by Barnaby Yard
This had poured out of him in one long stream while the other three just stared at him wearily. He had very markedly glanced at the donuts in front of them.
The twins folded their arms simultaneously.
“You’re not having those donuts Norbert. They appeared yesterday and we don’t know what they’d do to you if you ate one.”
“I was just wondering whether...”
“Shut up and tell us your news.”
Norbert took another glance at the donuts and sighed.
“Colin’s been taken.”
“What do you mean taken?”
“Taken. You know, like someone nabbed ‘im. My mate Eric the Fed said ‘ee saw ‘im being taken into a warehouse at the docks.”
“By who?” Asked Eva.
Norbert had suddenly found something incredibly interesting on the floor to stare at. He took his battered purple hat from his head and started to pass it through his hands, so it turned slowly in front of him.
“Oo took ‘im? Oh, you want to know who took ‘im do you? Ah well, yeah, I thought you might want to know that.” He fell into silence, still staring at the floor, hat slowly spinning in his hands.
“Well, who was it Norbert?!” asked Esme.
Norbert had now entered a full blown state of shiftiness. His eyes were darting left and right, the hat was spinning faster in his hands, and he had now added to this with some decidedly guilty shoe shuffling.
“Well...” He said.
“Norbert!” shouted both the twins at once, not only out loud, but deep in Norbert’s head at the same time. He jumped, his voice blurting out immediately.
“Mr Pall!“ He covered his eyes with his hat and started muttering to himself.
“Oh Gawd, oh blimey. I shouldn’t ‘ave, but I didn’t know ‘ee would, oh gawd.“
The twins looked at each other in confusion. They had never seen Norbert like this. He was always cocky, confident, always driving them bloody mad, but never this. Never scared. It was hard to think of anything Norbert would be scared of. If you dropped a large rock on his head, you would probably lift it up in a day or two to find him having a beer with a woodlouse and running a scam with an earthworm to defraud a couple of gullible beetles.
Norbert reached into his hat and pulled a small, thin metal hip flask from the lining. He unscrewed the cap and took a deep pull.
“What have you done?" asked Eva.
Norbert, who was now tipping the hip flask upside down and jerking it violently in the hope of gaining a few more drops, turned to them. He looked like a puppy that had just had an accident on a brand new sofa.
“I didn’t know it was ‘im see! I fought it was some fella who’d got in a bit of bother!"
“Just tell us!" said Esme losing all patience now.
“Well I’ve been sort of looking after some space for an acquaintance of mine."
The twins exchanged glances at Norbert’s use of the word acquaintance, as though a pet goldfish had just turned to them and asked for a game of chess, but he ignored them and ploughed on.
“And Mr Geeb asked me if I knew anywhere that he might use to store somefink for a while. And ‘im being an old friend, I known ‘im since school see, I said yeah, no problem. Then he comes back to me a couple of days later and says he needs someone who can take care of a little problem he ‘as. An' I said what sort of little problem, and ‘ee said ‘mind your own business’ and I said.."
“GET ON WITH IT!" the twins shouted in unison, making Norbert physically jump backwards, his top hat toppling forward over his eyes. He pushed his hat back up and carried on more quietly.
“'Ee asked me ‘oo I fort the baddest chap I’d ‘eard of was. Someone ‘oo would do anyfin for the right cash."
“Ok... and what did you tell him?“ asked Esme, not impatient anymore, but with the hesitancy of fear.
“I introduced ‘im to... to Mr Pall." As he said it he winced, and grimaced in a way that suggested he was waiting for a blow. Nothing came. He opened his eyes and saw the three of them staring back at him blankly.
“So who’s that?" asked Eva.
“You’ve never heard of Mr Pall?!" exclaimed Norbert, clearly in shock.
“We don’t exactly move in the same circles you do Norbert," said Esme rolling her eyes.
“Oh, right, well ‘ee’s a bad ‘un ‘ee is. Very bad.”
~~~~
“Where are we going?" Spencer was once again struggling to keep up with Becky as they moved through the narrow streets of Alexandria. He just couldn't work out how she could move so fast with apparently so little effort. He looked at her legs, which he had to admit, he had looked at rather more than was strictly necessary already. He marvelled at how these rather short, perfectly formed limbs could cover so much ground. She walked in the same way that she approached everything, with a fiery, intense determination. It crossed his mind that by sheer force of will, she may be moving the ground backwards under her as well as moving her legs forward above it. To be fair to Spencer, he was currently being hampered by the fact he was eating an enormous hotdog purchased from a market stall that screamed gastroenteritis, but was actually delicious. After they had arrived at the market to find Afet's stall shut up and alone, Becky had gone off to ask around and see if anyone had seen her. Giving Spencer just enough time to follow his stomach rather than his head.
“I asked Colin to let my friend Afet know why I didn't meet her this morning. Well, not exactly why, but to apologise anyway. I want to know if they got him before he got to the market, or after.“
“Who’s they?“
“Well I'm guessing the replacement for whoever I saw turned into jam earlier after they tried to attack me.“
“It's funny, I'd never heard the name Afet before, but I met someone just the other day called that. Now I'm going to meet another one.“
“What did she look like this Afet?“ It suddenly occurred to Spencer that he didn't want to give the wrong impression here so adjusted his answer mentally.
