by Phil Parker
The roof emitted a loud creaking sound, informing us it was about to surrender to the inevitable, something snapped loudly and the remaining walls and the roof shook. Instinct made me sprint through the hole we’d just created as the shed, like a pack of cards, collapsed inwards, loudly and with a great deal of dust.
I heard the sound, an enormous whoomph, felt the heat and found myself flying through the air, to land heavily on my back in the freshly dug vegetable patch. Billowing flames and intense heat filled the air until darkness swallowed me.
‘Keep your head down Puck! Something that size makes an easy target!’
Smoke billowed and worked its way into my lungs, made me cough until my throat burned, it reached into my eyes, filled them with tears so I couldn’t see. I stayed like that until I thought I’d die, the need for fresh air became an obsession, one I was deliberately being denied. Suddenly an outline loomed in front of me, greyer than the grey smoke. Its overlong arm reached backwards as it prepared to drive the object in its hand into my chest, leaving its side open for a split second. I held a similar knife in my own hand, drove it between the ribs of the figure above me. The effort dragged in more smoke into my burning lungs. The grey shape coalesced into the hulking weight of a seven-foot spriggan and collapsed on top of me, leaving me unable to breathe. I was going to die and if it brought an end to this torture, I didn’t care.
Just as my lungs searched for air that wasn’t there and dark blotches appeared at the edges of my vision, a strong breeze cleared away the smoke. With what little strength I had left in my muscles I moved the corpse just enough so I could pull in fresh air. I hacked and heaved as my lungs tried to push out smoke while inhaling clean air, slowly calming myself in the process.
With the smoke gone a shadow loomed over me, I couldn’t see beyond the corpse but the painful kick up my arse and the snarling voice told me all I needed to know.
‘Useless Puck. Useless. You kill your opponent and let him kill you in return.’
‘I’m sorry, my Lord.’
An arm in a leather sleeve with gold embroidery grabbed hold of the corpse and yanked it off me. I staggered to my feet, tears streaming down my cheeks, blurring the towering figure of condemnation so that I didn’t see the punch, I felt it strike jaw though. Before I knew what had happened I was laid out on the ground again.
‘Sorry? You pathetic little shit. Five minutes and we do this again until you learn to fight in the midst of fire and smoke.’
The figure strode away, turned to where my fellow trainees watched with undisguised resentment. I’d pay for my weaknesses, and not with money either.
Another kick. I gritted my teeth, this one wasn’t delivered with the same force. It had to be from one of my so-called peers so I warned him of the consequences in graphic terms. I opened my eyes. There was no smoke, no training ground, I was in my garden and surrounded by soldiers, busy stifling grins.
Except one.
‘Get up man! What happened this time?’
The officer stood ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back to peer down through white eyebrows knitted together like a white caterpillar, cold blue eyes without a trace of humour, compassion or humanity.
My body ached in every muscle, I couldn’t breathe properly but realised the congealed blood in my nostrils was to blame. My dream, like the smoke from the garden shed, drifted into the cool twilight air.
‘Well! Come on man! Haven’t got all day!’ the old man snapped.
‘Fuck off! I’m not one of your soldiers, you old goat!’
His unit struggled to restrain their laughter until the old man glared them into subservient inscrutability. He gestured to the nearest soldier who reached down, grabbed my arm and yanked me upright, I squealed with pain.
The aptly named Colonel Crabbe looked me up and down with a wrinkled nose and dismissive shake of the head, a gesture like the one I’d received from someone very similar, long, long ago.
‘You degenerates are all the same, no discipline, no respect!’
It was said with resignation that brooked no argument.
I gingerly touched my nose to assess the damage. The pain made my eyes water.
‘Yeah I know Colonel. I should be punished.’ I sniffed and it hurt. ‘Why not bend me over a cannon and whip my bare buttocks?’
One of the soldiers snorted but swiftly converted it into a sneeze. The old man glared at him before turning his attention back to me.
‘I assume, Mister Goodfellow, there’s been another visit from your fairy friends? This is the third time I’ve had to mobilise my men.’
‘They’re not my fucking friends.’
My words got waved away.
‘These bastards are trying to kill me and the fucking Fir Darrig, in what’s left of my shed, came the closest of all of them. I thought you were supposed to be keeping the citizens of Glastonbury safe? Because you’re failing in your mission.’
