jungle that led off into the misty distance.

  ‘Aaaaaaaagh!’

  Dave, snatched by a disguised net of creepers, hung high up, slowly rotating in the moist fragrant air.

  ‘Got im,’ said an Australia voice from the bushes nearby.

  Painter looked around at the chaos. The lovely green sward ripped to shreds, with deep gouges and hoof prints everywhere. It was more building site than green belt. The thick coating of yellow ichor disappeared when Engineer ‘vanished’ the drifts of dead and dying spiders. The dark congealed blood of horse and human blended with the loamy soil, concealing the evidence of violence. It looked like drunken teenagers, equipped with JCBs, had worked their angst on the verdant terraces of the river Alf; except for the bodies that is; some in neat rows, others strewn about the battle site. There were many humans, some Palaver and Dogs, but the Tuatha De Daanan had suffered and their horses more so. They had attacked with vigour and once injured, unable to retreat, were overwhelmed.

  A single Dog of War’s huge body like a sleek, black boulder lay amongst the broken turf. The Palaver had tried desperately to save it, but eventually the huge chest stopped heaving and its comrades howled at the sky like forlorn air raid sirens.

  It seemed everyone had just up and left. Painter took a deep breath, hating the acrid smell of spent explosives, and decided to get things organised.

  ‘Just bloody typical, leave me to sort out the mess, while they bugger off on some mystical quest.’

  ‘Is the way. Cowboy up,’ said Enoch. Painter spun around; Enoch punched him in the arm. ‘You owe me beer.’

  ‘Yeah sure, just as soon as I finish up here we’ll drop in at the Slubbers for a pint, there isn’t that much to do.’

  ‘Need wood and stone, beer and song.’

  Painter stared at his feet for a moment. ‘Wood for pyre, stone for cairn, beer for sorrow and song for heart.’

  ‘You sure you not Palaver?’

  Painter grinned, ‘In my heart perhaps, but in my head? Not bloody likely.’ He pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket and spent a few moments fiddling with it before remembering where he was.

  ‘Oi Enoch, do you lot have mobile phones that work round here?’

  ‘Yar, what you need?’

  Painter slung his arm around the big man and started a long, long list.

  Boadicea and Abbey entered the allotments; they rode side by side at the head of the small column of Tuatha De Daanan. The courtyard was a mess of cracked flagstones and gouged earth. Some allotments were intact; others in the line of attack were a wasteland of crushed vegetables and flattened sheds. There was a smell of burnt hair, sprouts, and barbeque. Everyone was quiet as the horses picked their way through the debris.

  ‘We’ll take the cargo entrance and then we won’t need to gallop through the portal,’ said Boadicea.

  ‘Good idea. Do you need to stop off and get your Library card first?’ asked Abbey.

  ‘I thought you had one.’

  ‘That was just a one off visit.’

  ‘That’s ok, I know someone who does, and he won’t object to coming along.’

  ‘Oi you lot, what the bloody hell are you playing at?’ yelled Dave. ‘Get me down, right now.’

  The three Australian Aborigines, dark and dusty, looked tired and fed up. Each wore leather breechclouts and carried a wooden spear. They stood in a circle around a heap of modern rucksacks and ignored him.

  ‘Traditional init. Straight over the cliff,’ said one.

  ‘Nah, he might just get injured, take him days to die. Cut his throat, no worries,’ said another.

  ‘I said get me down. Are you deaf or stupid?’ shouted Dave. Again he was ignored.

  ‘There’s plenty of meat on ‘im.’

  There was silence, as two of the three stared.

  ‘It’s true and I haven’t eaten in two bloody days.’

  ‘Don’t come the raw prawn; you had a good handful of beetles only this morning.’

  ‘Yeah and they tasted like guana shit. I want some proper food.’

  ‘We ain’t got no Burger King or Pizza Hut and we ran out of Lamington’s last week. So give up whining like a sunburned Pom.’

  ‘I object to that offensive stereotype,’ shouted Dave, ‘There are many of us that don’t moan. Furthermore if you do not cut me down, I shall take matters into my own hands and it’ll be the worse for you.’

  ‘Let’s just cut his throat, at least that’ll shut him up.’

  Dave unfolded his pruning knife and slashed. It cut through the tough twisted vines like a chainsaw through rhubarb; another off-world artefact, conveniently acquired. He parted the net like a pair of curtains, leapt ten feet to the ground, took a forward breakfall, and leapt up. He cleared his throat, took three quick steps, and raised his fists.

  ‘What’s new Pussy Ca-aaaarrhg.’

  The Aborigine swayed a little, ‘Strewth, keep yer hair on.’

  Dave clutched his fist. ‘Strong jaw you have there.’

  ‘Yeah runs in the family. Who the bloody hell are you and what yer doin’ here?’

  ‘Dave Trellis, pleased to meet you; assuming, of course, there’s no more of that whining Pom nonsense.’

  ‘I’m Trev, Trev Digger, this is Toomey and that there is Hungry Joe.’ The two others nodded at Dave.

  ‘Why I’m here is a bit of a mystery, so I consider it an endeavour. To this end I would be grateful if you could direct me to the nearest e
xit.’

  ‘There ain’t no way out mate,’ said Hungry Joe.

  ‘Well, you got in and you lads are famed for your sense of direction.’

  ‘Gettin’ in is easy,’ said Trev, ‘But yer can’t go back, it’s one way only.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ said Dave, ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘We’re guardians of the sacred site. Someone turfed up in a Ute and dived straight into the sacred cave before we could stop em. We didn’t worry coz you have to run really fast, straight at the kangaroo to get in. This woman must have known and was in before we could stop her.’

  ‘A woman?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Yeah, a bit of alright, couldn’t see her face, but she had a lovely arse. Then we had to prepare to follow her into the Out Of.’

  ‘Sacred rituals and the like?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Nah mate. I had to let the missus know, Toomey had to arrange a cat-sitter and Hungry there had to cancel his Bridge night. Took us a while to find our ritual gear too. You don’t think we dress up like this all the time?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Dave and coughed to cover his embarrassment.

  ‘So,’ continued Trev, ‘Here we are stuck in the Out Of, no food, bugger all water and we didn’t even catch her. She shot through like a Bondi tram.’

  ‘I assume you tracked her?’

  The group looked at each other awkwardly. ‘Satnav don’t work down here.’

  ‘What happened to the legendary tracking ability of the noble Australian Aboriginal?’

  ‘This ain’t Hollywood mate. I’m an accountant; Toomey and Hungry Joe are plumbers.’

  Dave rubbed his chin. ‘Is this the Workshops?’

  ‘Nah mate, this is Uluru; biggest bloody rock in the world.’

  ‘So how do account for the lamps,’ said Dave pointing upwards.

  ‘Beats me, we went in at Uluru, I reckon we is still there, but deep down,’ said Trev.

  ‘Well, it looks like the Workshops to me. Let’s run with that shall we? The control room should have some way of opening the portal. You mentioned a cliff; any chance you could find it again?’

  Blue lights lit up the cherry tree lined street. Police in helmets and paramilitary uniforms packed the steep path down to the river Alf, a traffic jam of coppers held back by a thin green line of soldiers.

  ‘We are investigating reports of hooliganism and outright warfare. This is not a time for diplomatic niceties,’ said a policeman with a nicely tailored uniform and a touch of grey hair at his temples.