“Oh plain, very plain looking. Somewhat ugly you could say. Terrible skin if I remember correctly.“ Becky stopped at the small wooden door of a terraced house which sat forlorn on the end of a row of five. The close had a look of a certain type of poverty which came with a large amount of pride. Each section of pavement outside each small house had been scrubbed. Small lines of dirt marked where the work of one house had ended, just before another began. She knocked on the door. The sound of hasty footsteps filtered through before it was swung open with force by a manic Afet. Wild eyed, she had clearly been crying. The look she gave them was unmistakably one of extreme disappointment and anger.
“No! You have to leave. Now!" she slammed the door shut again.
“It is her!" Spencer sprayed hotdog as he spoke. Becky turned to him.
“Plain looking?" He gave a sheepish grin as Becky knocked again.
“Yeah, well, the light wasn't good when I saw her, very dim in fact."
“Very dim sounds about right." The door opened again suddenly.
“Go awa.." Becky pushed past her and entered the hallway, leaving Spencer looking at her trying to swallow some sausage..
“It's probably best if you let us in, she swings a mean sock." Afet's large eyes darted from side to side, looking down the empty road, before grabbing Spencer and pulling him in at speed. She cupped her delicate face in her hands and walked down the short corridor to a small kitchen
“Oh God, they're going to kill him now definitely. You two have just got him killed." Becky guided her to a stool which sat at a worn, peeling breakfast bar and sat next to her. Spencer put the kettle on, for Afet of course, though he would admit he was fairly gasping himself.
“Calm down, tell me what's going on." Spencer wouldn't have picked Becky as a sympathetic ear, in fact she often seemed more likely to bite your ear off than lend you one of her own, but she was showing a softer side now. She held Afet's hand cupped in hers and waited for Afet to gulp down some tears and calm h
erself enough to be able to speak. When she did, all the emotion had gone. She spoke in a dull monotone, blankly.
“They came in the night, here into our home. They tied us both up and this horrible little man said he'd cut him into tiny pieces and sell him to Hagar for his sausages." The spoon in his hand stopped stirring the tea he had made, Spencer went pale.
“Unless I led you to them Becky, I'm so sorry!" The emotion broke over again like a wave. As she tried to compose herself, Spencer placed the tea in front of her. He looked at Becky with pleading eyes.
“What was the name of the stall I bought that sausage from?"
“Shhh." She waved him away with her hand.
“OK Afet, it's important you're honest with us, did you take Colin to them when I didn't show up?"
“Yes."
“Where did you take him?"
“To an alley off the market, they were in a room in number 12 Market View and gave me a signal from the window. Please, please help get my father back."
“We'll try." She stood up and made for the front door.
“Come on Spencer." He followed for a moment until he realised he was still holding his half mug of tea. He turned back in the narrow corridor and walked straight into Afet coming the other way. The remainder of his tea splashed down the front of his jeans which Afet immediately began wiping with her sleeve.
“I'm sorry I didn't mean to I'm just all over the place." Spencer reeled from the force of the deja vu as Becky entered the doorway again and frowned at the scene.
“Spencer?" He backed away from Afet's worrying.
“Coming, coming." Outside, Spencer was again playing catch up to Becky's walk as they made their way back to the market.
“Seriously, what was the name of the stall I bought the hotdog from because...“
“Look, we need to get to that flat. It could be where they're holding Afet's dad and Colin."
“And you want to just walk up and knock on the door?"
“Well maybe not knock, but pretty much, yeah."
“How on earth are you still alive?"
“By not dying mostly. Don't forget, I'm quick." She suddenly blurred and appeared on the other side of him.
“That's not exactly going to help me though is it?"
The market had died down when they arrived back in the square. The stalls were shut up, little boxes in the echoing space. They walked around the edge where the tall five storey buildings loomed, checking the small brass plaques which were set in the wall of each building. The entrances were raised at the top of identical worn steps, each with a rather grand, but weathered blue door at the top. they kept as close to the wall as possible, if anyone was looking out of the window, they wouldn't see them unless they were pressed against the glass looking straight down. Becky led the way of course. Spencer took a moment to daydream, wondering if she would lead if she were dancing too. Of course she would, he thought, and I'd let her.
She slowed in front of him and motioned at the plaque which read '12'. She dashed up the steps and opened the door quietly and slowly. they stepped into a gloomy entrance which contained nothing but a huge oak staircase which reached up to a landing with a door to the left, then doubled back on itself and continued up. She leant in and whispered into Spencer's ear.
“Stay here in case they get past me."
“I'm not letting you go up there alone!"
“That's very chivalrous of you, but you don't have a lot of choice." She shoved him in the chest and was gone. Spencer heard the stairs creak as she dashed up, he followed, taking two steps at a time. When he reached the top, the door was open, he could see Becky bending over something. He moved in and saw that it was a chair laid on its back. Loops of rope lay around it, suggesting someone had been tied up here.