The old man blew disgruntled air out of his mouth, causing his enormous white moustache to ripple like a curtain.
‘We protect human citizens. You don’t qualify.’
Normally this cantankerous bastard and his bigoty didn’t bother me but the pain made me irritable.
‘That’s where you’re fucking wrong, you old bastard. The government need me, they said as much repeatedly when the Fae returned to their own realm. If I’m dead who’s going to advise them?’
Blue eyes, without a hint of emotion, levelled with mine.
‘The Knight twins now provide that service. After all, they are human.’
I fought down the anger. This was the thanks I got for killing Llyr, stopping the war, leaving the Dark Court temporarily leaderless. Not only had I been branded a traitor by my own race, someone wanted me dead and no one cared.
‘Do your friends in London think those kids know everything about what’s happening in Tir na nÓg? Because news alert, they don’t! They’ve not even been there! How can they advise you?’
A smile peeked out from under the white bush beneath the old man’s nose.
‘Your advice is no longer needed Mister Goodfellow.’
He spoke with such authority I began to wonder if he knew something I didn’t. His smug smile grew.
‘Surely, Mister Goodfellow, one fact above all others, must be apparent to you?’
The pendulum in this conversation had swung towards the starchy old man in front of me and I didn’t like where it was leading. I kept silent, difficult as that was. That fucking smile widened even more to show yellow teeth.
‘I thought not. Let me explain Mister Goodfellow. Do stop me if you get confused.’
The other soldiers shared in the joke with self-satisfied grins.
‘When your Fae friends,’ and he deliberately emphasized the last word, ‘retreated from our world they dismantled the event horizons, it prevented any further travel between their world and ours. Agreed?’
I nodded. I could guess where this was going now and I wished I’d raised the subject earlier to avoid this patronising lecture.
‘Yet your three assailants have returned here, unseen, by my men. They have not used the portal in the Abbey or the Tor. Do you know what that means Mister Goodfellow?’
‘Yes!’ I snarled. ‘There’s another portal.’
The old bastard nodded his head slowly like an ancient school teacher might praise a dim-witted student for correctly providing the sum of two plus two.
‘True. But the military has valuable intelligence, Mister Goodfellow.’
I chose not to make the obvious observation, despite the temptation this arrogant bastard provoked. He continued with his lecture, unaware of his own ambiguity.
‘Because the bastards continue to invade our world, we have reason to believe they will attack again. You are a security risk, Mister Goodfellow. Some of my colleagues think you are providing your friends with intelligence and this is just a cover.’
Those blue eyes didn’t waver.
‘Time t
o leave Glastonbury, Mister Goodfellow.’
This was not the sentiment from a miserable old bastard, he didn’t have the authority. This sentiment was getting handed down the chain of command. How could things change so radically in six months?
‘Where should I go, Colonel Crabbe? I’m exiled from Tir na nÓg because I killed a member of their royal family. It was something I did to protect the human race.’
The old man snorted, fluttering the hairy caterpillar beneath his nose. He clicked dismissive fingers at one of the soldiers, when he spoke it was with same disparaging tone.
‘Lieutenant Weir, debrief this person and assist him in whatever way will ensure his removal from my town in the shortest possible time.’
The young man, sporting a uniform with sharp creases and such highly polished boots you could see your face in them, glanced at me then turned to his commanding officer with a resigned frown and saluted.
‘Yes sir, as you command.’
The old man turned smartly, his unit did the same, casting gloating glances at the young man who remained behind.
‘You haven’t answered my question Colonel Crabbe. So where should I go?’
The upright figure paused, turned ice-cold eyes on me. ‘I don’t know Mister Goodfellow. Frankly, I don’t fucking care either. Perhaps during the next attack, you will reconsider your situation and allow your assailant to complete their mission successfully. I’m sure that would please everyone on both sides of these fucking portals.’
He turned smartly and marched with stiff-necked precision out of sight. No one else was going to protect me apparently, I wasn’t wanted. I might have brought about the end of the war but now I was an embarrassment, a dubious ally. If I was going to survive I’d need to keep my wits about me. Everything I’d fought for, risked my life to achieve, meant nothing.
This was why it paid never to get involved.
I marched into my kitchen to make myself another cup of tea.