“I think we've missed them," Spencer said.
Becky looked up at him with a blank expression before replying.
“I can see why you're a private investigator."
~~~~
On the way back to Ingress, they had both been quiet. Spencer’s mind was racing. None of this added up. It was like they were seeing glimpses of what was going through a window, a really dirty window. Start at the beginning, he thought to himself. Spangler and his partner had used their device, and it had caused them and the house to cross into multiple universes, where they had clashed with multiple copies of themselves. A thought struck him. Spangler didn’t seem to have any copies on any of the other universes, presumably because something had happened when he had set off the device which had prevented this, or had somehow... removed the other versions of him? He felt a slight chill run through him as the next thought slipped in behind like an eel. Why didn’t he have any copies? Why didn’t Becky and the others? He pushed the thought away and focused back on Spangler and his partner. What had happened to the other man? He thought about Spangler and how odd he was, trying to picture what he had been like before all of this had started, had it changed him? He seemed to change even now though, he remembered the difference between the man he had met back in his little flat, and the man he had then met in this world. It was like he had a split personality. It was at this point that the third thought hit him, and he suddenly had a lot of questions for Spangler.
9
Missing
Lisa Stroud sat in her cramped front room looking through photo albums. There were fourteen in total, one for every month her and Spencer had gone out. She realised some might call that a bit overboard, but she had wanted to document every last moment of their beautiful romance. Ok she admitted herself, towards the last couple of albums Spencer's heart doesn't really look in it, the smiles are a little more forced, the expression often vacant and looking elsewhere. There are even a couple in the last album where he looks positively annoyed, but that was only because of the stress he was under. She worried about him constantly when he was out fighting crime. She gave a little sigh as she thought of all the heroic things he must have done to take down London's criminal masterminds.
He had been worried about money, she knew that, but was that all it was? She had offered him some of hers, after all, she had bucket loads of it, but he'd just looked more panicked and refused. It had been four days since she had seen him, and she wasn't coping well. She had called round last night only to find him out and a tortoise sat on the doorstep. Wild speculations of various scenarios had flooded her mind. Was he out on a date? Had he got a new pet and not even told her? Or even worse, had some other admirer given it to him as a present? She'd had felt totally justified in letting Spencer know exactly what she thought of him on its shell. Except... now she regretted it, as she did every time she let her emotions get the better of her. He was her Spencerie-Wuggie-Woo, and he needed her. He just needed to realise it. She needed to make him see how he really felt about her, she needed to show him that he he couldn't live without her. She placed the photo album onto the coffee table and closed her eyes and thought of times when her and Spencer had been blissfully happy together.
~~~~
“But...but that's not possible!”
“I've seen loads of fings that ain't possible son. Done some of 'em meself as it 'appens,” Mr Pall replied as he marched Colin over to the brass bell which had a large horn protruding from the side.
“But there can't be two of them!”
“And why not pray?” a voice questioned from his left. He turned to see a dramatic figure in black sat crossed legged in an upright, dark brown leather armchair in the corner of the room. The man had an angular face, in fact, angular would be a pretty good word to describe the rest of him. If he embraced you, it would be quite likely that you would end up with a series of wounds very similar to paper cuts. You would not however, wish to embrace this man. He emanated a self satisfaction and control that was altogether disconcerting, and that was before you saw the immaculate moustache and the ponytail.
He wore tight black leather trousers and shirt, topped with a discreetly ornate waistcoat, again in black leather. His han
ds were steepled in front of his face, his eyes were sparkling with some unknown amusement.
Colin pulled himself upright and pushed his barrel shaped chest out as far as he could.
“I know it, because I have been told it by someone I trust!”
“Ah,” replied the man, “but what if the person who told you, though I'm sure acting in good faith, was unaware of the full facts?”
Colin's poise remained firm, but his eyes showed a glimpse of uncertainty.
“Who are you?”
“I am simply a man who has decided to take what is rightfully his.”
“And what is that?”
The man paused and his lips once more slinked into a thin smile. “Everything.”
The man stared long enough to make even Colin feel slightly uncomfortable. He looked about the room and realised he was in some sort of shed. He had been brought blindfolded and hogtied in the back of a very loud and bumpy cart, and was only now regaining his senses. He could feel a slight breeze and realised it was coming from small gaps in the wooden slats which formed the walls. They fired beams of sunlight across the room in random, criss-crossing shafts of dancing dust. The floor was bare earth and combined with the musty smell of damp, it made the presence of an armchair and this immaculately turned out man somewhat surreal.
Pall's voice voice from behind Colin broke the silence. “Ready?"
The angular man reached down to the side of his armchair and brought up a bottle containing a dirty brown liquid, with what looked like lumps floating in it.
“I'm afraid it is not very pleasant as a drink Mr Fartheid, but I think you will find it quite adequate as a replacement for your 'fog'.”
Colin winced at the pronunciation of his surname from habit, but realised the man had in fact pronounced it correctly. He took the bottle the man was offering him and looked at it suspiciously.
“I won't drink it!” he claimed defiantly.
